“Yes, I saw your ad on Loquo,” replied a deep monotone voice. “You must come today if interested. It’s number four Urquinaona, 2-1. Do you know where that is?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Come in an hour.” Click.
New to Barcelona from Asturias, Alex had only known Urquinaona as the stop to change from the red to the yellow line on the way to the beach. As the station’s escalator brought him to the surface, his face lit up at the sight of one of the few shaded squares in the city that was also a stone’s throw from Plaça Catalunya. Great location, he thought, crossing the street and passing the yellow metal barrier of some roadwork where two men stood smoking watching a third in a hole.
Near the end of the square, sandwiched between a bank and an Irish bar, was a large wooden door. Alex’s eyes immediately set on the two brass knockers molded into the shape of smooth and slender hands that hung limp and held what appeared to be an apple in their finger tips. Such ornamental fixtures were not that uncommon in Barcelona and above the dark wooden door was another common sight – a piece of chiseled stone. In this case, rather than the more popular rose or angel, it was a roaring lion’s head.
The gray stones of the building were embedded with glittering green specks and its design was typical of the modernist architecture found throughout the L’Eixample district of the city. Many of the artistic façades sought inspiration in nature with stone columns made to look like trees and patio doors that opened onto balconies with floral iron railings. This one hearkened back to the Middle Ages, designed to resemble a castle. On either side of a rectangular balcony, protruding like glass and steel turrets, were the rounded outside windows of the first two stories. Their stone roofs served as patios for the third floor with their straight iron railings and glass doors, while above was a row of arched windows and a shared, narrow balcony that looked onto the plaça. The thought of living in such a place made Alex hope he was the first, and the last, to visit as he pressed the button on the intercom. A crackle and a muffled “Si?” came through the speaker a second later. (Read More.)
“It’s Alex.” A crackle and a long buzz sounded as he entered a small, light gray entrance built more for a palace than an apartment building. Ivory colored frescoes ran down the middle of the sidewalls and ended at a polished rosewood and glass divider. Through the open door in the middle was a lobby adorned in more wood in an auburn light from a hanging chandelier. At the back sat a single red elevator between the first flight of stone steps and an empty booth.
The wooden elevator was about the size of a coffin and Alex closed his eyes to fight off feelings of claustrophobia. Imagining the rolling green countryside of northern Spain, he lost himself in the lush scenery as the rickety box slowly chugged up to the cranks of a struggling chain. An abrupt stop a minute later signaled a safe arrival. He pulled the doors in to open, twisted out and yanked them shut.
“Hello, I am Sergi.” It was the same deep monotone voice from earlier and Alex turned to find it belonged to a thin, hunched man in his mid-thirties whose skin was so pale, it looked gray.
“Hey, I’m Alex.”
“Nice to meet you. Please come in.”
“Nice to meet you, too. This is a fantastic building.” Inside the entryway for the flat and the one opposite from it was a stain-glass rendition of the patron saint of Catalunya. Alex was on the verge of commenting on it, when a bronze plaque for a doctor on the opposite door caught his eye. “That’s handy in case I get really sick.”
“The doctor died a few years ago and his son is trying to sell the office and our flat.”
“Really?” Alex didn’t like the thought of looking for another place anytime soon. He had done it twice already in his year in Barcelona and he hated the looking, running around, interviewing and waiting. It was worse than looking for a job.
“Don’t worry. No one wants it with the economic crisis and the housing market the way it is.” Sergi opened the front door and they entered a small foyer after which was a long corridor that stretched back and ended at thick, purple curtains covering French doors. “My last flat mate liked to go on the balcony and throw firecrackers at people, so now no one can go out there.”
“Um, okay,” replied Alex thinking the story a little strange.
“This is the kitchen.” The first door on the left revealed a room bigger than many actual flats Alex had seen. The tan and brown color scheme reminded him of something from the nineteen-fifties and the grease splattered walls and appliances showed it was in need of a good cleaning. Still, it came with a stove, refrigerator, microwave and an oven all in the same location.
“This is great,” was his response.
