Apartment 191

-Zella-

My mother tells me over and over again that if something doesn’t challenge me, then it won’t change me. In my younger years, I didn’t pay much attention to anything she said. Each and every piece of dialogue that left her mouth went past my ears, having no effect on myself what so ever. But as the taxi driver takes me to my new apartment in the outskirts of New York City, all her little pieces of advice fly back to me and my mind is clouded with so much wise guy type information that makes me feel as if my brain will explode. All I want now is for my mother and father to be at my side, to reassure me that my decisions aren’t all self—destructive.

I take a deep breath and stare up at the shady, dull apartment complex which is now my home. It’s such a depressing scene to take in, making me second guess all of my decisions. The whole place sends chills down my spine. I can feel the taxi driver staring at me, waiting impatiently for me to get out of the car.

I hand the driver a twenty and scoff when he doesn’t offer to help with my bags and heavy boxes I’ve packed with belongings to put in my apartment. How rude. He definitely does not give me a good first impression of New York or anything it has to offer. I was at least expecting a small verbal tour of some sort during the drive.

With a deep sigh, I begin my long walk down the parking lots to my apartment building marked B-1 in big, white letters. It’s hard to miss, being the only building sign that hasn’t completely washed free of its paint. I climb up the long flight of stairs, daring my four suitcases to weigh me down more than they already are. When I get to the correct floor, my fingers uncurl from their tight grip around the suitcase handles. I stare at the door in front of me. Metal numbers are glued to the door. #190.

It takes me a minute or two to find the apartment keys I was given when I agreed to but the place. I unlock the door and a rush of cigarette smoke captivates my lungs almost instantly. I don’t remember the realtors saying anything about such a stench.

“Damn, someone finally bought this place?”

The new voice startles me, a small yelp escaping my throat as I turn around to face the owner of the voice. He’s tall, with dark chocolate brown hair and impressively turquoise eyes. He stands at least a couple of inches taller than me, with very prominent bicep muscles and a small smirk on his lips. It’s only when I see the smirk that I realize I’m staring. Very obviously to make matters worse.

“Um…”

The guy leans against the wall with a smug grin. “Need some help?”

It’s only then that my brain register’s his British accent, strong and heavy as ever.

“Help would be fine,” I say, trying to control the stupid grin that spreads across my lips. “But can I get a name? So I can thank you properly?”

The guy grabs my bags and boxes and sets them down inside my empty apartment, his back muscles flexing as he attempts to help me with an ease I don’t have. I find myself staring at him. Again. It bothers me that he doesn’t answer my question.

He only nods at me with the same small smirk on his lips and turns to leave. I’m surprised when he stops by the apartment door directly next to mine. He pushes open his apartment door marked, “192” and disappears before I can stop him.

I close my own door and face the empty apartment. It’s quite large, and I have my grandparents to thank for that. Retired people always seem to have loads of money that they never need, and I’m delighted that my grandparents dedicated the money into investing for an apartment. I first grab an air mattress from my largest suitcase and pull it from its case, laying the flat plastic out on the floor. It takes a bit of time to blow it up, but once it’s done, I lay down onto the mattress and sigh. Finally, a decent excuse of a bed.

It’s odd to think that New York is my new home. Growing up in Texas in the suburban areas of the state is much different compared to the full on city life that New York offers. It’s such a beautiful city though, and that’s one of the reasons why I was so lucky to get a job here.

Just as my eyes are close to taking away my consciousness, a loud knock raps on the door of my apartment. I sigh and detach myself from the comfortable bed to answer the door, but there’s no one there. I even open the door and look down to make sure no one has left some baby in a basket. Only minutes from arriving here, and the ding-dong ditching has already begun. I wonder just how many immature kids live in this apartment complex.

I shut the door.

But just as I turn to head back to bed, there’s a knock again. Before the prankster gets a chance to run away, and fling the door open. This time, there is a small girl standing at my feet, holding a small basket of goods in her tiny hands. Her hair is done in two braided pigtails, with menacing black eyes that send shivers down my spine. There’s something off about her.

“Hi sweetheart,” I coo, bending down with my hands on my knees to get a good look at her. She refuses to look at me, thrusting the basket towards me. She doesn’t bother to smile, only stares at me with her black eyes and runs away. I watch her as she pushes open the door to apartment #191. I look down at the basket in my hands as I close my door. There is a batch of cookies in a decorative plastic bag and a small envelope.

I set the basket down on the kitchen counter and open the envelope. The handwriting strikes me first. It’s written in red and it smells a bit odd. Like metal. The font itself slightly frightens me. The note makes me shudder.

Welcome to apartment #190. We hope you enjoy you’re well awaited stay.

Sincerely,
Apartment #191

It’s nothing scary, but it gives me an unpleasant vibe. There’s something about the luminous blue in the little girls eyes that sets me scared. How her hair is so black that it has a tint of blue. More important, I realize she looks empty. Sickly.

I set the note down and my finger runs over the ink by chance. It’s wet. And as I bring my finger up to my nose, the smell of it becomes defined. I realize that the note was not written in ink. No, the liquid of my finger isn’t ink at all, but fresh, red blood.

Notes

So...this is the first chapter of Apartment 191. I'm giving Louis a try in this fanfiction, due to the constant pestering of one of my friends :) She knows who she is. I've never done a Louis fanfic before because he's got this whole sassy persona that I've never been quite good at capturing, but you never know if you don't try, right? I hope you guys like this! It's kind of like my "summer project" on the side of Little Misunderstandings.

Comment below because they really make me happy and give me any questions that you guys have because I will answer. Feel free to private message me if you want. Thanks for reading!

-lalaladoo