It's an incredible feeling to get scared. Your mind first does a double-take and cautiously tries to reassess the situation, before eventually going into overdrive.

Arabella screamed like she never had before.

While freaking out, she spent the breaks in between screams staring at the fridge door. Arabella did not want to scare herself further, but her mind refused to stop waiting for the magnets to move on their own. The minute she felt that she has calmed down, her mind would recall how the letters rearranged themselves, and she would start screaming some more, her feet remaining frozen in place.

Suddenly, her eyes blinked rapidly in an effort to set herself to rights. Her leg muscles started contracting to prepare for a sprint, and she ran to the apartment door, panting as her brain was clouded in a thick cloak of fear.

Mrs. Rothschild emerged from her apartment and hurriedly approached her, as fast as her small feet could carry her. "What is happening, my dear?" Worry creased her forehead.

Arabella blurted incoherent words, a random combination of emotions and descriptions coming out of her mouth as she pointed to the fridge.

Mrs. Rothschild peeked in and saw nothing wrong with the place. She placed a hand on Arabella's closed fists as she spoke soothing words to her.

Mrs. Rothschild's calm demeanor only pointed to one thing—she knew. Oh my God, she knew!

Her wobbly wrinkled fingers rubbed Arabella's back, as she tried to pull her back inside, but the startled miss didn't think that it was such a good idea.

"I'm sure it is friendly..." She soothed, smiling as she entered the room to show Arabella that no harm would happen if she entered her apartment.

This is exactly how a badly made horror movie starts out. Instincts say don't, but they do stupid shit and enter anyway.

Arabella half-expected Mrs. Rothschild to get hit with a frying pan as she stood inside the kitchen waiting for her to cross the threshold. There was no logical way to explain this!

"Why don't we name it Casper? Will that help?" Mrs. Rothschild tried again, and Arabella had none of it.

Mrs. Rothschild turned, glanced at the kitchen and read the words on the fridge thoughtfully. "Seems to be quite helpful, even! I used to have my own imaginary friend when I was younger."

That's it. Fuck it. I'm done! So done!

With gritted teeth, Arabella reached for the door lever in a struggle to close the damn thing. Whatever it was in the apartment, Mrs. Rothschild could have it, she seemed quite comfortable inside anyway!

Her trembling knuckles struggled with the door. She couldn't quite close it without her feet getting in the way. The wooden door bounced back a couple of times before a weight tried to pull it away from her.

Mrs. Rothschild was on the other end, pulling the door open as Arabella tried to shut it close. She screamed again and again as she forcefully fought over the door.

"No! No!" Grunting and finally gripping the handle with both hands, she grabbed it with all her might, and the old lady's fingers slipped which allowed the door to give way, its thick wooden panel slamming her across the face.

Arabella dropped face-first onto the floor, half her torso lay in the house while her legs sprawled out into the hallway.

"Aww, you poor, poor, child."

The combination of sustained heightened senses and terrible hand-body coordination was enough to make Arabella pass out. As her brain started clearing the fog, she began to feel the hardwood floors behind her head. An ache slowly grew on her forehead, which spread to her arms and knees.

There was a cold sensation biting at her skin, and she groaned loudly as her hand reflexively reached out to touch the frozen bag on her face.

"Oh good! You're awake," Mrs. Rothschild's voice remarked cheerily from a distance. "I don't have the energy and strength to pull you in and I don't think it's very comfortable down there."

Arabella's eyes slowly fluttered open and she was greeted by blinding lights. Squinting as she adjusted to the brightness, her hand squeezed on what seemed to be a bag of frozen peas over her face.

"I need to get up."

Elbows braced, moving and struggling on the floor, Mrs. Rothschild seemed to understand what she was trying to do. Frustratedly accepting help from the old lady, Arabella was able to sit up and lean against one of the kitchen counters. Sighing loudly, she removed the bag of peas and kicked the door of her apartment closed, trapping her and Mrs. Rothschild in the haunted room. May God have mercy on them both.

"Are you feeling better?" The old lady inquired, concerned over her welfare.

She moved an inch and upon feeling all the different pains and aches in her body, she decided that playing the part of a pleasant neighbor would be too much effort.

"No. I feel much worse, thanks to you," she scowled, a low hiss escaping her lips as she pressed on the frozen bag a little too hard.

Mrs. Rothschild paused, her face expressionless, signifying that she hadn't heard a word Arabella had said. The old lady walked to get a peculiar box from the dining room table. "I haven't had a neighbor for so long, you see. I hope that this unfortunate incident doesn't make you leave."

Arabella had wanted to leave the very moment she understood that she was not alone in the apartment.

But after hitting her head on the door, she started to see some sense. Arabella had invested rent money, an advance for 3 months and a deposit for the place and utilities both. If she left LES, she would have to leave the new job and move back in with her mother, where Richard would surely find her.

Was there any choice at all?

"I had an imaginary friend when I was younger. This was when I was still living in Connecticut, barely even in High School," the old lady shared, as she sat in a nearby chair and offered the box to Arabella. "This is a Scrabble box. I had this since I was a girl, and I used it to communicate with my friend." Mrs. Rothschild smiled and glanced at the fridge.