“Good.” Sergi moved the tour along to a large closet that stored a washer, a dryer and various opened boxes of detergent. Next was a freshly cleaned bathroom that was big enough to fit a tub, two sinks, a toilet and a bidet. Finally, at the end of the long corridor on either side of the thick curtains were two doors. “This is my office,” Sergi said pointing at a closed smoked glass door to the left. “And, this is the room.”
It was bright and spacious with a large oak desk, a queen-size bed and enough closet space for a drag queen. But what really got Alex’s attention was the area inside of the building’s glass and iron turrets where a plush chair looked out the ceiling high bay-windows onto the shaded plaça below. “It’s perfect,” he said.
“You want it?”
“At the price in the email?”
“Yes and no deposit. But you must stay one month.
You cannot leave before. Is that clear? It is not always easy to find quiet people.”
“No problem. I think I’ll be staying a while.”
His answer caused Sergi’s thin lips to curl into a satisfied grin. “Good. Here are the keys.”
“Okay, flat mate. How many people live in the building?”
“We are the only ones. The rest are offices or vacant.”
“I see. So, how long have you lived here?”
“Fifteen years. I was the doctor’s last flat mate. His wife had just died and he wanted company. That’s why the rent is so cheap.”
“And what do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I am a programmer.”
“Oh, me too! But I’m looking to get more into design and animation.”
“Yes, I know. You mentioned that in your ad. Maybe one day I’ll show you what I am working on, but right now I must leave town for a while. You can move in whenever you want.”
“Okay, and thanks.”
“No problem. Just remember, it is an old flat so it sometimes makes strange noises.”
***
The arrival of dusk dulled the embedded green specks leaving the building a singular raven black and the lack of lights in the windows made it stand out amid the brightness of the bustling plaça. Setting down his two stuffed, bulging suitcases, Alex rolled his sore shoulders and fiddled in his pockets for the keys. The steady stream of pedestrians and the music from the Irish bar next door reminded him why he’d wanted to live in the city-center.
The solid lock clanked open. He pushed the thick wooden door and stepped into the entrance. The only light came from the red elevator at the far back and Alex struggled with the bags as he rolled them past the frescoes, up the three stairs and through the rosewood divider to the empty lobby. Not trusting the rickety elevator to handle the excess weight, he braved the stairs and slowly trudged up the stone steps, anxious and excited to spend his first night in his great, new flat.
His arms burned and shook by the time he reached the room. Letting out a deep breath, he set the heavy suitcases down and strolled to the area by the rounded bay window. The chair looked so comfy. He sat down and leaned his head back to relax, gazing upon a sky that was a deep purple with the end of dusk and the beginning of night. The street lamps in the plaça below had all faded on, shading the black trees and benches in a soft white light. The bright and bustling Via Laietana came alive in the yellow and red lights of traffic and in the not too far off distance were the illuminated stone-spires of the Gothic Cathedral. Beyond them were five blinking lights of planes lining up to land over the dark castle on Montjuïc Mountain. Alex thought, what a view, as he closed his eyes and fell asleep to the quiet hum of the street.
***
It all began as a faint murmur in the distant background of a dream. He was the doctor and his blond, American friend, Dorothy, the patient. As she lay unconscious in a chair by the window, he stood over and looked at her longingly. He had never had such a beautiful girl in his room. Imagining the possibilities, a sinister smile crossed his face and he snapped off a latex glove. The murmur rose to a faint rumble. He stroked her smooth cheek. It was so soft, he could just bite it. Low growls and scratches stopped him from acting on his desires. Looking around, he saw nothing so he went to kiss her closed mouth.
***
The raging bark of a vicious dog erupted, opening his eyes. “Coño!” he cursed sitting up in bed, shaking from the dream. “Sergi, did you forget to tell me about the dog?”
No reply.
“Serrrrgggiiiii!”
The growls and snarls faded from the hall outside his room. Alex counted to ten. There was no sign of the snarling beast. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the heavy English-Spanish dictionary from his desk and crept across the room, slowly opening the door. The smoked glass of his flat mate’s office across the hall glowed a pale white and Alex knocked. “Sergi, are you here?”
