nine

When Mark reached the fourth floor landing, he paused to rest. He dropped his bags on the floor and leaned on the banister, breathing heavily. He wiped the sweat off his brow with the sleeve of his shirt and looked ahead at the narrow hallway. Three windows on the left, five doors on the right. His eyes focused on the fourth one. That was the door to his apartment. His new apartment, the one he’d be calling home for the rest of his college years. And, thank God, it was only a few more feet away.

Mark sighed in relief and dragged his luggage towards the room marked 4D. From his jeans pocket, he took out a key and opened the door immediately. Once inside, he turned on the light and he threw the bags into the closet. Then, he jumped on the bed and stared at the ceiling wondering what poster he should put there.

It was Sunday evening, his first night in his new apartment. The following day would be the start of school, his second year in Beakman College. Just last week he had moved out from his old dormitory to try living alone, tired of all that noise and mess.  He was lucky enough to find a vacancy at that time of the season, thanks to the help of his best friends—and ex-roommates—Dale and Ricky. After hours of going round and round Crown City, they found this old, semi-gothic apartment building called The Gray Castle. Mark liked it because it was a bit creepy, and the rent was pretty cheap. Plus there were some cute chicks around.

“Victoria Silvstedt!” Mark snapped and he hopped off the bed to check on the view. He went towards the window and stuck his head out. Below him was a dark alley, and a bum was getting ready to sleep. To the north were the housing areas, and he was sure that among the still lighted ones was the home of his girlfriend, Irene. He glanced at the window on his left, it was boarded up from the inside. Mark checked the other windows and it was the only one covered with wooden planks. It was probably empty or under renovation. Due south was the busy part of the city, where all the skyscrapers and other business establishments were. Mark noted the hotels and the condominiums there, and reminded himself to borrow Dale’s binoculars one night.

He closed his window and took off his shirt. With a long yawn, he looked at his watch. The digital display read 8:15. He had to get up early tomorrow, so he decided to do the arrangements the next afternoon, and just go to sleep.

He went to the bathroom to pee. He had just unzipped his pants when he was startled by the sudden outburst of an electric guitar being played within the room next to his, the room that he thought was unoccupied. Mark knew that someone was playing for it could not have been the radio or a tape. He had never heard anything like it.

The sound was so loud even though it was a bit muffled by the wall. And it didn’t have any rhythm at all, just random, annoying notes. Either the person playing it was really bad at it, or was doing it on purpose.

“Wooohooo,” Mark said, pretending to enjoy it, as he got out of the bathroom.

Then, to make things worse, a harsh male voice began singing.

“Nine! Nine! Nine!” screamed the voice of some frenzied heavy metal guy. He sounded really furious. It didn’t seem like he was using a microphone because it was barely audible. People from the lower levels probably couldn't hear it. “Nine! Nine! Nine! Nine!”

Mark turned off the lights in his room and listened.

“Nine! Nine! Nine!” That was all he said, shouting the number repeatedly.

Mark checked his watched again. 8:19. “Why was this guy shouting nine?" he thought, and feared that this was going to go on and on until nine o’clock.

“Nine!” It seemed like he was not planning to stop. The guitar cried louder, his screams got faster. “Nine! Nine! Nine! Nine! Nine!”

And then, it all abruptly stopped. Just like that. No more ear-piercing guitar riffs no more ferocious screams. Only silence. Everything was quiet again. Mark walked to his bed, scratching his head in bewilderment.

School was pretty much the same. Lame teachers, boring classes, pesky students everywhere. The only new things were the freshmen. Mark was glad that Dale and Ricky were in his first two morning classes, his colleagues in making all sorts of mischief, but was disappointed not to see Irene even up to his last class before lunch break. The reason for this was that the three of them flunked two classes last semester, while she didn’t.

Mark met Irene in the cafeteria. She was with her girl friends on their usual table, doing their usual chitchat, sipping on their usual sodas. She had stood up and hugged him and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. He sat with them, ate with them, and laughed with them for a while until the bell rang and it was time for class again. This time, they were all in the same afternoon classes.

When school was over, they took a quick drive around town, grabbed something to eat, and crashed in Mark’s new apartment.

He was telling them about last night. "And then he started shouting ‘nine, nine, nine!’, as if he was singing, but like he wasn’t because he sounded like a crazy animal…or whatever. I don’t know.” He was lying on his bed, Irene snuggled beside him, feeding him french fries. “What’s that band you’re brother listens to?”

Dale, who was sitting on the windowsill, answered. “Uh, that hardcore band… Sea Vulture or something like that.”

