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Authors: Kevin O'Brien
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pair of panty hose, and was hanging them from the shower curtain rod when she heard something—a click. It sounded like the outside basement door opening.
She couldn’t help thinking something was wrong. No one was supposed to use the laundry room after 10 PM . And she’d gotten that strange hang-up call earlier.
Wiping her hands on her sweatpants, Megan padded through the living room—past Josh’s room and the hall closet—to the front door. She stared at the chain lock fastened on the door. For a second, she thought she saw the doorknob moving. Or was it just the way the light was shining on it? She could hear someone in the annex outside.
She held her breath and checked the peephole. The glass in the viewer made things look slightly distorted and far away in the dimly lit corridor. She saw someone duck toward the laundry room. It was a man in a red sweater.
Megan waited to see the laundry room light go on, but it didn’t.
Mike, her neighbor in the unit above her, was out of town. She would have heard him walking around up there tonight if he’d returned. So—it must have been Bill—of Bill and Laura—the law student newlyweds on the third floor.
She kept wondering why Bill hadn’t turned on the laundry room light yet.
Something was wrong, she could feel it. Maybe Josh really had seen a stranger peering into his window after all.
Megan glanced back toward Josh’s room. Moving away from the door, she crept through the living room and into the kitchen. Her heart was racing. She grabbed the cordless phone from the counter, and then hurried back to the door, tiptoeing as she closed in on it. She peered into the peephole again.
She caught a glimpse of the red-sweater man as he stepped out the basement door. She flinched at the sound of the door shutting behind him. The corridor was brighter. She could see light coming from the laundry room. Megan wondered why Bill had come down there. She didn’t hear the washer or dryer going.
Biting her lip, she unfastened the chain, turned the lock, and slowly opened her door. She clutched the cordless phone in her hand—in case she had to call 911. The thought of getting involved in any way with the police still made her nervous. But right now, she needed to know they were a phone call away if she really needed them. Stepping out to the hallway, she cautiously glanced toward the laundry room—and then at the basement door. The door had a fogged window with crisscrossed wires running through the glass. She didn’t see any shadows moving on the other side of it. She wondered if the door was locked. Or had some stranger just snuck in?
With trepidation, she opened the basement door and tried the outside knob. The cool night air drifted over her bare arms and feet, and she got goose bumps. The outside knob didn’t move. The door was locked.
Megan told herself the man in the red sweater must have been Bill on the third floor. He’d probably come down there to hunt for a missing sock or a T-shirt.
Closing the door again, she listened to the lock click. She glanced toward the laundry room. There was a washer and dryer, a card table, one folding chair, and running the length of the room, two clotheslines—now bare. The white-walled room with its gray concrete floor was a bit gloomy. In a desperate effort to cheer the place up, someone—probably at least a decade before—had put a fake philodendron plant on the sill of the lone small, barred window. Its plastic leaves were faded and bore layers of dust. The same well-meaning soul had probably put up those two framed horrible clown prints on the wall above the washer and dryer—one a Bozo-type clown with red tufts of hair, and the other a sad, Emmett Kelly type wearing a tattered, cock-eyed derby. With the maniacal, painted grin on Bozo, the print actually scared Josh—to the point where he always resisted going into the laundry room with her.
Megan moved to the doorway of the vacant laundry room. She couldn’t
She couldn’t help thinking something was wrong. No one was supposed to use the laundry room after 10 PM . And she’d gotten that strange hang-up call earlier.
Wiping her hands on her sweatpants, Megan padded through the living room—past Josh’s room and the hall closet—to the front door. She stared at the chain lock fastened on the door. For a second, she thought she saw the doorknob moving. Or was it just the way the light was shining on it? She could hear someone in the annex outside.
She held her breath and checked the peephole. The glass in the viewer made things look slightly distorted and far away in the dimly lit corridor. She saw someone duck toward the laundry room. It was a man in a red sweater.
Megan waited to see the laundry room light go on, but it didn’t.
Mike, her neighbor in the unit above her, was out of town. She would have heard him walking around up there tonight if he’d returned. So—it must have been Bill—of Bill and Laura—the law student newlyweds on the third floor.
She kept wondering why Bill hadn’t turned on the laundry room light yet.
Something was wrong, she could feel it. Maybe Josh really had seen a stranger peering into his window after all.
Megan glanced back toward Josh’s room. Moving away from the door, she crept through the living room and into the kitchen. Her heart was racing. She grabbed the cordless phone from the counter, and then hurried back to the door, tiptoeing as she closed in on it. She peered into the peephole again.
She caught a glimpse of the red-sweater man as he stepped out the basement door. She flinched at the sound of the door shutting behind him. The corridor was brighter. She could see light coming from the laundry room. Megan wondered why Bill had come down there. She didn’t hear the washer or dryer going.
Biting her lip, she unfastened the chain, turned the lock, and slowly opened her door. She clutched the cordless phone in her hand—in case she had to call 911. The thought of getting involved in any way with the police still made her nervous. But right now, she needed to know they were a phone call away if she really needed them. Stepping out to the hallway, she cautiously glanced toward the laundry room—and then at the basement door. The door had a fogged window with crisscrossed wires running through the glass. She didn’t see any shadows moving on the other side of it. She wondered if the door was locked. Or had some stranger just snuck in?
With trepidation, she opened the basement door and tried the outside knob. The cool night air drifted over her bare arms and feet, and she got goose bumps. The outside knob didn’t move. The door was locked.
Megan told herself the man in the red sweater must have been Bill on the third floor. He’d probably come down there to hunt for a missing sock or a T-shirt.
Closing the door again, she listened to the lock click. She glanced toward the laundry room. There was a washer and dryer, a card table, one folding chair, and running the length of the room, two clotheslines—now bare. The white-walled room with its gray concrete floor was a bit gloomy. In a desperate effort to cheer the place up, someone—probably at least a decade before—had put a fake philodendron plant on the sill of the lone small, barred window. Its plastic leaves were faded and bore layers of dust. The same well-meaning soul had probably put up those two framed horrible clown prints on the wall above the washer and dryer—one a Bozo-type clown with red tufts of hair, and the other a sad, Emmett Kelly type wearing a tattered, cock-eyed derby. With the maniacal, painted grin on Bozo, the print actually scared Josh—to the point where he always resisted going into the laundry room with her.
Megan moved to the doorway of the vacant laundry room. She couldn’t
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