The Building

It was the type you were advised to avoid visiting, let alone inhabit. Drafty and ugly brown in all the wrong places, the building was a corrupted product of shoddy construction. No one knew what it had originally looked like - though, when briefly used as an office hub for film work around the area, the walls had glowed with health.

Today, folks ignored its existence. But if you grew up where I did, you also half-remembered tales of miserable spirits swearing at their fate as they lingered in its mouldy hallways. And you wondered if any of them were true.

Indeed, this property's story was part of an anthology that chronicled our town’s descent into gaunt desolation. Work was drying up, the young were mowing greener grass in bigger cities, and thanks to stifled government grants, public institutions did very little for those who were left behind. You only survived if you had a loving family - if you could afford to keep one. There were no new babies here.

‘I want you to take this to the old production building,’ my boss said one grey afternoon. He handed me an unmarked envelope stuffed thick with paper money. I knew better than to immediately rush away with it, so I waited, clutching the envelope in my right hand as though I was gifting him the cash. It was the kind of subservient patience my boss appreciated. He never answered a direct query from anyone he employed. It was always fealty first, questions later.

And it was vital for me to learn why I had to go there out of everywhere else. Surely there was more to do at his studio today, now that my boss - a filmmaker who, having finally renounced the town that spat him out like a loose gold tooth - was closing shop. There were drives and archives to pack, furniture to be turned over to the movers and files dating back to his first jobs in the industry to shred. I was recruited as an assistant from the youthful few who had stayed despite their best instincts, hoping that this would be my gateway out. The work was exhausting, humiliating; but it paid. It paid.

It was better than drifting around my corpse of a neighbourhood anyway.

‘This place swallows you whole, and that eyesore has sucked me dry for decades. I’ve kept business and house there since - since, my God, my very first film, can you believe it? Thirty years since! No, got to be resolved today. I’ve given ample notice. It’s the last I’ll be handing out, mind you.’ My boss steepled his fingers, lost in some unpleasant memory now that he’d finished his spiel.

I was flummoxed. To whom exactly was I supposed to turn over the money? As far as I knew, the film hub had fallen into disrepair the moment production wrapped, decades ago. There were no caretakers to wave angry sticks at trespassers in the area either. Had it indeed belonged all this time to my boss? And if so - who lived there?

As though he read my mind, my boss threw up a hand. ‘Run along. Hard to miss that living relic. And say nothing. Park the envelope, then get the hell out of there.’ He paused, eyeing me over his rimless spectacles. He was only fifty but in the time it took to wrap his affairs here, he’d aged. I examined his newest bald spot and wondered if he would drop more clues.

‘Leave before I change my mind about your continued employment with me, boy.’ Right, no questions. I exited, tucking the envelope mindfully into my jacket’s pocket.

The greyness leaked from the sky into the streets. Misty rain blurred the air like clouds of minute mosquitoes. The drumming of droplets on cars, roofs and walls heralded a new sickness for the season - if people were left to infect in this town. Most didn’t even stay to die here.

I stopped at a crosswalk for the street over, which would turn into the driveway leading up to the old building. Across from me, an elderly woman dozed in a wheelchair while her handler waited nearby for the STOP signal to change.

That woman was the first old person I’d seen in a while.

When the WALK signal appeared, I strode forward, craning my neck around as the handler pushed the wheelchair past me. The old lady was lucky. Like the babies, we had lost affordable care for vulnerable seniors. Most shifted to outside retirement communities and those that were abandoned were…well. I didn’t like to think about it. I supposed they had simply learned how to disappear on their own.

Funerals were an example of those erstwhile public services, after all.

My feet dragged as I entered the driveway. I never complained about the jobs my boss had previously set me, even the most ridiculous errands that taxed my strength and loyalty. He was my ticket out of here.

But today, my stomach churned. The old building loomed ahead, its leprous appearance slowing my approach even further. God, hadn’t anyone ever thought of demolishing it? It was truly hideous, with an evil look in its bare windows besides.

No - not entirely bare; when I walked into the premises, a faint light winked over the elevator. Someone rattled its cage door shut a few floors above. Not waiting to be waylaid by whatever spectre still haunted the structure, I dashed up the stairs.

I’d checked my phone before heading inside - my boss had finally texted where to deliver his so-called last offering. ‘Fourth floor, 402, through the mail slot. No chatting.’ Lungs burning from my run, I arrived at the fourth floor. There were two doors on this landing, and one was left open wide.

I stopped short.

Someone did live here. The apartment inside looked comfortable. I spied a blocky, warbling TV and an empty armchair with a small footrest. Vintage dressers lined the walls, crowned with pictures of a man who glared in every frame, and a scowling little boy.

‘Hello?’ I called out hesitantly. There was no answer.