He heard no reply, so he went for the handle, only to find it gone. Bending down and looking through the hole, he saw the light belonged to a ceiling projector and heard the humming of computer fans. “Must just be some program of his,” Alex said aloud in an effort to reassure himself and returned to his room, setting the dictionary back on the desk. The old pipes groaned and the building moaned, but he heard no more growls or scratches as he lay awake and waited for morning.
***
The Irish bar next door was the size of a small church and decorated appropriately with organ pipes and stain-glass windows adorning its brick walls. Calling Dorothy during his lunch break, Alex asked if she wanted to meet there for happy-hour. She instantly agreed citing a stressful week teaching Spanish and Catalan kids. They had met through a language exchange some months earlier and he had fallen in love with her tall, blond, American good looks at first sight. Since then, he had become her drinking buddy and sounding board when it came to all issues pertaining to men. Seeing her on a wooden stool, the image of Dorothy at his mercy flashed and his stomach sunk. “You okay, Alex?” she asked.
“Yes, sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night.” He told her about the dog, but left out the dream.
“There’s always something with you. What you wanna drink?”
“I think I’ll have a beer and a chupito. I want to get drunk tonight.”
A few tequila shots and multiple beers later, he had accomplished his mission. “Wha’ time is it?” Alex slurred.
“It’s still early, almost two. Why?”
“I should go home and sleep.”
“What about the dog?”
“Fuck the dog! I’ll kick it out the window onto the plaça.”
“Alex!”
“I’m too drunk to care, Dorothy. We see each other soon?”
“Sure, call me if anything strange happens.”
“I’m sure nothing will.” Staggering out the bar and walking next door to his flat, he threw up three times under the gaze of the stone lion before lifting his head and spitting. Feeling better but still too wasted to think, he let instincts take over and guide him though the door and the lobby, up the stairs and into his flat, down the long hall and into his room where he passed out to silence.
***
Over the next few weeks, Alex and Dorothy met every night at the Irish bar. He had gotten used to the old flat’s creaks and moans and forgotten all about strange dog until the loud bang of a hammer and stomping footsteps rudely woke him up one Saturday morning. Walking out of his room hung-over, he discovered Sergi with a towel wrapped around waist. The few black strands of hair on his head were slicked back, making him look like a bald, soaked rat. “What’s up? You’re home I hear,” Alex said.
“Yes. Sorry to wake you. I was having problems with the door to my office. I lost the knob.”
“I see.” Alex was too tired to comment on such a bizarre explanation. “Sergi, are there animals in this building?”
“Animals?”
“Yes, I heard something my first night.”
“Not in this building; maybe in the hostel next door.
Like I said, it’s an old apartment, so the noise carries.”
“I see.”
“Look, I must get dressed. Is everything okay?”
Mulling over what to say, Alex replied, “Yeah, things are good. I’m all settled in.”
***
The following Thursday he returned home burned out from a hard day’s work. Fixing himself a can of soup and a drink, he sat at the small kitchen table and stared at the placement of the flowered tiles on the walls. Consisting of five mustard petals around a brown center, they were sometimes clustered in a square, in a circle, or in a diagonal line. Sometimes, they simply stood alone. The number of grease-splattered plain ones that separated them ranged from one to ten. And no matter how he looked at it, he saw no logical pattern for why they were where they were.
How long he had zoned out attempting to figure out the riddle of the tiles, Alex did not know. He could barely keep his eyes open. His cold soup sat untouched on the table so he got up and dumped it in the sink, set the bowl atop the stack of dirty dishes, and walked out into a long corridor. He got no more than five steps before the bulb midway down flashed, popped and went dark.
