A chill ran down her spine as she assessed the mess of broken eggs. There was still a single egg on the counter, a lonely survivor, among the murdered ones.

Could Richard really have found her here? But she was hundreds of miles away!

Arabella ran to the doors and exhaled a pent-up breath after discovering that the locks were intact. She dangled the chains with her fingers just to be sure, tugging tightly against the cool metal braids and watched the knots hold their place.

He wasn't here.

It must have been rats, there could be no other explanation for this.

Examining the sticky spillage, Arabella skipped to the places where the flooring was free of goo. Although a rat infestation could be a troublesome affair, she considered it to be a minor problem, one that she could definitely deal with in just a few days.

"I know you're here," she said aloud, as she started to pick up broken eggshells from the floor. "You won't get anything from me, but I will get you."

The rats probably didn't speak English, but it was not the time to dwell on that when she was making her threats. "If you don't stop taking my food, I'll make sure to trap you and set you in boiling water."

Gathering up all the eggshells from the marble-tiled floors, she dropped them in a nearby bin. "So you better run out before I find you!"

Begrudgingly, she took out the rag and mop and started wiping the place spotless, placing the solitary egg securely between the dish rack and the cooking tool canister.

"Let's see you rats try and push this out this time!"

How would she make the cupcakes now? She needed eggs. Again!

Her eyes spotted the oven and marveled at the black glass. It was a good brand, a foreign brand that had a temperature gauge in Celsius rather than the usual Fahrenheit. Cupcakes and a few simple dishes would be her source of nutrition in the days to come. She didn't know how to make anything else, and when she was settled in, she vowed to learn other complicated recipes—perhaps, even learn recipes that had been passed down from generation to generation.

Arabella pulled her bag off the hook and exchanged her room slippers for outside shoes. She gave the apartment one last sweep, keys dangling between her fingers before exiting the apartment with a loud bang. Sighing, she quickly locked the room and pressed on the elevator button multiple times.

It hadn't been 24 hours and she was already impatient with the elevator. If she kept this up, she would probably find herself using the stairs in a week's time.

"Hello."

What! Mrs. Rothschild gave her a start. The old lady suddenly appeared beside her without any warning.

"I was wondering if you are going down? Would you mind getting my mail?"

"Sure thing, Mrs. Rothschild," she said sweetly, nodding as the elevator doors opened and she stepped in. "Would you like me to hold the door for you?"

"Hmm?" She returned her smile.

Ah, right. Louder for the people at the back. "WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO HOLD THE DOOR FOR YOU?"

The old lady shook her head and carefully moved away from the slowly closing elevator doors. This was going to take forever.

Finally, after what seemed like 45 years, Arabella found herself on the pavement of 14th street. The streetlights gave the community a new life, and the bustling crowds were walking at a much more leisurely pace now that rush hour was over. She walked a few steps westward and immediately saw a sign that said Tchaikovsky's Groceries.

Her mouth lifted on one side, a tsk escaping her narrow lips as she shook her head in disdain. Those cab rides and those dollars spent on them were absolutely and totally unnecessary!

She felt so utterly foolish.

Pushing through the glass doors of the brightly lit store revealed small but stocked lanes of various essentials. The clanging of the small shop bell mixed with classical music ridiculously filled the atmosphere with a fanciful air.

The other shoppers did not seem as surprised as she was—they merely went on their way, choosing detergents in aisle 5 while Debussy was sorrowfully playing in the background.

"Hey, how are ya," a teenage boy behind a counter greeted her without looking up from his phone.

Maybe the music was apt for grocery shopping. What could be more depressing than doing laundry? Buying materials for laundry, of course!

She moved to the counter, this time asking for assistance to make her life easier. "Excuse me, sir..."

The boy snorted and looked at her. "Sir? Well, that's new."

Arabella ignored him. There were more important things to notice than his disparaging response to her polite greeting. "I was wondering if you could help me."

"Are you lost? I don't think I've seen you here before." The boy chewed on gum, and the constant slapping of mush between his teeth was growing to be quite annoying. "Food is on aisles 1-3, Hardware tools 4, Bath and Laundry on 5-6."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "I need mouse traps."

The boy stopped chewing. "Mouse traps? I don't think we have those. No one uses those anymore, lady."

Arabella wondered if she was this annoying when she was a teenager. "Would you have any alternatives?"

"Rat poison."

Absolutely not! "No, thanks." The rat would die in a crevice and she would have to deal with the smell. Her stomach did a little flip just thinking about it.

"Why don't you just call an exterminator instead of doing it yourself?"

That's it. Since when did shop clerks stop being helpful? "Look, I've just moved into Windsor Hall, and it would be a great help if you would just—"

"Did you say Windsor Hall? Is it 10B?" He sounded surprised.

She shrugged, just a tiny movement of her shoulders. "Yes, why?"

"Oh, ho-ho!" His eyes became as wide as dinner plates. "10B! Windsor Hall?"

Arabella nodded, but the boy was already running towards the small office calling his mate, "Hey man! Check this out! This lady just moved into 10B!"

A head poked out from the office, his blond hair greasy and his face spotted with a combination of pimples and freckles. "Where? Oh!" A pause. "Oh! Ohhh..."