Drop it, leave it, get out. Listen to the man when he tells you what to do, I scolded myself. ‘Um - alright, I have a delivery.’ Nothing. There was a tinkle as a breeze drifted across the living room; I spotted wind chimes made of wingless birds by an open window at the far end.

What quaint haven was this? By all indications, it looked like an eccentric with outdated taste in décor, but who was quite comfortable here, had simply popped out to grab the mail. They clearly weren’t bothered about nosy neighbours or intruders. A long-lived fool - or someone who knew just how many people avoided the building altogether, and had savvily taken advantage of the situation.

Why was my boss paying them?

I pulled myself together, slipped the envelope under a porcelain paperweight resting atop a table beside the front door, and after a moment’s thought, pushed the door shut as well. Better safe than sorry, absent resident.

‘Okay, enjoy!’ I shouted through the keyhole. Then I stepped back in astonishment when I noticed a neat sign on the closed door, proclaiming the mystery dweller’s name.

This was my boss’s father?

On cue, I heard the elevator rattle noisily again. And this time, it wasn’t just the cage - two floors down, someone was screaming.

‘No! NO!’

I flew down to the second floor landing. The elevator car had stopped halfway up towards the third, and though its occupant had managed to wrangle his door open somehow, he was in danger of falling into that terrifying abyss between compartment and corridor.

I stuck my head over the yawning darkness, peering at the stuck elevator. A lone bulb silhouetted a man with a hunched frame. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello?! Hello! I can’t believe this - I thought I was a goner!’ The voice croaked in relief; the man was well advanced in years. A thump and a protracted groan followed. Then his face appeared directly above mine. It was my boss’s face, lined with a thousand more crow’s lines and white hairs. The old man’s eyes, however, twinkled at me.

‘Ho! How do you feel about being the first visitor in years to this crypt of mine?’

I couldn’t help smiling back. ‘You’re lucky I was passing by, sir. I have to be honest, I don’t see folks like you in town these days.’

‘Ach. Some leave, others merge with legend before fresh blood charges in and it starts over again.’ He had to be hurting, bent over like that. His friendly grin, despite the situation, was admirable.

‘I’d love to stay chatting, son, but I’m scared of heights. Give us a hand, would ya?’

I looked around the landing, and spotted a heap of furniture down the corridor, strung with cobwebs. There was a long desk amidst the decrepit rest - this had to have been part of the old production office. I sprinted towards it, yelling ‘Wait for me!’ over my shoulder.

The desk wobbled a little, but it was heavy. I threw my back into pushing it towards the elevator. It was just as well the old man’s mood had lifted upon seeing his rescuer: he was humming with each scrape forward, and this was quite the motivator.

Praying that I would not set anything disastrous in motion, I managed to secure the desk at an incline, so it formed a steady slide from the car to the landing. ‘Can you sit over the edge, sir? Don’t worry, I can support your back.’ A pause, before bowed legs in corduroy appeared. They looked unusually muscled, boasting pronounced calves.

I eased him cautiously onto the desk. Then, I anchored my arms around his middle. His slide to solid ground was anticlimactic.

‘Stand back, son!’ He punched the elevator button twice, and the car suddenly lurched upwards. I yanked him away as the desk crunched down abruptly. But it held itself on the open edge of the elevator shaft, jutting like a monstrous fang. The old man squeezed my shoulder, mopping his face with his other hand.

‘Happened before, but I was never inside that damned thing when it was stuck. Glad you came along. Whew!’ He fixed me with a penetrating stare. ‘What did bring you here?’

I looked back at him, my cheer draining quickly. ‘I had to drop off a package, sir.’ The old man used the hand on my arm to propel me fully towards him. His grip was unnervingly hard.

‘A package? You're not just some kid on the run - someone sent you?’

‘Um.’ My boss’s instructions looped through my mind. Say nothing. ‘I’ve only made a delivery, sir.’

‘Delivery.’ I could feel his knobbly fingers through my jacket. ‘No. Not in uniform. I don’t believe this tale. Who are you, really?’

Get the hell out of there.

I gave in. ‘Your son, sir. He said it was the last he would be handing out. It’s money, sir - lots of it in an envelope. Uh -’ I hurried along as his eyes flashed. ‘Your - your door was open… I’ve only left it on a table, sir. Not another step inside, I promise you.’

The father broke into a sudden cackle. I swung free, rubbing my bicep. Just how old was he? I was shivering with pain.

Not he - his laugh was a mean, ringing thing through that bleak building, dredging up ill-feelings of yore until the walls seemed to shake in bitter remembrance. As I said before, it was drafty in the wrong places and I could now feel an acrimonious chill start to bleed in from those unseen cracks.

‘That bastard. You’d never think so, boy, but he was as scrawny as you back in the day. Sneaking, snaking, sniveling his way around rich folks scouting us bumpkins. I told him there was no point, the town had its hooks in him and he wasn’t ever gettin’ out. It swallowed its old and ate its young.’

