One, the wrong floor.
After his family had
finally fallen asleep,
Alex slung the backpack over his
shoulder and snuck out of the apartment,
easing the front door gently home so
it didn't slam shut.
The eighth floor hallway
looked drearier than ever,
without any sunlight coming
through its small windows.
Alex lingered on the door mat,
fighting the urge to return to his warm,
comfortable bed.
If you do that, he thought, you'll still
be the same old Alex Mosher tomorrow.
Weirdo, freak, loser,
is that what you want?
No, he whispered.
Before he could change his mind,
Alex started toward the elevator
at the end of the hall.
During the day, snippets of his neighbors'
lives leaked through the thin doors.
Muffled conversations,
the loud blare of televisions, Ms.
Garcia's son practicing his violin.
At this time of night, however,
the hallway was nearly silent.
The only sounds were a grimy light
bulb that buzzed like an angry hornet,
and a soft rustling from Alex's backpack,
as though its contents were
struggling to escape their fate.
Sorry, Alex thought,
feeling a wave of guilt.
I wish I didn't have to do this,
but it's better this way.
He reached the elevator and pressed
the down button on the cracked panel.
Far below him,
ancient gears squealed away the silence.
Alex winced and
peeked over his shoulder, hoping that the
sound didn't wake any of his neighbors.
The stairs would have been
a quieter option, but
Alex wanted to reach his
destination as quickly as possible.
So he didn't have an opportunity
to second guess his decision.
[SOUND] The elevator doors jerked
open with a pained squeak.
Smudged mirrors paneled the walls.
Alex stepped inside and
clicked the B button.
The basement was his favorite place
in the entire apartment building.
It was spooky and weird and packed
ceiling-high with towers of knickknacks
left behind by former tenants,
like a graveyard for unwanted items.
The most amazing part,
however, was the boiler,
an iron monster built nearly 60 years ago.
Alex called it Old Smoky.
It was his destination tonight.
The elevator doors closed and
the car began to descend in slow,
jerky increments.
Alex tapped his foot impatiently.
Though his backpack was
far lighter than usual,
it seemed to weigh him
down like an anchor.
I'll feel better after they're gone,
he thought.
Just toss them in the flames and
walk away.
Don't even stick around
to watch them burn.
Of course, Alex could have just dumped the
contents of his backpack down the trash
chute and been done with it,
but that seemed cruel.
Cremating them in Old Smoky
felt more honorable,
like setting the body of
a fallen warrior aflame.
Alex figured he owed them a good death,
at least.
After all,
he was the one who had created them.
The elevator stopped,
the doors creaked open.
Alex tilted his head in confusion.
Instead of the basement, an unfamiliar
hallway stretched out before him.
He checked the digital display
at the top of the elevator.
Four, must be broken, he thought.
Jabbing the B button with his index
finger, the elevator didn't move.
Alex sighed with frustration.
Looks like I'm taking the stairs
after all, he thought.
He stepped off the elevator and
headed toward the stairwell.
The fourth floor had the same
basic layout as the eighth, but
it was noticeably darker.
Alex glanced up at the light bulbs,
wondering if a few of them had burned out,
but they seemed to be working fine.
For some strange reason, however, their
glow didn’t radiate as far as it should.
As though the darkness of this particular
hallway was harder to penetrate
than the ordinary kind.
Just my crazy imagination, Alex thought,
ignoring the cold sensation
creeping down his spine.
The bulbs are probably just older.
He heard voices.
They were coming from the apartment
at the end of the hall.
At first, Alex thought it was
just the people who lived there.
As he got closer, however,
creepy music rose in the background and
Alex realized that the voices
belonged to characters from a movie.
He broke into a big grin as
he recognized the dialogue.
That's Night of the Living Dead,
he thought.
Alex had been four years old
the first time he saw the movie.
He was supposed to have been asleep, but
the strange sounds coming from the living
room had piqued his curiosity, and so
he had crept out of bed to investigate.
His mom and dad were cuddled up on
the couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn.
Alex hid behind his dad's easy chair and
trained his eyes on the television.
He had never been so terrified or
exhilarated in his life.
By the time that his parents realized they
had an unwelcome visitor, it was too late.
Alex was in love.
At the end of the month, his Thomas Trains
had been exiled to a bin in the basement,
replaced by toy monsters, plastic fangs,
and a stuffed ghost named Boo.
He dismantled his Lego fire trucks and
rocket ships, and
used the bricks to build a haunted house.