“Sepultura,” Ricky said. He was standing on one corner, making spit bubbles. “They're quite cool, actually.”

“Yeah, that,” Mark said and sat up. “Only much worse. Weirder, wilder…”

“You listen to that stuff?” hip-hop buff Dale asked Ricky. “That stupid evil crap? Man, I kick my brother’s butt every time he plays stuff like that!”

“I don’t really listen to it,” Ricky replied. “I just heard one song and I kinda liked it. You know me, I like all kinds of music. Not like you, Mr. Hip-hop rap crap.”

Irene grumbled. “Here we go again…” Mark lied down beside her again. “        Don’t you just hate it when they argue? I mean, they fight over just about everything. Girls, which movies suck, which game console is better… Ugh! Just look at them, acting like kids.”

Mark put his arm around her, and looked at his two friends. Dale was enumerating great rap groups, Ricky had his fingers in his ears and was singing “Mary Had A Little Lamb” sarcastically. “Well, at least they’re… saner than the guy in the other room.”

 “Hey, he might hear you…”

“So what? Does he care if I hear him when he does that… that concert of his?”

And then all of a sudden, a slight thud came from the wall, like the guy accidentally bumped his head on it. Mark, Irene, Dale, and Ricky stopped talking.

At dusk, they went to their favorite pizza parlor to hang out a while with some of their school friends. When it was getting late, Mark borrowed Dale’s car to take Irene home. They went to a secluded spot and had sex. Then he dropped her off at her house and returned to the pizza parlor. Dale took the wheel and drove him home.

Mark was hoping that the cute chicks would be in the lounge so he could meet them and get to know them better but none of them were there. All he saw a skin-headed guy wearing glasses, sitting comfortably on the couch, feet on the coffee table, puffing on a cigarette, watching cartoons on the TV. By the look on his face, he seemed like he wasn’t really watching it, just staring at the screen.

“Ya the new guy, aintcha?” he spoke up, eyes still glued to the TV.

“Yeah,” he answered with a nod. And then he began to think that this guy was the boisterous owner of 4E. “Name’s Mark. I just moved in last night.”

“Justin,” he said, and smoke blew out from his nose. He tapped the ash off the cigarette onto the floor even thought there was an ashtray on the table. His other hand was on his chin, rubbing it gently. “Lemme guess… 4D?”

It had to be him, Mark thought. “How did you know?” he asked at once. “Are you in the guy in 4E?”

Justin then looked at him. He smiled, showing his uneven, yellowish teeth, and laughed slightly. “No, mah crib’s right above here.” He pointed to the ceiling. “1A.” He shifted in his seat and puffed on his cigarette. He gestured at Mark to sit down. “Anyways, I know ya stayin’ in 4D ‘cause that’s the only vacant room here. It’s always empty, ya know.”

Mark sat on the other end. He hated smokers. He glimpsed at the TV. Tom and Jerry re-runs. “Why is it always empty?”

“‘Cause of that guy who lives in 4E. Ya heard him, haventcha?”

“Yeah,” Mark said. “Last night, he was singing and playing his guitar like a maniac. Have you heard him, too?”

Justin nodded once as he made smoke rings. “Couldn’t sleep so I changed rooms.”

“Who is he?”

Justin shrugged and puffed again. “Seen him, but never talked to him. All I know is that no one stays in 4D for long. After a few days, they just go and disappear.” He started coughing.

“You mean they leave? The guy does that every night so they le…?”

“I don’t know.” He took one last puff on the cigarette and killed the burning end on his palm nonchalantly. Then he flicked the cigarette butt and it landed on the ashtray. “I don’t know, and I don’t care.” He got up on his feet and stretched his back. “Hey, it was nice meetin’ ya, Marky-boy. I’m hittin’ the sack. Ya still gonna watch that?”

Mark shook his head and stood up. “No, I’m going to sleep, too. See you around.” He left as Justin turned the TV off.

Mark turned the light switch off and crawled onto his bed. It was almost eleven in the evening. He was so sleepy. He sighed and closed his eyes, thanking God for the peacefulness and the good night’s sleep that he was about to have.

That’s what he thought.

The ear-splitting sound of the electric guitar suddenly came again, in tunes that sounded like he was trying to break the guitar. And then the “singing” followed…

“Nine! Nine! Nine! Nine! Nine!”

Mark placed his pillow over his head and covered his ears. “No. Haven’t you done that earlier already?” he said.

“Nine! Nine! Nine!”

Stop, Mark thought. Please, stop!

“Nine!”

Please, stop . . .

