Chapter Four

Birth

“Ah, shit,” Petra moaned, as she turned on the small TV set in her bedroom and noticed, with a sinking heart, that the reception there was also horrible. The images on the screen wouldn’t hold on for more than a few seconds without turning into a maze of white stripes and ecstatic. It also only tuned in the colors green and blue. “Does anything work in this ratchet house?”

She was hoping some sugary and superficial show would help distract her as she tried to fall asleep, as no matter how tired she was, images and flashes of the nightmares she knew she would have and the novelty and stress of her sudden change of life wouldn’t let her mind rest.

No such luck, it seemed.

Frustrated, she decided to go to the living room to see if the problem was a general one or just a particular issue with her room’s TV set.

Trying to be sneaky, so that Natasha wouldn’t insist on her eating or on them unpacking together, she quietly walked the hallway, avoiding to even glance at the portraits which, she was sure, had their empty eyes locked on her, feeling more deadly alive in the dark.

It was surprising and odd to notice that the entire house was, once again, silent and in shadow. Natasha was definitely not in the kitchen, unless she was an unnaturally quiet cook – one who enjoyed cooking without any lights on.

She shrugged. Natasha had probably finished her business while she was chatting with her mother and Olivia. She was probably eating in her room. After all, how long does it take to make a salad? It was actually a relief.

Making use of the lamp light that penetrated through the curtains and bathed the living room with shyness, she turned on the old TV.

Disappointment washed over her again, as she realized the problem, whatever it was, affected that TV as well. She wondered how Natasha managed to get over it and watch perfectly good shows in her set, as Petra recalled hearing perfect quality audio from the inside of her “badroom”.

Petra sighed in defeat.

She turned around, wishing to at least spend a few relaxing moments on the balcony, smoking a cigarette, enjoying the cold breeze and the quiet slumber of the city.

But, as she walked towards the glass door, her eyes were drawn to the beautiful shapes the light drew as it conquered the darkness of the inside. And in that moment, her eyes locked with the wall, right where the orange light hit it the strongest.

She was paralyzed in the spot.

It was the most peculiar thing she’d seen, and after everything she had seen so far, that was saying something.

There was a footprint on the wall.

Not a normal footprint either – it was long, way too long to belong to a normal person. No bone in the human body could have a shape like that. It looked unnatural, inhuman. No one would ever buy any shoe with that horrendous shape either. In fact, it couldn’t be that of a shoe, as she could clearly see the twisted shapes of something that perhaps was meant to be a toe. It was ugly, deformed, terrifying. Right there, drawn in black on the wall of her living room.

“What in the world…”

She walked closer to it, even though she really didn’t want to. Her mind was screaming at her to run away as fast as she could, but she was mesmerized by it. It was so ugly, it was fascinating.

Petra touched the footprint on the wall and, what appeared to be black soot or some sort of weird black powder, glued to her fingers and fell to the ground. It was so much bigger than her hand.

It was then that she noticed, hidden in the shadow, another footprint, just like the one she was observing. It was slightly ahead, like something had actually walked there. Her heart beat against her ribs, strong enough to burst through them.

Taking a few steps back, she saw one more footprint, followed by another one and another one. They walked right up her wall into the ceiling, where they stopped, as if whatever made them suddenly vanished.

Her breathing was uneven, her eyes as wide as they could get.

This was not normal. This was grotesque.

She was shaken out of her trance when the light was suddenly turned on.

“Oh, I thought you were already asleep.”

She turned around immediately and took a deep breath of relief as she saw Natasha smiling at the door. Petra never thought she would be so happy to see her again that night.

“I tried to be as quiet as possible. Sorry if I woke you.”

“No, no you didn’t,” Petra replied, still a little bit lost in time and space. She quickly returned her eyes towards the disgusting footprints on the wall, almost hoping that it had all been a nightmare, maybe a trick of the light, maybe just the figment of imagination produced by a tired and stressed mind.

Once again, no such luck. They were still there, going all the way up to the ceiling.

“What the hell is that?” she asked, pointing to it and looking at Natasha.

Natasha slowly walked to her side, her hands on her hips and a look of curiosity on her face.

“Well, that’s weird,” she commented, not looking slightly frightened, only confused.

“Hell yeah, it’s weird. How did these…” Petra was at a loss for words. Calling it footprints would imply something had walked and left them there, but that was impossible. No living thing could leave such marks. “…things get here?”

Natasha shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I never noticed them before,” she answered, a perfect expression of innocence designed on her pretty features.