At the library, Alex insisted on
borrowing only the picture books
with little Halloween labels on their
spines, despite the fact that it was June.
Night of the Living Dead had been
his introduction to the world of
creepy things.
And for that reason,
it held a special place in his heart.
Hearing it now, an overpowering
desire to watch the movie again
fogged all other thoughts.
Alex approached the door of apartment 4E,
the static-filled soundtrack
reeling him in like a fishing line,
and pressed his ear against it.
It was one of the earliest scenes in
the movie, just before Barbara and
her brother are attacked by
a zombie at the graveyard.
I've barely missed anything at all,
Alex thought with excitement.
He had, for the moment, completely
forgotten about his backpack and
his reason for coming out tonight.
All he could think about was the movie.
He was desperate to see it.
If Alex had been thinking clearly,
he might have realized that
this didn't make any sense.
After all,
he could watch Night of the Living Dead
anytime he wanted to on his iPad.
Surely that was a better
choice than knocking on
strangers' doors in
the middle of the night.
Unfortunately, Alex was
not thinking clearly.
His green eyes, usually so sharp and
inquisitive behind their glasses,
had gone uncharacteristically flat.
And his mouth hung open
in a baffled expression,
giving him a striking resemblance to
one of the zombies from the movie.
Alex knocked on the door
with three quick taps.
A woman answered almost immediately as
though she had been expecting his arrival.
>> Well look at this, she said,
peering down at him, a visitor.
>> The woman was in her late 20s with
dark skin and short, spiky hair.
She wore all black and a lot of makeup,
especially around the eyes.
>> I'm sorry, Alex said,
his mind swirling.
What am I doing here?
I don't know why I knocked, I just heard.
>> What did you hear, she asked,
leaning forward with an eager expression.
Tell me.
>> The movie.
>> The woman smiled.
There were tiny gaps between her narrow
teeth, giving her the look of one
of those weird glowing fish that
prowl the deepest part of the ocean.
>> A movie,
she asked with genuine curiosity.
That's new, which one?
>> Alex gave the woman a strange look.
He could still hear
the television blaring behind her,
the zombie now banging on
the window of Barbara's car.
Yet she was acting like
she heard nothing at all.
>> Don't you know, Alex asked.
>> Why should I?
The movie's for you, not me.
>> She opened the door wider.
>> You want to watch it, she asked.
I bet it's one of your favorites.
>> A beam of fear cut through
the fog of Alex's thoughts.
>> It's the middle of the night and
I'm having a conversation with a total
stranger like it's the most normal
thing in the world, he thought,
what's wrong with me?
>> He took a step back,
intending to leave as quickly as possible.
When he smelled something wonderful
coming from the apartment.
Freshly baked pumpkin pie, his favorite.
He breathed in the comforting
smells of nutmeg and
cinnamon, and
all his fear instantly evaporated.
>> This woman isn't a threat, he thought.
She's just a nice lady who
likes horror movies like me.
The movie's Night of the Living Dead,
Alex said.
1968, directed by George Romero.
>> Said the woman, how intriguing.
And was I right?
Is it one of your favorites?
>> Top ten, right between Let
the Right One In and The Ring.
Alex shrugged apologetically,
I like scary stuff.
>> You sound like my kind of kid,
the woman replied, grinning.
It's crazy, I was just about to kick
back and watch the movie when I thought,
the only thing missing is
someone to share this with.
Someone who really appreciates it,
and here you are.
>> She opened the door all the way,
allowing Alex a view of
a comfortable looking couch and
a coffee table piled with oatmeal
raisin cookies, and pumpkin pie.
Across from this cozy set up,
a huge TV played the black and
white images he longed to see.
Barbara staggering toward the farmhouse
where she would be trapped for
the rest of the movie,
with zombies in hot pursuit.
Alex took a step forward, entranced.
>> Well, don't just stand there gawking,
silly boy, the woman said, come inside.
>> Even later, when Alex knew that he had
been under the influence of a powerful
spell, he found it hard to believe that
he had entered the apartment so easily.
At the time it was like his
body was not his own, but
a moth drawn to the flickering
lights of the television.
He crossed the threshold.
The door clicked shut behind him.
>> Gotcha,
the woman said under her breath.
>> She slipped a cold
hand around his wrist and
all the energy seemed to leave his body.
Alex sank into the cushions of a nearby
couch, barely able to keep his eyes open.
The woman eased into
the chair across from him.
The smile had faded from her lips.
>> What's your name, she asked.
>> Alexander, Alex.
>> Which one?