But the guy, whoever he was, just kept going over and over and over.  As if he was purposely driving Mark mad. As if he wanted to keep him awake. “Nine! Nine! Nine! Nine! Nine! NNIIIIINNNE!!!” As if he had waited for him to get home so that there was someone to listen to him.

Mark hurled his pillow to the wall and cursed furiously.

And then came the abrupt silence, the peace he had thank God for, as if nothing had happened. The only thing he could hear was his deep breathing. He got off the bed, picked up his pillow, and went back to sleep.

The first thing that flashed into Mark’s mind the next morning when he woke up was to deal with 4E’s owner personally. And immediately. He had enough of it. He was not going to let that guy ruin his stay in The Gray Castle. No way. Either he did his “concerts” in the morning, turn the volume down a teensy bit, or just completely stop doing it. Or else…

“Or else…”, he whispered. “I like the sound of that.”

Mark locked his door and headed for the stairs. It was almost half past seven. Ricky should have arrived by that time to pick him up.

As he got near the stairway, he saw someone coming up the steps slowly. A big muscular man walking with his head bowed down, like a B-movie zombie. He had long, ratty hair that looked uncombed since the day he was born and it was partly covering his face. As he moved his hair swayed, revealing a mean-looking face. Thick eyebrows, bloodshot eyes, pimples, scars, earrings, noserings, and a pointed goatee. The face of a monster, a monster out of his cage. This beast was wearing a black Pantera T-shirt—the sleeves had been torn off, showing the bizarre tattoos on each of his large arms—and dirty faded denim pants that badly needed a wash.

Mark hunched that this was his noisy neighbor. He cautiously went down the stairs, trying not to glance at the scary face. He turned his head away when he saw the man’s gaze shifting to his direction, and pretended that he wasn’t staring. Minding his own business.

Then, they passed each other. Mark pressed his left arm onto his body to avoid bumping the stranger. He was about a foot taller than Mark, and a hundred pounds heavier. The unmistakable smell of beer and cigarettes filled the air. Beneath that was another stench Mark couldn’t recognize. He held his breath and walked on.

The wicked-looking guy was marching down the hall by the time Mark got to the landing. He looked up and saw the beast open the farthest door and go inside. It was room 4E. The monster’s cage.

Mark let out his breath and dismissed the idea of confronting him.

“Or else…” he told himself. “My ass.”

When Mark came home that night, Justin was sitting on the steps of the stairs. He was bobbing his head up and down singing silently, drumming his knees with his hands. His were legs blocking the way. He wasn’t smoking this time. Mark guessed he had just finished a whole pack.

And he didn’t move one bit as Mark approached him. “Ya just missed him,” Justin spoke suddenly, not looking at him.

“Who?” Mark asked at once.

“That dude in 4E. He went out about a minute ago, before ya came.” He grumbled. “Ugly bastard walked over me.”

Hearing that, an idea instantly shot into Mark’s head. He thought of sneaking into 4E, and sabotaging the guitar. It was half past six, and the guy probably went out to have dinner. Mark would have enough time to do his scheme. He just hoped that the guy had not locked his room like that morning.

“Hey, whatcha thinkin’ about?” Justin said, rubbing his chin.

“What…?”

“Yo,” he said and stood up. “I said, what’s on ya mind? Ya thinkin’ of somethin’ deep, I can tell.”

Mark shook his head. “No, its just… there’s this party I’m going to. I was wondering what to wear.” He noticed Justin nodding with a disgusted look on his face. “Hey, you wanna come? My friends are picking me up at…”

“Nah,” he answered. “Never liked parties. Besides, I’m waitin’ for a couple of friends myself .Ya know, sleep-over.” He looked as his watch. “They should be here any minute now.”

“Well, okay. Maybe next time.” He started to go up the steps. “I’m just gonna chang…”

“Finally!” Justin exclaimed, raising his hands. He ignored Mark and walked towards the door where two gorgeous blonde women in revealing clothes were coming in. Both were taller than him. Mark watched the two babes kiss him and place their arms around his. Then they excitedly headed for the stairway, laughing and giggling.

Mark just stood there in awe as Justin went up the stairs with the women, his hands on their huge breasts.

Mark stared at the knob of room 4E’s door. If it was locked, he would go back to his room and skip the idea.

He took his chance and held the knob.

Suddenly, there came footsteps, two pairs, going up the stairs. Mark quickly pulled out his keys and leaped to his door. As he inserted the key into the keyhole, a couple appeared from the stairs both dressed in business clothes. The woman was giggling madly as if the man had just told her a really funny green joke.