In an unexpected display of strength, he slammed a hand on the desk. His eyes shone with a terrible anger - and I recognized the glaring man from the picture frames in the apartment.

He was scaring me now.

‘But I’ll admit it threw me when he actually achieved something. A film crew, as a tea-boy. Hardly time before he was Mr. Big Shot himself, buying up lots and selling “work” to them local idiots. His idea of “giving back.” You’ve seen the good that’s done, boy.’

His fingers struck out - and grabbed my collar. I yelped.

‘There’s no point to it at all. The town. The town. You notice ‘em fogies vanishing without a trace? Circle of life. You think I want to end up like that? I saw it when I was a lad. I knew the despair. He could have taken me along. He chose to stash me like a cupboard keepsake after that first film, boy. Went over to the good place but his own father roamed the halls of a property he did nothing but shit on.’

‘He’s - he’s been sending you money!’ I gasped. The father’s hand had twisted my jacket into a knot so tight that I could feel my Adam’s apple start to give in. ‘Don’t lie!’

‘YOU don’t lie!’ He roared. ‘Can cold cash replace a father? Oh, I've used my share here and there, a man needs to live after all -’

His other hand joined its counterpart at my collar. I strained for breath, the air whistling tinnily from my chest.

‘But I received his message last week - “I’m done. I can’t afford you anymore.”’ He sang the words in a high voice. ‘Does he think he can completely cut the cord? I won’t! Not like this!’

I kicked out, hooking a leg around his ankle. We struggled together, and he won the battle, wrenching my head back by my hair. My back screamed - he had thrust me against the edge of the desk.

‘I’m just the messenger, talk to your s-SON!’ I squeaked. The desk was tipping forward into the shaft.

‘My son? My degenerate son?! You just see what I’ll do -!’

He was going to kill me. His rage had maddened him beyond reason. ‘Get - off - me -’ I gritted out, using what strength I had left to push upwards with my legs. He bellowed at me.

I finally caught him in the stomach with my knee. He staggered for a second, but his hand came searching again.

‘NO - LEAVE ME ALONE!’ I cried. I grabbed his shirt before he could, swung him around on the desk and shoved with everything I had. He tumbled across its surface, dropping off its opposite end.

The desk’s precarious position did not withstand the impact of our tussle. I glimpsed the father scrambling, shrieking crazily as he grabbed at nothing. He fell first into the maw of the shaft. A sickening thud echoed, followed by a thunderous crash as the desk succumbed to the same fate.

Get out of there. But how could I? I knelt, fists curled against the grimy floor. I had entered the building, wishing for nothing more than to leave immediately. Now, it would hold me by my crime forever.

My phone trilled. It was my boss.

‘Is it done?’ His voice seemed strangely soft. I stood, not daring to look down the ruined elevator shaft. I decided to tell him the first truth.

‘I’ve delivered the envelope, sir.’

‘You’re still there.’ A statement. Like he knew. But how could he? I could feel my heart stuttering in my chest, panicking at relating what had just happened.

‘Sir. I - it was an accident. He fell, there was nothing I could do -’ A frog lodged in my throat. ‘He got so angry. He choked me, sir… I had to fight him off.’

How stupid. Who would believe me? I could tell by the sharp inhale on the other end of the line that my boss certainly didn’t. With that, one more hope was dashed.

There was no way I was getting out of this place.

‘My father's gone, boy?’ My head hung. ‘He’s dead? Answer me!’

I squeezed my eyes shut. ‘Yes, sir.’ I waited for the call to drop, the police sirens to ring out any moment. They were the only working service that stayed prompt and punctual because they got to keep the guns.

‘I see. How interesting.’

What?

‘You realize you ought to be imprisoned? He was my only family.’

‘Yes sir.’

A pause. ‘Well then. I guess you’ll have to leave home immediately. I won’t say a word about this, boy, I know you. And I know how that hateful, abusive old crook was. He whipped me blue when I was a lot smaller, yeah? And look at me. Gave him the best life he could have had in this shit-hole. I’m a bleeding heart.’

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. ‘Sir?’

He actually chuckled. ‘Least I can do. Now, you clean up there. Make it nice…spick and span. Nothing hanging over my head. Then, back to the office. We’ll have to revamp your contract.’

I didn’t respond. I knew I was free as long as he didn’t report me.

So what did that make me?

‘A new life, boy. I’ll take care of you. But you already realize that, don’t you? You’re a great help. You do what I ask - proper form, no question. I like that.'

I swallowed dryly. Fealty first. He would forgive anything else.

‘Yes, sir.’ There was a faint creak somewhere in the building. Only the wind, I supposed.

‘I’m glad you understand. Not a word to anyone else. Our town can keep its secrets, and we’ll learn from it, won’t we?’

I thought we already had.

‘Yes sir.’

FIN