“You never-“ Petra sighed, wondering if she was just too paranoid or if Natasha was just too clueless. “This is not normal.”

“Nope, no it isn’t,” Natasha agreed, as she leaned closer to the lowest mark. She took a deep breath and turned to face Petra again. “Must’ve been my last house-mate. I told you she was a little cuckoo in the head.” She made a funny face and pointed her finger to her temple, as if to illustrate the other girl’s instability.

Petra frowned with doubt. “You mean the girl that used to live here had a habit of drawing weird looking shapes on the wall with soot?”

“I mean she had lots of issues,” Natasha explained, cracking a comforting smile. “She used to give pretty wild parties in here and they always went out of control. Her friends were just as loony as she was. You should see what they did with the furniture.” She chuckled at the memory. “I used to find it all over the building sometimes. They were seriously insane. Wouldn’t surprise me if they thought it was funny to draw shit on the wall.”

“And wouldn’t you have noticed?”

“Not exactly. I’m not really keen on spending much time in the living room when I’m all alone. But hopefully, that’s about to change,” she almost sang the last part and Petra couldn’t help but feel warmth at how happy her mere presence seemed to leave her.

“So…” Petra exchanged one last glance at the scary marks. “You really think they did it?”

“Of course, what else could it be?” she laughed and waved Petra’s concerns away. “They had a habit of doing weirdo stuff. Once, they wrote strange things behind that big cabinet and behind all the paintings, hanging them upside down and everything.” She shook her head, as if the memory was silly. “I think they were trying to scare me, but I never fell into those childish games. I have twin young brothers, I’m used to terrorists.”

Petra laughed with her. Now that Natasha was there, confident and cheerful, without an inch of worry in her and the lights were on, she found her previous concern pretty pathetic. She was, as always, embarrassed at her own paranoia.

Of course it was a forgotten prank. Natasha was right – what else could it be?

“Come on, I’ll help you clean it up.”

Both girls went to the miniscule store room, where all the cleaning tools were hidden. Petra cleaned the wall with a humid cloth while Natasha did the same to the ceiling, with the help of a clothed broom. It was a relief that the powder, whatever type it was, was cleaned away pretty easily.

Feeling grateful for the relaxed way Natasha made her feel, Petra even felt comfortable enough to accept her invitation at a late night cup of tea and both girls enjoyed a moment of fun in the balcony, as Natasha told Petra all the gossip she knew about their neighbors on the other side of the street. It was a pleasant night, if a bit chilly, and the warm teacup felt wonderful against her palms. They chatted in whispers, since the stillness of the night gave the impression that everyone would be able to hear their conversation.

After that pleasant hour, Petra was ready to go to bed, feeling much better about everything. Natasha seemed too eager to continue their little bonding session, but Petra wanted to finally rest.

When she finally laid her head on her pillow and closed her eyes, no matter how irregular her heart still beat, she felt peace.

She was almost, almost, lost in that familiar state of lightness, when she was quickly and violently pulled back to reality. Petra actually trembled, as if she had been levitating and someone had abruptly caused her to fall back on the bed.

Opening her eyes, still slightly dazed and confused, she tried to identify what had brought her back from her longed slumber.

Steps.

Slow, mechanic, patient and systematic steps.

Right outside her door.

She sighed, cursing Natasha’s hyperactivity.

Couldn’t she just go to sleep already?

One step. Two steps. Three steps.

Back and forth.

Heavy. Disturbing. Annoying.

With a heavy, impatient sigh, Petra quickly got up, fully intent on begging Natasha to just go to her room or, if she really was the kind of person who needed to pace back and forth to get sleepy, she could do it somewhere else in the house.

She opened the door and what greeted her was silence and darkness, as it so often seemed to be the case in that building.

Had Natasha managed to get to her room without Petra noticing her steps becoming more distant? Or was she lurking in the darkness, watching her, playing with her?

That was way too creepy a thought and it didn’t belong with the cheery, loud girl. It didn’t fit her.

Feeling uncomfortable and strangely exposed in the somber corridor, Petra returned to her room, went to bed and closed her eyes, determined to return to her previous peaceful state.

Until the footsteps returned.

She opened her eyes, deciding she would remain in her bed, unmovable.

Her heart raced, as if she was in danger.

Maybe she was having another nightmare.

If she was, she hoped she wouldn’t remember it in the morning, as usual.

She begged to fall asleep and she longed for the first warm sunrays to peek through her window and make her feel safe and silly.

Maybe she should’ve taken her pills.