The lights of the city and the moon shone through the large bay window of his room casting a flickering light on the walls and floor. The hall seemed to be stretching, pushing the room further away as the lights dimmed. Surrounded by darkness, the walk had become a long march and his legs labored with each step like when he had to change from the yellow to green line at Passeig de Gracia with its three block tunnel. Finally making it to his door, he fell to his hands and knees and crawled into his room. Struggling to his feet, Alex looked to the window and shivered. A slender man in a white smock stood at the side of a doctor’s chair. His back to Alex, he blocked all but the legs of the person with him. Judging by the slender and smooth calves, Alex believed it to be a woman. “Hey,” he said.
The man didn’t answer nor move.
“Who are you?”
No response.
Alex didn’t know what to do, run or try to see who the man was. He chose to do neither and stayed put. “What do you want?” he shouted.
The man slowly turned around. His loose skin hung from his skull like drapes and he had a black mustache so thin and straight it looked drawn. Stepping aside, he revealed a woman whose beauty made her sleeping body glow like the wooden and golden statues of the Virgin Mary at the Santa Maria del Mar. “Isn’t she lovely? Haven’t you dreamed of having a woman like this at your finger tips, Alex?”
***
A bloodcurdling scream and a series of vicious barks caused Alex to fall out of the chair and onto the sticky kitchen floor. He listened for the woman or the dog. He heard only the steady drip of the leaking faucet plop against the stack of dirty plates. His eyes focused the flowered tiles, where there once was a circle, there was only one and where there once a square, there was none. He shifted focus to the counter and his jaw dropped at the sight of a carving knife hacked into an apple. Jumping up, he sprinted out the door to a flat-shaking slam.
He immediately went to the Irish bar for a drink. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” said Dorothy with a gulp of beer. She had become a regular barfly there since the arrival of the new Argentinean bartender.
“I think I have – Well, not seen, but...but heard,” Alex replied taking a shot of tequila.
“Really! I love ghosts. I did the haunted tours in London and Prague.”
“Well, I don’t and I need another shot.”
“What happened?”
“I told you about the dog, right?” Alex detailed the night’s events while smoking almost all of Dorothy’s cigarettes.
“And you’re sure your flat mate’s not home?”
“I haven’t seen him. Besides, I was in the kitchen the whole time.”
“Hmm, that is strange. But I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.” Dorothy sipped on her beer and her eyes sparkled at a thought. “I’ll stay the night with you.”
“What?”
“It’ll be fun.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Come on, Alex.” She punched him in the arm for encouragement.
“I don’t know...”
“You have to go back and get your stuff anyway. Plus, I just got pepper spray.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I didn’t tell you? I got my purse snatched in El Raval last week. I’m not getting robbed again, you know?”
“Barcelona is going to shit.”
“Don’t be so negative! Can I stay or what?”
Alex wanted to refuse and find a cheap hotel to stay in, but the enthusiastic look in Dorothy’s eyes told him that wasn’t an option. He was never able to say no to her, which explained the increased frequency of hangovers he had been waking up with in the mornings.
***
At the door to his flat a sense of dread not unlike the times he’d had to tell his father about a poor mark at school, flooded through him. Looking at the image of St. George standing above the vanquished dragon, he called on the courage to say what he had been feeling since they left the pub. “I really don’t think we should, Dorothy.”
“Come on.” She put her soft hand on his and inserted the key into the lock. “Ghosts can’t hurt you, I promise.”
“How do you know?”
“I told you, I’m like a total ghost-freak. I think I’ve seen every documentary on the Internet.” She slowly forced him to turn the key. The lock clicked and the hinges squeaked. They stepped into a silent flat and the lights from Alex’s room flickered on the walls and the floor. A draft whooshed down the corridor, slamming all open doors, bringing pitch blackness. They shrieked and jumped into each other’s arms. “That was freaky, huh?” Dorothy laughed nervously as they entered the kitchen.
With the flip of a switch, a bright light shone that forced their eyes to adjust. When they did, there was neither an apple nor a knife to be found. Meanwhile, the flowered tiles were back to their original random places. Rubbing his eyes, Alex said, “I swear there really was a knife,” as doubt in his own sanity set in.
“I believe you. No one could’ve made that up,” she replied following him down the corridor.