>> Alex, he said.
>> He looked around
the apartment in confusion.
The television had vanished, along
with the coffee table and pumpkin pie.
>> Where did the TV go, Alex asked.
>> It was never there.
>> No, he insisted, I saw it.
>> The apartment does what it can to
get you inside, different for everyone.
A movie is an odd choice.
Traditionally it's some sort
of food that draws them.
Kids are always thinking with
their stomachs, you know.
>> I smelled pumpkin pie.
>> There you go.
>> It was becoming harder for
Alex to focus.
The room kept tilting back and
forth like when you first step off
the pirate ship ride at an amusement park.
He felt like he might be ill.
>> I want to go home, he said.
>> Obviously that's not going to happen,
Alex.
>> He turned in his seat,
moving impossibly slow,
hoping to make a mad dash for the door.
Except the door had vanished.
The place where it had once stood
was nothing but a blank wall.
>> Where did the door go,
he asked groggily.
>> Away, the woman said.
Don’t worry,
you won’t be needing it anymore.
>> But that’s not possible, Alex said.
Doors don't just, they can't.
>> Haven't you figured it out yet,
she asked, grinning with pride.
I'm a witch, just like in a storybook.
>> She touched a single
fingernail to his forehead.
>> And you, little mouse,
have fallen right into my trap.
>> Alex tried to stand but
his legs had turned to jelly, and
he collapsed to the floor instead.
A wave of darkness crashed over him.
Two, The Voice at the Door.
Alex woke up in the lower
half of a bunk bed.
He had no idea where he was or
how he had gotten there.
He lay perfectly still,
his body frozen with fear.
Gradually the events of
the previous night returned to him.
The elevator, the apartment, the witch.
Except she's not really a witch,
Alex thought, his mind racing.
Witches aren't real, she's just some
crazy lady who thinks she's a witch.
But then why did I see a TV
that wasn't really there?
Did she hypnotize me or something?
Alex clutched his blanket as a question
of more immediate concern popped
into his head.
Who's sleeping on the top bunk?
He stared at the iron bars holding
the mattress in place above him,
listening carefully for breathing sounds.
When he didn't hear anything,
Alex slid to the floor and
gently placed his foot on the bottom rung
of the ladder connecting the two bunks.
In one swift movement he popped
his head over the upper railing.
There was no one there, just an old
mattress without any sheets or blanket.
Alex let out a sigh of relief.
I never knew a bunk bed could be so
scary, he thought.
The rest of the room was small and
plainly furnished.
There was a standing mirror
in the corner and two doors.
The first one Alex opened
led to the closet.
Which was mostly empty, except for some
children's clothes hanging from the rod.
Flipping though shirts, pants,
and dresses of various sizes,
Alex remembered something that
the woman had said the previous night.
Traditionally it's some sort
of food that draws them.
Them, he thought,
with a sickening feeling of dread.
I'm not the first.
Of course, if he accepted what
the woman had said at face value,
that meant the apartment was capable of
reading children's minds in order to lure
them with the appropriate bait.
Like a smarter version of the candy house
in Hansel and Gretel, Alex thought.
In my case, a scary movie did the trick.
He stared at the clothes before him.
But what about these other kids,
what brought them here?
The smell of chocolate?
A friend's voice?
No, Alex said, that's impossible.
There's no such thing as magic!
He slammed the door
shut with such ferocity
that the empty hangers
tinkled together in response.
Even if he rejected magic as a factor,
it still left the disturbing possibility
that he was just one of a long line of
children who had slept in this room.
And if he followed that train
of thought to its final stop,
Alex found himself facing an even
more disturbing question.
If he wasn't the first
kid that she had taken,
what had happened to the rest of them?
Before his overactive imagination could
supply any morbid answers, Alex crossed
the room to the second door, nearly
tripping over his backpack in the process.
This door was normal in every way, except
that it had two keyholes instead of one.
The upper keyhole was the usual kind, but
the second bore a strange crescent shape.
Probably a special lock, he thought,
to keep anyone from escaping.
Alex was so certain that attempting
to open the door would be a dead end
that he gasped when the knob
turned in his hand.
She must have forgotten to lock it,
he thought with a faint glimmer of hope.
Sucking in his breath, Alex opened the
door as slowly and quietly as he could.
The next room looked
identical to the first.
Simple bed, single closet,
standing mirror in the corner.
Alex stepped inside,
wary of squeaking floor boards, and
gently shut the door behind him.
The moment he did, the door vanished and
became a regular wall.
