Chapter Two

     I stared out my window at the autumn sunshine. Downstairs a moan carried a note of irritation. I sat to listen to a string of curses that followed, leaned over and turned the knob of my radio up higher.  I lived in an apartment building surrounded by morons. Downstairs was an idiot breeding ignorance while across the hall a leathery witch waited for the littlest noise to report or call the cops on. Someone farts too loud and she was on the phone dialing 9-1-1. It is pathetic.  And what about me, you may ask? Well, I was a cliché. I was a teenager who hated her life and wanted to block out all the crap that people flung my way.

     Another bang shifted my attention to the floor where the moronic sucker continued to mumble and moan. Though twenty-four he acted half his age and enjoyed consorting with leather witch across the hall. She listened to his complaints about me and my family, though we aren't much of a family, but I won't get into that now.

     My hair was dark brown, long and curly at the ends. I feel I was born the wrong sex. Any mention of this though earned me lectures about how "Satan" was trying to seduce me and blah, blah, blah, crap about hell fire cleansing my impure soul. Give a break. I never said I was a lesbian, just that I feel as though I am the wrong sex. However...there is nothing wrong with lesbians. In fact, lesbians are awesome.

     So let me break it down. Although I feel I was born the wrong sex that doesn't make me a lesbian because in order to be a lesbian I would have to have desire for sex with the same gender. Does that sound right? Am I making sense? I can also say in the same breath that I had no desire for the opposite sex as well. So what does that mean?

     Nightfall gripped the parking lot as I sat in front the window wearing a frown. Through the beige blinds I could catch glimpses of unusual darkness, eerie darkness; the sort of pit blackness you see in movies right before the killer sneaks up behind some dumb bimbo.

     Over my shoulder an unmade bed met my gaze. In the next room snores drift. Sleep never came to me easily but then again I had nothing to dream about. Tucking my legs beneath me I sighed. It would never matter whether things existed in the dark or not. For me, the monsters would always haunt me in some form or another. Right now they took shape of ignorant people like leather face in the apartment across the hall or the idiot downstairs, not to mention my father and step-mother. I guess to put it quite frankly...I am surrounded by monstrous morons.

     The sound of my door creaking open made my heart leap into my throat. I bolted upright to see the feet of my step-mom shuffling in. Her glare narrowed as it found me. With her hands on her wide hips she shook her head.

     "What are you still doing up, Mandy," she asked. Her tone held a hint of Southern accent when she was annoyed. I heard it starting to creep up as she continued. "You know, I am sick and tired of you staying up late every night. Think of the other people in this apartment. Most of them have to work or go to school. And what do you do? Shut off that junk and go to bed."

     She gestured toward my radio. How on Earth could she hear it when I was sitting right in front of it and could barely make out the song currently playing? She was always saying stuff like that. She made it seem as if I had no consideration for anyone. I could never do anything right in her eyes. I was always the troubled one, always the lazy one or always the "sinful" one poisoning others with my wicked ways.

     I waited to hear her hippo sized body waddle back to her bedroom where she shared a bed with a man I once considered my father but no longer. The poor springs of the king mattress groaned in protest. I imagined what it might be like. The life of a spring was definitely not a pleasant one especially when it had to support her heavy butt.

     Sticking out my front teeth I replied in a mocking tone, "Why don't you try losing some weight before the floors cave in?" I rolled my eyes.

     Standing I hurried to the door and peered out into the shadows swallowing the hallway.  I tiptoed across to the bathroom where I quietly closed the door and consulted the mirror before planting myself on the toilet. The last pee before bed was a sure way to prevent what I call "pee dreams". Those dreams are where you constantly dream about going to the bathroom. It is agonizing sometimes because, at least for me, I usually have to go and am too lazy to get up during the night.

     After washing my hands in the sink I slipped back out into the hall, paused a moment to listen for any noise, and then hurried back into the sanctuary of my room. I flipped the switch on the wall and leapt under the covers as darkness consumed my surroundings.

     Damn darkness, I thought as I closed my eyes tight.

     As I lay there, the blanket curled under my chin, I found sleep not in a few minutes, not even a few hours. When I finally did achieve it I certainly did not know why I always dreamed of him. I might be able to tell you it was a nuisance, but it was beyond that. Fangs stretched across a full moon. Eyes big and black stared into mine. He unrolled what appeared to be a tentacle arm and whipped it overhead. Staring at the sucking pink suction cups running underside, I felt an icy blast of fear and wanted to dart out of the way before he would have a swipe at me, but as always my legs froze. I was rooted in place.

     With a crushing downward slash his blow splashed red into my vision. Was I bleeding? Darkness engulfed me. Pain swarmed in to take its place and as I bolted upright I grimaced. Trapped in night's embrace I sat there staring at my room. Its dark contents moved and yet didn't. I squinted.

     Shadows do not move on their own accord, I told myself. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself. What was that noise? It sounded like a distant groan, not one drifting from downstairs but something behind me. It sounded almost agonized. It sounded almost inhuman.

     I jerked. My eyes wide open, I stared at the floor. I leaned over my bed. On second thought perhaps the noise or whatever it was actually coming from downstairs. I tensed as I listened. The moron was banging around. Every few minutes something would hit either the wall or maybe he was throwing a ball up to hit the ceiling. I supposed that was what happened when his limp noodle failed to get hard. He took it out on the ceiling.  Then again I doubt highly his was anything but a noodle. Quite honestly even a toothpick might be bigger than anything he is packing. The thought made me shudder. I had enough to fear. Imaging his package should not be one of them.

     I lay back down. There had to be a way out of this horrid nightmare. Moving was the only opinion though one we could not afford right away. I despised the thought of living over him for another three months but little could be done to remedy our financial situation, or lack thereof.

     "Moron," I mumbled under my breath.

     The moron might as well color himself poop because that was exactly what he smelled like, acted like and...who knows? Every time I had brushed by him he emitted the foul stench of cow pies baking in the sun. It made me sort of anticipate his farts although I imagined they were even more repugnant.

     Still one thought gripped me as I slipped back into slumber. Why was every inbred weirdo named Joe? That name started to earn a spot on my crap list. Joe the Moron was my title for the crap heap downstairs and Leather Witch Debbie was my affectionate name for the skank whose apartment was across from ours.

     From below the moron yelled. It wasn't hard figuring out who he was talking to. The dumb jerk pretended to be a savior of children. You know the type. He has no idea what goes on behind closed doors. All he hears is a thump or a bang, a scream or a cry and it was good enough to cry to the leather face.

     Sitting up I blinked and scoured the room with a narrow gaze. My room is more like a cell than a room and I am constantly enclosed here in order to avoid the hate filled rants of my fat step-mother and my father.

     "Hello," screamed the moron while pounding along the wall. "Is anyone home? Your radio is on!"

     Yeah I knew the radio was on. Leaning over I turned the volume button over. A steady stream of hip hop flowed from its speakers, drowning out his idiotic tantrum.

     "What a pig," I murmured under my breath.

     A succession of bangs followed. I don't know what it was. Every noise we made irritated him. He was like a dog with rabies. And it didn't matter which room we were in.