“Aren’t you the least bit scared?”
“Of course, but it’s like totally exciting too, right?”
“Not really,” he said now standing at his closed door.
His heart pounded and his palms became clammy at the thought of what awaited on the other side.
“Shall we?” Dorothy didn’t wait for an answer, turned the knob and entered the room. “All clear,” she said and Alex quickly followed her inside.
He immediately went to the switch for the floor lamp, a spark and a pop and the bulb went dead. “Coño,” he cursed.
“It’s alright. We can see fine. Do you have something I can wear?”
Walking to the large closet, he took out clean sweats and a t-shirt. “Here you go.”
“Thanks. Going to the bathroom to change.”
“Okay.” Alone in his room, Alex went to the chair by the window. Barcelona was enveloped in a light drizzle that blurred the white lights of the plaça and distorted the illuminated spires of the Gothic Cathedral. Looking at the silhouette of the castle atop Montjuïc Mountain, he saw the doctor’s face flash in the glass. A gust of wind smacked the window and rattled the steel frames. He stumbled back and slammed into the edge of the desk.
“Are you okay?” asked Dorothy looking at a face whiter than the moon.
“Not really,” He clenched his stinging thigh. “Look, Dorothy...”
“Alex, don’t say anything. Let’s just go to bed and see what happens. At least we have each other if anything gets too crazy.”
“But aren’t you worried I might try something?”
“You? You’re too nice. Besides, I’m a light sleeper.”
***
Waking from a deep sleep, Alex got up and slowly strode to the other side of the bed, moving with a calmness that suggested he had done it before. He stood over Dorothy and watched her sleep, blissfully unaware and spread out like a star. The calmness gave way to the giddy excitement of doing something bad for the first time and his skin tingled. He snapped off a latex glove, unveiling a slender hand made of brass. Holding it to the window, slowly moving the fingers, he admired its shiny beauty and smooth perfection. The whiskers above his lip thickened into the beginnings of a mustache and he smiled sinisterly. The giddiness grew to a buzzing rush at the thought of doing something dirty and his blood raced through his veins. Gently stroking her smooth cheek with the back of his cold hand, he listened to her murmur. He imagined sick and demented acts. The rush reached a burning desire to act on his dark fantasies and his eyes widened in anticipation. He could wait no more. Bending down, he kissed her slightly open mouth. A growl vibrated off the walls. He stood and turned. A snarling Yorkshire terrier crouched at the foot of bed. Alex went to kick it out the window. The dog’s claws scratched the floor as it skidded and charged.
***
After ransacking the kitchen drawers for some tools, he went to smoked glass door of Sergi’s office. Staring at a hole where a handle was supposed to be, he kicked it to test the lock - it didn’t budge. He gritted his teeth and jabbed a long flathead screwdriver between the door and the frame, pushed and pried. The wood splintered. He took the hammer and banged the screwdriver’s handle like a construction worker on a caffeine rush. Splinters turned to cracks. Lowering his shoulder, he slammed into the door and crashed through, the shot of pain he felt reminding him that this wasn’t a dream. “What’s going on, Alex?” yawned Dorothy.
“I’m getting to the bottom of this,” he declared entering an office that smelled of stale vomit and old booze. The projector overhead beamed a streaming code on a black screen consisting of strange red letters and symbols. It was unlike any computer script or language Alex had ever studied or seen.
“Looks like someone else was here.” Dorothy pointed to a desk best described as a disaster and two empty glasses next to a half-drunk bottle of whiskey.
“Maybe he has a friend?”
“Hmm, maybe.” She took a book from the shelf and read the back and cover. “My Catalan’s not all that great, but I think this is about magic and spells.”
“This is insane.” Alex stormed out with his mind racing at what it all meant. Back in his room, he took an empty suitcase from the closet. “Dorothy, we really should find someplace else to stay the rest of the night.”
“Alex – It’s almost five in the morning. There’s no point in leaving now. Why don’t we Google this place and see what we can find out?”
“I just want to leave, you know?”
“You’re not the tiniest bit curious?”
