Prologue

This will be my third attempt at the beach. We felt free when we came here, this place was loved equally by all of us. That's why I found it to be perfect, then again, I went to the mountains and the waterfall thinking those were perfect as well. Honestly, for a moment it does feel like this is it. However, no place is actually the 'it' when you try to decide what to do with someone's ashes. You are supposed to hold on to the memories, here I just hold on to the fear. The haunting still claims everything over, it plagues, surpasses, and possesses anything that is real to me. I hate how it's bigger than the loss. I will never be the same, none of us will ever be the same, it's like we are cursed for a life; a scar that reminds us how real it was and how close as well… I want to curse that place then it feels like it will come for me, everything will happen all over again. In what possible way did I escape that place? In my mind I still give that place a visit, unwillingly, unintentionally I wind up in the walls of Apartment 07.

"Mr. Andrew Davis, so this is the basics of the podcast, we'll ask questions, and when you'll be telling a haunted bit just give us a cue, and we'll play a background. You may take a pause and build up suspense." The host explained. This is not the first time I wish to tell our story. Guess I have to make peace with what I get to tell.

"Welcome back guys to February Freaks, where for a month we listen to creepy real-life stories. Today our special guest Mr. Andrew Davis is here to tell us about the haunting apartment he lived in his youth days."

"Hello, I am Andrew, I didn't live there, I was doomed there…"

"Umm…Alright, why don't we get on to the story right away" Host cues me.

"Me and my four college friends were looking for a place to rent…and…"

"Stop, stop… Mr. Andrew, you sound too monotonous, and bland, you need to get them excited, come on!" I flash a frustrating look. "Okay let's start with questions only. So, Mr. Andrew, how was the first day of moving there?"

"I remember everything very distinctly… It was the first day of moving to the new apartment. Five college buddies we had been on the search for months. A place better than our sucked-up separated college dorm and a place we could call our own, without past pains and gray days. Everyone knows that everything is better when we have each other. I took my sweet time before entering, even after opening the door I was hesitant, unlike Dream, who pushed me aside and barged in. "Coming through, watch'em shoulder!" Dream's complaint was not baseless, I was six feet two with a well-built body and broad shoulders, almost covering the entire door. I folded to the side to let others enter, Jennifer and Rayn who had their arms intertwined were next. The last one standing next to me was Alessia. She was probably the only practical one deciding to carry some luggage along with herself, she looked at the apartment with reluctance.

"So, this is it." She said in my ears. I looked back at her with a shrug to respond.

"This place stinks!" Dream yells from one end of the apartment. Her added disgust is pretty prominent in her tone.

"Are we sure?" Alessia shakes her head. Looking at the dull old equipped apartment. The monotonous wallpaper to the wooden furnishing. "I hope I am completely wrong." She tries to keep everything optimistic as she was the one who was not convinced about the place.

"I wonder why this place is at such a low rate," I asked her.

"No water, Jesus fuck!" screamed Dream. We both burst into laughter and entered. A day passed by in the apartment, fixing one thing to another, replacing some furniture, and moving into the whole shebang."

"I am sorry Mr. Andrew, this is not doing anything for us…" The host interrupted me once again.

I was leaving the studio when some woman's voice rang in my ears, "Mr. Andrew, hello I am Ciel, no offense but your story is deep, no podcast or radio can do justice to it. Write it and I promise I will tell your story to the world." She slightly bowed and walked ahead.

"Miss, who are you?" I asked her to catch up to her pace.

"No one special, just a storyteller. But I won't write yours."

"Why not."

"Because it's yours to tell, it might be words for people but for you who lived through it, who could know any better than you? When you're done writing, give me a call." She handed me a card and left in a hurry.