The Haunting at Number 9

The Haunting at Number 9

It was the autumn of 1979, the year the evenings in the town of Idrija came earlier than they should have.

The sky seemed the color of mercury; glittering silver with a touch of blue grain.

Mimi and Paula lived in a narrow apartment building at Number 9, a three-floor relic with concrete stairways that echoed like a railway tunnel.

The apartment was cosy and stuffed with bobbin laces, laced tablecloths, embroidered pillowcases, and crocheted ornaments, each corner wrapped in a delicate web of their shared past. The scent of old linen lingered in the air.

Mimi and Paula had spent most of their lives bobbin. The sound of the spindles had once filled the rooms like music. But lately, their eyes had grown tired, the fine threads too thin for their fading sight. The lace remained unfinished, patterns half-formed.

The sisters shared a second-floor apartment with their Siamese cat Lola, a sleek creature with blue eyes like shards of glass. Mimi often said Lola behaved like a dog. She followed the sisters on every step and came at once, when summoned. She slept in Mimi’s bedroom on her own mattress. When the sisters sat at their meals, the cat would sit on the kitchen bench, looking at their lips as if following the conversation intently. Paula thought Lola was very smart but overprotective. She would growl at persons she didn't know or didn't fancy.

The sisters were content in their quiet way.

Mimi, the older, taught music at the local primary school; Paula worked at the post office. Evenings, they’d sip coffee in front of the TV, listening to music; Abba, Boney M, or the news murmuring about cold fronts and fuel shortages.

Only Lola refused peace.

She had discovered a new game: leaping from their balcony railing to the neighbor’s, a narrow gap of just two meters across the courtyard. There, she’d prowl among Mrs. Sket’s flowerpots — geraniums, rosemary and a basil plant the woman treated like a child.

Mrs. Sket did not forgive trespass.

One bright afternoon, as Paula was washing the dishes, the old woman’s voice shrieked from across the balcony: “Keep that beast away from my flowers!”

Lola was already crouched among the geraniums, tail twitching. Before Paula could call out, a splash of water landed squarely on the cat’s back. A sharp yowl filled the air.

Paula burst out onto the balcony, red-faced: “Are you out of your mind? You could have e killed her!”

Mrs. Sket glared from her side, apron soaked: “Keep your devil-cat home. She digs where the dead sleep.”

The words struck oddly — where the dead sleep. But before Paula could answer, the neighbor slammed her balcony door shut.

That night, the apartment seemed different. The radio hissed with static. Oblique stripes crisscrossed the TV screen. Lola, usually a mischievous rascal, hid under the sofa, pupils wide. At 2:47 a.m., she began to howl with a deep, hollow sound that didn’t belong to her small body.

Mimi woke first. The air felt thick, heavy. The curtains stirred though the window was shut.

“Lola?” she whispered. “Is it an earthquake?”

The cat sat in the doorway, her fur bristling, eyes fixed on the mirror. In the centre of the hall the laces were piled in a heap. Two lace ribbons were dangling from the chandelier. A ribbon with embroidered daisies stuck on the picture frame.

Paula joined her sister, shivering in her nightgown. Together they followed Lola’s gaze.

In the mirror’s dim reflection, behind their own pale faces a figure stood in the hallway. Tall and gray, like smoke trapped in glass. Then the figure moved, turning toward them slowly.

Lola hissed, her back arched. The chandelier above them flickered. And in that split second of darkness, Paula saw the mirror crack a thin fracture down its centre. She gasped in horror.

When the light steadied, the figure was gone.

Mimi said irritatedly: ”Whatever possessed this cat?”

Paula stammered: ”Haven't you seen?”

“Seen what?” said Mimi, utterly annoyed by picking the laces from the floor.

“And how could Lola possibly make such a mess?” wondered Mimi trying to reach the laces on the chandelier.

“She couldn't,” answered Paula curtly.

******** 2 *******

A week passed since the night the mirror cracked.

Autumn pressed closer. The fog rolled down from the hills and lay over the town like a white, damp quilt.

The apartment smelled of roses, coffee and old linen. Paula, in spite of Mimi’s strong objections, had draped a lace shawl over the mirror. Mimi was adamant there was nothing wrong with the mirror, but sometimes, when morning light hit it, Paula could still see that thin crack beneath.

Lola no longer leapt to the balcony. She slept under the radiator, tail coiled tight, ears flicking at things unseen.

Then one morning, Paula unfolded the newspaper and brightened.

“Mimi! Look! I actually won something!”

Her name was printed on the crossword page in neat black type:

PAULA BENKO – IDRIJA.

Winner of a one-week vacation at Hotel Seaside, Izola.

Paula laughed, the sound cheerful: “That's good news.”