“No,” Alex threw a pile of clothes still on the hangers onto the bed.
“Can I search?”
“Go ahead. I’m getting out of here.”
“Let’s see.” Dorothy typed in the address and hit enter - nothing but listings for apartment and hotel rentals.
“Hmm … What else do we know?”
“There was a doctor who lived here. Maybe he has something to do with it.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Some strange dreams I’ve been having.” Alex zipped up the first suitcase and went for a second.
“You know his name”
“No.”
The door slammed. Alex dropped the clothes in his arms as every hair on his body hair prickled. Slowly turning around, he found Sergi standing in the shadows of the entrance with a carving knife. “What do you think you’re doing, Alex?”
“I’m leaving.”
“No you aren’t. You must stay one month.” Sergi stepped into the light. “You shouldn’t have broken into my office.”
“What the fuck, man? Have you been here all this time? Did you stick that knife through an apple?”
“Do not accuse me of such things,” he said stabbing the long blade in the air at Alex for emphasis.
“If you didn’t – Who did? “
“My special friend. I think you’ve already met, but let me properly introduce you. Your room used to be his private office.”
Alex stared at Sergi extend his hand as if someone other than the wall was next to him. “What the fuck are you talking about? There’s no one there.”
“He’s being shy, but you have seen him, haven’t you?”
“Are you crazy?” Dorothy shouted as she inched towards the desk.
Sergi flashed the knife and hissed, “You! Don’t move.”
“You can’t stop us from leaving.” Alex showed the screwdriver.
Sergi held up the bigger blade. “Yes, I can, and I will.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You see, as long as I bring him someone once a month to – let’s say – play with, I can stay here.” He explained how the ghost preferred women tenants, but settled on Alex after Sergi had failed to land any in three months. He nodded to Dorothy. “But he’s glad he did now with her here.”
“And the dog?” Alex asked.
Sergi’s face softened. “It belonged to his last patient. It started barking and woke up the owner. It was the only time he ever killed anything.”
“You made a deal with a ghost to stay here?”
A wide smile crossed Sergi’s pale face revealing a mouth full of yellow teeth. “Yes, how else can a person afford to live in Barcelona?”
The sentence hung in the air like a bad punch line and Alex gazed into his flat mate’s black eyes. “You’re insane.”
“Am I? Or is it you who’s crazy?”
The two of them were locked in a high-noon stare. Dorothy seized the moment and grabbed the thick concise Spanish-English dictionary on the desk, flinging it like a discus at Sergi as he made a menacing first move towards Alex. The loud smack of heavy book hitting the tiled floor made him jump back and he scanned the room. His eyes fixed on the blue book at his feet.
Alex gripped the screwdriver and made his move.
Sergi slashed the knife at him and hissed like a rabid cat.
“Easy there,” Alex said stepping back with his hands up.
Sergi’s eyes wide with rage, he turned to Dorothy. “You’ve asked for it now, bitch.”
A steady stream of pepper spray hissed but he didn’t scream. Dorothy jumped on Alex’s bed and pressed the nozzle, pushing towards the crazy Spaniard until he dropped the knife, clutched his face and collapsed onto the ground. She stopped spraying. “Come on,” she said, taking Alex’s hand and dragging him to the long corridor away from the eye-stinging fumes of the pepper spray and the wailing ex-flat mate. “You can stay at my place. Don’t worry; I won’t pull a knife on you, unless you don’t do the dishes.”
The words were followed by one last slam of a door as they ran out of the flat, down the stairs, and through the dark lobby to the street. Dawn had set on Barcelona, covering the plaça across the street in a fine mist and at a traffic signal, a taxi with a green light signaling its availability waited. They jumped in the back. “Rambla Poblenou,” Dorothy said.
“Vale,” replied the driver as Alex turned and watched the dark, castle-like building of Plaça Urquinaona recede from sight. Finally far enough away from the terrifying place to feel safe, he turned and looked at the driver’s reflection in the rear-view mirror. Above his lip was a black mustache so thin and straight it looked drawn.
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