Mark opened his door slowly, waiting for them to go into their room. They stopped at 4A and went inside, the woman still giggling.

Mark sighed. He closed his door and returned to 4E. He grabbed the knob and twisted it. Just as he thought. It wasn’t locked. He pushed the door open and slowly stepped inside. Flies buzzed around him. He smelled something awful coming from within the room. He shut the door behind him and reached for the light switch on the wall. He pressed it but the light did not turn on. He gave it another try, but still it didn’t work. The bulb must be busted.

It was dark, but he could still see what the room was like. There was a bed near the window where the faint moonlight passed through.  On top of the bed were dozens of porno magazines. Leaning on its side was a black electric guitar with blotches of red paint on its edges. Beside it was an old-looking amplifier, and another gizmo that Mark couldn’t remember what the name was. He walked towards the guitar and pondered how to wreck it. He thought of cutting the strings or the cord that connected it to the amp. But either would be too obvious. It had to look like the metalhead broke it himself or else he'd go after the only person with a motive: Mark.

When he crouched down to touch it, he saw something stashed at the corner of the room, next to the closet. He went near it and saw what it was. Pot.

The stench was closer to him, the foul odor stinging his nose. He couldn’t stand it anymore. It seemed like it was coming from the closet. There were flies swarming around it. He stood up and covered his nose as he opened the closet. More flies came out.

He found out what was making that bad smell. The closet was full of rotting corpses. Chalk-white bodies of men and women with gaping mouths and eyes that had melted into their sockets, where hundreds of maggots wiggled around. Each bore large wounds on their heads that were also infested by worms.

Nine! Nine! Nine!

It was the most disgusting sight Mark had ever seen. He felt he was about to throw up. His stomach tumbled over, and the burger he ate for lunch started to climb up his throat. He tasted something bitter in his tongue. Then suddenly, he heard a pig-like grunt from behind him. He turned around.

The room’s owner was standing a few feet away from him. His head was bowed slightly, and his eyes were fixed on Mark. He looked as ferocious as a lion about to attack its prey. In his right hand was the black electric guitar.

Mark realized the blotches on the guitar weren’t red paint after all.

The guy took a step and swung the guitar like a baseball bat, towards Mark, who didn’t even get a chance to scream…

“What’s taking him so long?” Dale said, pounding on the car horn once again. He had been honking it for almost five minutes. “I think you better call him, Rickster,” he told his friend.

Ricky stuck his head out of the window and began shouting. “Hey, Marky-boy! Come down!”

“No, you moron,” Dale exclaimed. “Go up to his apartment and call him!” He honked again. “Stupid!”

“Okay, okay, just calm down,” Ricky said, going out of the car. “No need to be harsh.” He ran towards the main entrance. He was about to go in when he stopped suddenly and turned around.

“What?” Dale asked.

Ricky was rubbing his neck. “I forgot his room number.”

Dale slapped his forehead. He clenched his teeth and looked at Ricky “4-D,” he said, controlling his temper. “Make it quick. It’s almost 9pm and we still have to pick up Irene.”

“We don’t wanna be late, do we?” Ricky ran into the door and went upstairs. Then he rushed to the door that said 4D. He knocked on it. “Mark! It’s Ricky! Open up! It’s almost nine! We’re gonna be late!”

There was no answer. Just silence. Dead silence.

“Irene’s gonna be really mad if you don’t show up.” Still no answer. “Mark?”

Then he heard someone in the next room playing an electric guitar. “Ten! Ten! Ten! Ten! Ten!”

“Cool song,” Ricky said, approaching 4E. “Maybe he knows where Mark is.”

And the noise went on. “Ten! Ten! Ten...”

I used to put little notes at the end of my stories where I spoke about anything I could regarding the stories, such as how I conceived the idea, who inspired a particular character etc. I called those notes ROOTS. I'll leave the old notes on my old stories as is and put new ones on the new ones. 

ROOTS: Nine is partly a true story. One of the very first stories I was able to complete when I began writing in this genre. I really can’t recall how I conceived the plot; I think it just popped into my head like most of my works. I’ve had several drafts of it before but some things just wouldn’t fit. I had thought of using a female main character back then but I realized I still didn’t have the writer skill of telling a story in a female point of view. Then came my college days and I had to stay in a dormitory. That was when I got the idea of doing the story again, basing it on events that actually happened to me, putting in the name of one of my friends. But I didn’t have a noisy, crazy next-door neighbor. Well, all of my buddies in the dorm were noisy and crazy, but none of them were wacko enough to kill people. Or I could be wrong…