Arabella had enough of these antics. Why was her apartment so infamous to these two young teens? "What is so—"

"Damn, lady! When did you move in," the blonde boy said and joined his friend behind the counter.

"This morning," she answered matter-of-factly, as her eyes shifted from boy to boy.

The other teen chuckled heartily. "She's complaining of a rat problem."

"Ooooooooh..." and they both made a show of exchanging high-fives.

Really, this was beyond irritating! "Excuse me, but what are you—"

"Of course, they're rats!"

Because of the ruckus that they were creating in an otherwise quiet shopping center, an old man, presumably in his 50s or 60s stepped out of the office and swatted the boys' shoulders heavily. "Pay these boys no mind, will you? They've lived in this building all their lives and they jump at any excuse to put their active imagination to use."

The boys started to busy themselves with other work as the man took his position as the cashier.

"How may I be of assistance?"

"I have a rat problem in my apartment, and I was hoping that you would have rat traps I could use."

"We don't have the contraptions, but we can give you some of the flypaper. It can catch mice. Bigger rats can get trapped by the sticky paper with thicker glue." He moved to the side and brought forth two thin cartons of the sticky glue papers from the bottom drawers of the counter. "If you still experience the problem after getting the mice, it would be best to call an exterminator."

"Or the ghostbusters!" The boy called from behind and ran swiftly away after the man speared him with a threatening look.

Goosebumps suddenly lined her skin, and she was too afraid to verify this with the shop owner. Arabella never expected ghosts to be a thing in New York. Weren't we all past this nonsense? Even if she highly doubted their existence, it didn't mean that she wasn't terrified of them altogether.

"Is there something that I should know," she asked tentatively, whispering the question to the shop owner as she did not want anyone else to hear.

"It's just an urban legend that you needn't concern yourself with," he said brusquely, as the background music of the shop turned eerily into Beethoven's Fur Elise. They exchanged hands, goods for payment.

Christ, above! "Would you think that it's better for me to at least know what it is about?"

"Sometimes what you don't know won't hurt you." He smiled and flipped the receipt, scribbling a number behind it. "If you encounter any problems, why don't you give us a call? My son and I will be happy to assist you," he said through gritted teeth, as he shot a pointed look at his blonde son restocking the items in aisle 2.

"Oh, dear God," she muttered sheepishly, as she remembered that she still didn't have a sim card nor a phone in her house. "By chance, do you sell any sim cards here?"

The man took one from behind the counter and handed it to her. "Our welcome gift to you. It's only valid for 2 weeks. Make sure to activate it before it expires."

Arabella's heart warmed, such a kind man to be manning a store near her. She thought that maybe he could be her first friend in the city, well, save for Mrs. Rothschild in 10D. "Thank you, you've been very kind."

Her brows raised at the sight of the fridge containing eggs. "I'll get these as well. The rats kinda ruined my last set."

The man nodded and they exchanged goods for payment once again. "What did you say your name was?"

"Arabella. It's so very nice to meet you." They shook hands.

"The name's Bertie. Welcome to the Lower East Side, or as we call it LES." He smiled warmly in a way that made her feel welcome. "I hope you stay long." He then waved her goodbye.

Arabella went back to her building clutching the eggs and rat paper to her chest as she pocketed the free sim card. She banished all thoughts of paranormal activity and concentrated on the best locations to hide the rat paper. Rats are smart little creatures, and if they're used to the city, they would probably be knowledgeable about rat paper.

Huh. Knowledgeable rats. Only in New York City could one think of such a thing.

She detoured to the mailroom to get Mrs. Rothschild's letters. Tucking them under her arm, she managed to go through the building routine without any hitches. Knocking loudly, three times, on 10D's wooden door, Arabella patiently waited for Mrs. Rothschild to answer.

When she didn't, she knocked again and called behind the wooden panel, "MRS. ROTHSCHILD! IT'S ARABELLA FROM 10B! I GOT YOUR LETTERS!"

Still no answer. Maybe she fell asleep?

Arabella slid the letters beneath the door frame and strode to her apartment. Keys shuffling inside the turn, she balanced her bag on her shoulder, and groceries on her other arm. Opening the door, she flicked the lights on and placed the stuff on the counter, focusing on her phone and the sim card.

Turning the phone off, inverting it, and poking the small slit with her hairpin, the containment popped out and she placed the sim card inside. Flipping the phone, she surveyed her kitchen as she waited for it to breathe back to life.

"What the flying fuck?"

The solitary egg she placed between the dish rack and the cooking tool canister was cracked on the bottom, with its liquid leaking out onto the surface and into the sink.

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A/N: Hey!!! The second chapter is up! Kindly let me know what you think as I am still working the story out! I will try my best to update regularly as this is my entry for the ONC 2020! Thank you so much for reading.

If you liked this, consider giving it a vote, please!

UPDATE: Edited on May 4, 2020. Thank you to all those who gave me feedback and offered constructive criticism!

References: Music Backgrounds :)

https://youtu.be/U0c4YCeCqyM

https://youtu.be/_mVW8tgGY_w