Arabella followed her gaze and found that the phrase that freaked her out wasn't there anymore and was now replaced with, "HELO."

"Who did that!" She could feel that she was about to freak out again. A vein throbbed painfully behind her neck. "Did you do that?"

"Hmm?"

"I SAID, DID YOU DO THAT?"

"Yes, I did," she nodded cheerfully. "Just be friendly to them, sometimes they're just lonely," she encouraged further and placed the Scrabble set open on the counter. "I don't think they meant to frighten you..."

"Why do you keep referring to them as them? Do you know how many there are?" Arabella was aware that she was becoming a bit testy, but their circumstances were a bit too strange to allow for cool chit chat.

Mrs. Rothschild didn't hear a word she said, she just nodded encouragingly and absent-mindedly played with the tiles from the Scrabble set. After a few more beats of silence, Mrs. Rothschild stood to leave. "Well, get some rest, my dear."

"Wait." Arabella struggled to scramble to her feet. "WAIT!" Her eyes were starting to pool with tears. "Are you leaving me here? ARE YOU SERIOUSLY LEAVING ME HERE?"

Mrs. Rothschild looked back and saw her petrified expression. Taking pity on the girl, heart in her eyes, she said softly, "I thought you wanted privacy."

"No!" God no, that was the last thing she needed right now. Arabella started to stand, gripping the counter with all her strength to steady herself on her feet. "Please stay. God. PLEASE STAY!" She had to keep screaming to make sure the lady heard her.

"Oh, poor child." Mrs. Rothschild led her to the couch and started to check the fridge for something to cook.

They both stayed in the apartment in companionable silence. Mrs. Rothschild had prepared a meal of nutritious tomato soup with canned sausage, carrots, and peas that made them feel warm and comforted by its aroma and taste. They sat together on the couch, smiling at each other often without saying much in between spoonfuls.

Mrs. Rothschild drifted to sleep while Arabella sat awake and in a pensive mood due to the recent events.

She cleared her throat—once, twice, and then finally coughed. Arabella glanced at the sleeping lady to see if the sounds woke her, and after seeing Mrs. Rothschild fast asleep, Arabella began speaking to the wind.

"If you're here, please don't frighten me. I'm frightened enough as it is." She sniffled a little, observing an unusual chill in the air. "I've never had any experience in this. I've watched a couple of horror films and it always ends badly. I don't want to die," she chuckled nervously.

"I've nowhere else to go. Can you please find somewhere else to stay?"

Arabella cleared her throat again and thought that if she was making a deal with a ghost, this arrangement didn't sound like a win-win at all. "I can maybe do something for you," she said and quickly added, "Well, as long as it doesn't involve my soul or killing anyone. God, I'm going crazy!"

Arabella started crying. It started with a tear, that turned into a waterfall down her cheeks, as she hugged her knees to her chest.

How could this be the ultimate culmination of her life? Wasn't there some sort of salvation after having had the courage to stand up for herself? After all, she had left the comforts of being under her mother's roof and finally, narrowly escaped an emotional manipulator who masqueraded as a loving fiancé.

No one understood why she left him. He was only mean to her when they were alone. His words were deliberate punches that left no visible bruises. No one knew how utterly broken their relationship had made her.

If she went back home, they would be forced to get back together by relatives and neighbors alike. Arabella thought that she would rather endure the apartment hauntings than do that.

The crying eventually stopped, and the exhaustion lulled her to a dreamless sleep which assuaged her desperate state.

The following morning, Arabella was woken by a faint smell of burnt toast and oil drifting in the air. Her lashes rapidly fanned against her cheeks, and her eyes fluttered open. She found the room to be bathed in the first streaks of dawn, lovingly colored in light shadows of purple and orange. She had the distinct memory of hearing sizzling noises, but as she observed the quiet kitchen, she wondered if she had dreamed it all.

She pushed off the seat, and with a small backward glance, found Mrs. Rothschild still soundly asleep on her couch. She casually walked to the counter and eyed a suspicious plate beside the open Scrabble box. The plate had toast and scrambled eggs, but the pan was already on the dish dryer and the stove was warm to the touch.

Arabella observed the toast closely, and although the eggs were not picture-worthy, they looked appetizing enough to make her stomach clench with hunger. Her fingers grasped the fork which was carefully placed on top of a folded napkin, and as she broke the toast and eggs in half, she spotted the Scrabble box which had a message unmistakably directed to her.

I APOLOGIZE.

MY NAME IS JAMES.

----

A/N: Here's another update for you! I suffered from a bit of writer's block for a little while, but Netflix cured me! Our egg-breaking visitor finally has a name!

How would you react if James had been in an apartment you've just moved into? 

If you liked this chapter, kindly consider giving it a vote! Thank you so much! You reading my work makes me very motivated to keep writing. :)

UPDATE:  Edits were applied to this chapter on May 4, 2020. Thank you to all who commented, voted, and read. Your feedback is moving my story forward!