The Café Apartment

After spending the evening chatting at the bar, we called it a night around ten thirty. Cam and Eddie had to open their shop the following morning. Since they didn’t live at the café apartment, they grabbed a taxi outside the bar. The walk back to my apartment wasn’t very far, fifteen minutes. Plus, there were still people walking around, so I felt safe.

I didn’t realize how much I’d had to drink until I started walking. Those cocktails tasted like fruit juice, it was easy to think there was no alcohol inside. When I reached my building, the front door was shut, and I had to put my shoulder into it to open it. The shop lights on the first floor were off, and the hallway was quiet. I looked at the stairs and cursed.

Step by step, I made my way up. I stopped on the fourth floor to take a breather. As I rested, I noticed someone standing at the far end of the hall. All I could see was their outline. I even doubted it was a person, as there was no movement.

But a beat later, the shadow moved. The person took a few steps toward me, inching their way beneath one of the dim hallway lights in the ceiling. It was a man. I could tell that much. He just stood there, facing me. My internal alarms went off, telling me to start moving.

The man started walking toward me, his gaze latched firmly on me. He was now directly under the ceiling light, which created a harsh shadow on his face, preventing me from identifying him. But one thing that was clear as day was his bloodstained white apron. A quick flash of light near his hand caught my attention just then. That’s when I realized he was holding a large meat cleaver. It glinted once more as he increased his speed, moving toward me.

I darted up the stairs, moving as fast as possible, all while keeping my right hand on the wall to steady myself. Within seconds, I was breathing heavily, and my thighs began to burn. But I couldn’t stop. I could hear his booming steps in the stairwell. Only one thought was running through my head: I did not want to be body number four.

The light at the end of the tunnel appeared as I approached the seventh floor. I can safely tell you that lucky number seven didn’t feel all that lucky that night.

I fell short and tripped as I stretched my leg out for the top step. Down I went, face first, hitting the floor hard. I lay there for a second or so, arms and legs flailing as I tried to get to my feet.

Get up, Ivy!

I ran down the hallway like my life depended on it. It did.

As I approached my door, my hand dug into my purse, searching for my keys. I dared not look back for fear I would see he was only steps behind me. I found my keys just as I reached my door. I stabbed at the keyhole over and over.

Why won’t the key go inside?

I looked down the hall, and he’d just appeared out of the stairwell. He stood there quietly, his body heaving as he drew breaths. A second later, he took off, running right toward me.

I screamed, and the key found its way into the keyhole. I unlocked the door, turned the doorknob, and slipped inside. I stood in the dark, sucking in breaths. Perspiration rained down the sides of my face and neck. I don’t know what compelled me to look through the peephole, but I did. No one was there. As I sighed in relief, his face appeared in view.

I screamed, waking Ann.

She switched on a lamp and looked at me like I was a crazed woman.

“There’s a man outside. He’s got a big knife, and he was chasing me. We need to call the police.”

Ann got off the sofa, pushing past me.

“No, don’t open the door. He’s—”

Ann opened the door, and there was no one there. The hallway was empty.