The Monster in My Building: Part Sixteen
Christine, Keiran and I are in the midst of an enjoyable, if not particularly productive, Sunday afternoon at the park. Christine is taking her shift at frustrated googling, while I teach Keiran the correct method of eating a marshmallow puff cookie.
The Monster in My Building: Part Fifteen
A thunderstorm began to brew in the afternoon, and I didn’t think anything of it. Christine had come over to my apartment for a brainstorming session. I wasn’t going to be involved in any foolishness about uniforms, and Christine knew that. So instead we considered the next steps to take in uncovering the history of Bob. While the history we’d been given by Roger was as clear as mud, it seemed clear that something strange had happened in this building.
The Monster in My Building: Part Fourteen
I lean over the pool table, take more-or-less careful aim, and roll the white ball towards the 3 ball, aiming to knock it into alignment with two others. The white ball connects, but the 3 ball overshoots and smacks into a set of two balls Christine has managed to get lined up.
The Monster in my Building: Part Thirteen
Nearly all of the building’s residents sit in a rough semi-circle in the crowded games room, as we wait for the emergency meeting to begin. The room is quiet except for the occasional clearing of throats and the clicking of Molly’s knitting needles. I pick at the paper cup on my stale muffin (morning glory, I think), jiggling my foot up and down and refusing to look at the empty seat beside me. The clock is on the wall across from me and I can clearly see it is 6:57. Christine is not late, yet. But despite that, and despite…
The Monster in my Building: Part Twelve
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | I strongly suspect it’s going to be a Pretty Good Day. For one thing, it’s Friday. More importantly, Bob hasn’t been seen in three weeks. Normally, the longer Bob is gone, the more imminent his return seems, and the more nervous I get. But not this time. I’m sure it’s not Christine’s influence, but nevertheless I feel pretty good. For all I know Bob will be gone…
The Monster in my Building: Part Eleven
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | The neighbourhood around my building is really nice, as it turns out. Not in a manicured-lawns-and-high-priced-houses kind of way, but just…nice. Big trees, gardens with sunflowers and tomatoes, well-kept houses that look like they’re owned by retired couples who have lived here for decades. None of whom have any idea that one of the apartment buildings lining the main road through the neighbourhood also houses a nine-foot…
The Monster in My Building: Part Ten
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | It should have been a Good Day. It was, actually, until Christine called me. “Hi…” I returned her cheerful greeting with a less enthusiastic one of my own. “I’m sorry, how did you get my number?” “Oh Carly gave it to me. She’s so nice.” I can hear wind in the background, voices, and screams. But not bad ones. Children playing, I think. “Yes, she’s very nice.”…
The Monster in my Building: Part Nine
Christine takes a deep breath and lets it out quickly. She’s excited. This makes me wary. “I want to interview you,” she says.
The Monster in My Building: Part Eight
I sit on a decorative boulder in the landscaping in front of my building. Sitting with my back to the street would be weird, so I don’t, but I make sure to sit so that I can still see the building in my peripheral vision. Bob can’t get out, I know that. But this isn’t a place you turn your back on.
You Can’t Kidnap a Baby
To my son,
Part of me hopes you never read this letter, but I suppose it’s only right you find out someday. Maybe you’ll read this after my death, or I’ll give you this letter when you’re eighteen. Or maybe someday someone will realize who you are, I’ll be arrested, and you’ll find this in my things.
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Tales from the Spiderweb 