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Nene is proud of her apartment. Nuzzled between two other buildings, it’s easy to tell that the place has history. Only four stories high, with accents of Victorian architecture decorating the entryway and windows. The brick siding is faded in some places and darkened in others. Located on the outskirts of downtown, it’s a short walk to the nearest bus stop. It has heating problems, and air conditioning issues, and the plumbing isn’t the best, and it takes ages for the shower to warm up, and there’s no elevator, and there’s rumors that somebody was killed in this building, but it’s nothing Nene can’t handle. The college dormitories she stayed in freshman year were far worse, she’s just grateful to have her own place.
The interior is decorated lovingly. The studio has a dark oak coffee table with decorative legs sitting between an old couch and a small cabinet holding the television. Bookshelves are pushed against every available wall, filled to the brim with books and memorabilia. Nene’s bed is placed in the corner of the room, covered with heaps of blankets and pillows. The walls are covered with paintings found in thrift stores, vintage postcards, and cheesy rom com movie posters. A large weeping fig is nestled in the corner, and more small plants sit on the windowsill. Strategically placed lamps give the space a warm glow.
The most heavily used area of the apartment, though, is the desk across from her bedside. Papers are strewn across the surface in a sort of organized mess, and the lampshade covering the light at the corner of the desk is crinkled from falling off multiple times. A cup meant to hold writing utensils sits unused as pencils and pens lay about the desk. Notebooks filled with diary entries and short stories are stacked off to the side. Little marks cover the polished surface where sharpies bled through paper.
Nearing the end of her third year, Nene is studying creative writing at Kamome University. She chose the major in hopes of one day becoming a full time author, but with the end of the semester approaching, she doesn’t have a second to herself. Between trying to pass calculus, writing her final portfolio, and working mornings at the coffee shop, Nene is barely hanging on.
That’s why it took her so long to notice. It started small, barely noticeable. A hanging picture frame slightly crooked, a wrinkle in the rug under the coffee table, knick knacks on the bookshelf falling over. Things that are only noticed in passing, quickly fixed and forgotten.
Things escalate rather quickly.
It’s a Monday morning, and Nene barely wakes up in time for her 9:00 A.M. class. Buried under a mountain of blankets, she blinks into consciousness. Registering the light filtering through her thin curtains, she rolls over and reaches for her phone to check the time.
8:51.
Gasping, Nene scrambles to get out of bed, tangling her legs in her sheets and half-falling to the floor. With her legs on the bed and her back on the floor, she groans. Why didn’t her alarm go off? Did she sleep through it? When did she go to bed again?
After taking a moment to wallow in self pity, Nene stands up and gets to work. Throwing on the first sweater she sees and pulling on the pants left on the floor in her sleepy stupor, she rummages through the drawer of her bedside vanity. She rips a brush through her hair until it stops resembling a bird's nest and clips in her signature horn-like barrettes.
Already calculating how late she’ll be if she stops for coffee and how much of an asshole she’ll be if she shows up late with coffee, she stuffs textbooks and pencils into her backpack. Shoving her feet into her shoes and throwing on a coat, Nene blindly reaches out and feels around the dish next to the door for her keys.
What?
Nene pauses. Glancing at her hand, she finds that her keys are very much not in their designated spot. The only reason she even has a designated spot for the keys is because she lost them one too many times and ended up being late for a date with one of the hottest guys she’s ever seen. Ever since then, she has religiously kept them in this dish. This small green dish. On the table next to the door. Where they are currently not.
Whipping her head around, she scans the kitchen counters. Nothing. The coffee table. Not there. Her desk. Nope. Huffing in frustration, she goes to check between the couch cushions. Halfway there she realizes that her shoes are dirty and the rug under the couch was sixty dollars. Turning and lifting her knee to begin untying the laces, Nene freezes.
There, on the table next to the door, in the dish, are her keys. Where, as of one minute ago, they were not. Narrowing her eyes, she puts her foot down slowly. She’s struck with a sense of unease as she stands perfectly still and listens for any signs of an intruder in the apartment.
The only sound is the ticking of the clock on the wall.
The clock that reads 9:00.
9:00?
Shit.
Nene snatches her keys out of the dish and decides that whatever paranormal bullshit is going on here is not worth failing calculus. She barely makes it to the bus.
-
After dragging herself through a calculus lecture half-conscious, immediately going to the nearest coffee shop and ordering four shots of espresso, and then somehow making it back home, Nene sits down at her desk. Opening her laptop and clicking on her lamp for extra lighting, she begins to work on her portfolio.
Reviewing where she left off and deciding what to work on, the espresso starts to take effect. As she begins writing, she settles into a steady focus. Typing without really thinking, ideas and words flowing onto the page. Her second essay for the portfolio is a creative writing essay, and she decided to tell a story of a princess who ran away from home in search of freedom and adventure. She created an outline the last time she worked on it, and now she was putting the ideas into words. Word by word, she begins to imagine the story real-time. A gothic castle surrounded by gardens of roses under the night sky. Faint footsteps sounding in an empty corridor. A figure dashing through the garden in the short time between the guard's shift changes. Once safely outside of the castle grounds, the princess runs as far as possible into the surrounding wood, only stopping when she arrives at a small pond. The surface is calm, reflecting the night sky beautifully. The princess gazes at her reflection, and knows what she must do. Her long, golden hair is a dead giveaway to her status. Unsheathing the dagger that she stole from her father, she gathers her hair into one hand. Steeling her nerves, her face changes from one of apprehension to one of determination. She could do this. She presses the dagger to her hair and takes a deep breath. She would cut it on the count of three. One, two—
The lamp turns off.
Snapped out of her thoughts, Nene blinks a few times. The lamp turned off?
Cautiously reaching over, she turns it back on.
That was weird. Nene really doesn’t know much about electronics, but she assumes it was caused by the power in the building being old and weird or something. She goes back to writing.
Three. Sawing the dagger through her hair, she’s left holding the remnants of her royal upbringing. Everything is real now. She is seriously running away. Going back is no longer an option—not that she ever would. She holds no fond memories of that castle. She figures any evidence that her appearance has changed will do her no good, and ties the lock of hair up with string and hides it in her bag. They will surely search here when they realize she is gone. Right, they will be searching for her soon. Filled with urgency once again, the princess fetches her compass. To her knowledge, a town could be found directly north east of the castle. Standing up, she prepares to keep moving when a figure across the pond catches her eye. Narrowing her eyes, she sees—
The lamp turns off again.
Nene’s gaze snaps to the lamp, eyes narrowed. She turns it back on. She stares at it for a good minute before slowly shifting her attention back to her screen.
She sees-
It turns off again.
This is definitely not because of the building. Annoyed that she was snapped out of her stream of thought once again, Nene turns the lamp back on. It turns off immediately this time. Exasperated, she turns it back on. It turns off.
At this point, she’s too annoyed to be scared of the prospect that she is in the presence of a supernatural being right now. She’s just trying to write her goddamn story.
On.
Off.
On. Off. On. Off. On. Off—
She slams her fist on the desk.
“Cut it out!”
On.
It stays on.
Huffing with annoyance and a bit of satisfaction, she gets back to work.