Mimi smiled happily and brewed two small cups of Turkish coffee. They sat at their round table by the window, the radio murmuring soft pop songs. The smell of coffee permeated the morning: rich, bitter and real.

As always, Mimi turned their Biedermeier cups upside down on the saucers and waited for the grounds to settle. She did it half in jest, half from habit.

When she lifted Paula’s cup, the pattern inside looked like a wave, dark and curling.

“It’s the sea,” Paula said joyfully. “That’s a good sign.”

Mimi squinted: “Or a storm.”

They laughed, but uneasily. When Mimi read her own cup, her expression changed. The grounds had formed something like a handprint. At its edge, a curved mark or a broken circle.

She said quietly: “It means parting. Or an ending.”

Paula frowned: “You and your omens. It’s just coffee, Mimi.”

But Lola hissed from under the radiator, eyes fixed on the covered mirror.

A faint drip-drip-drip echoed from the balcony, though outside the sky was clear.

Mrs. Sket leaned from her balcony to shake a rag. She caught sight of them and smiled disdainfully: “Off to the seaside, I hear,” she called. “Don’t bring that cursed cat back with fleas!”

Her words stung more than they should have. Mimi closed the window slowly.

That night, they packed Paula’s suitcase in silence.

At dawn, Paula stood in the doorway with her small valise, the train ticket tucked in her coat pocket. Lola rubbed against her leg and meowed a long, low sound.

Mimi kissed her sister’s cheek: “Call me when you arrive.”

Paula nodded, forcing a smile: “I will. Don’t let the cat out on the balcony.”

When the door closed, the apartment felt hollow, empty.

Mimi looked toward the lace-covered mirror. For a heartbeat she thought she saw movement behind the fabric, then dismissed the idea completely.

******** 3 *******

The train had taken Paula south toward the sea two days ago. Since then, the apartment felt wrong. It was too still, too silent, as if something invisible had been lurking and waiting.

Mimi kept the radio on at all hours to fill the silence. Lola wandered restlessly from room to room, tail twitching.

Late one afternoon, as Mimi hung laundry on the balcony, she heard the scrape of a window.

Mrs. Sket leaned out, her hair wrapped in a scarf.

“You owe for the water, Mimi Benko,” she barked. “Your sister used too much water this month, washing her filthy floors before she left.”

Mimi sighed: “That’s not my bill, Mrs. Sket. We share our bills. Talk to Paula, when she returns.”

“I most certainly will,” the old woman snapped. “That cat of yours drinks from my basin, too. I can tell she is bewitched.”

Lola, perched on the railing, hissed softly.

“Leave Lola out of this,” Mimi said. But the argument climbed, voice against voice, until Mrs. Sket slammed her window shut. A moment later, the window creaked open again, just enough for her to spit a final insult.

Then Lola leapt, a blur of white and shadow, across the narrow gap, landing neatly on the neighbor’s railing.

Before anyone could move, the cat bit.

A sharp cry echoed through the courtyard. Mrs. Sket staggered back, clutching her arm, muttering a stream of juicy Balkan curses.

Mimi called for Lola, heart pounding. The cat sprang back home, tail raised, defiant, unrepentant.

The next hours passed in uneasy quietude. Mimi sat by the window worried deeply.

At midnight, Mimi woke to a sound that made her sit upright. Water running. But the tap in the kitchen was dry.

She stepped into the hallway. A pile of laces lay on the floor. The covered mirror gleamed faintly in the dark. A shimmer moved beneath the lace, the suggestion of a face just behind the fabric. Mimi froze.

The whisper came next, almost inaudible against her ear: “She shouldn’t have thrown the water…”

Lola sat trembling at Mimi's feet. The lights flickered. By the time Mimi pulled the lace away, the mirror showed only her own reflection.

******* 4 *******

Morning came too bright, too ordinary. A train rattled in the distance.

Mimi tried to laugh at her nerves, her imagination, fed the cat, and went to the small market down the street. She bought milk, bread, and flowers to freshen the kitchen.

When she returned, the street was blocked by an ambulance and a police car. A small crowd gathered near the entrance to Number 9.

A uniformed policeman stepped forward, holding up a hand: “Do you live here, madam?”

Mimi nodded, her grocery bag trembling.

“There has been an accident. The tenant on the second floor, Mrs.Sket. She must have fallen from her balcony sometime this morning.”

Mimi’s throat went dry: “Is she…?”

“Dead, I’m afraid.” The officer glanced down at his notebook.

“Strange thing is, there were small cuts and bruises all over her hands and face. Not from the fall. Like she was struggling with… something.”

He hesitated, then added: “Neighbors say they heard cats fighting. Yowling and hissing. Right before she fell.”

Mimi looked up toward the neighbour’s balcony.

And there, nestled among the geraniums, sat Lola, glaring straight into Mimi’s soul.