The Printer From Hell Read online

  “I was just tired,” I continue, as I pour myself another cup of coffee. “You know what it's like when you don't sleep properly for a while. You start... I don't know, you start seeing things out the corner of your eye. It was nothing. Just ignore me.”

  I smell the coffee for a moment, before glancing across the kitchen and seeing Mary's very unimpressed expression. She looks exhausted yet alert, with bags under her eyes but genuine fear in her expression at the same time, and I can already tell that I haven't convinced her at all. I feel like she's starting to lose the plot, and somehow I'm actually making things worse.

  “Our apartment isn't haunted,” I add. “Before you even start thinking like that, let me remind you that the building is new. Even if ghosts existed, there hasn't been time for anyone to die here. The whole idea is completely ludicrous.”

  “Why didn't you tell me?” she asks.

  “Because it's dumb and irrelevant!”

  “You saw a figure standing behind our son, and the next morning...” She sighs. “The next morning, Josh was sick. Don't you think there might be some kind of connection? Don't you think it's at least worth mentioning?”

  “No,” I say firmly. “As a matter of fact, I don't.”

  “I don't like it,” she replies, looking over at the door that leads through to the hallway. “I've always had a weird feeling about this place.”

  “You have not,” I tell her. “No way. You loved this apartment from the moment we first set foot through the door.”

  She shakes her head.

  “You were the one,” I add, “who had to persuade me that we should take it.”

  “I was being practical. We needed somewhere.”

  “You never once mentioned having a bad feeling.”

  “I didn't want to worry you,” she continues, “but right from the start, I felt as if there was some kind of negative energy here. Nothing overwhelming, just a hunch.”

  Sighing, I carry my coffee back over to the table. I'm quite sure that Mary is imagining things and even ret-conning her own reaction to the place, but I'm sure as hell not going to start calling my wife a liar. I guess this is her way of coping with all the madness around us, and if it works for her, than it's sure as hell not my place to criticize. Still, as I sit next to her, I can't help feeling that in some way she's actually starting to blame me for this madness.

  “We should hit the road soon,” she mutters finally. “I want to get to the hospital early.”

  “Mary -”

  “I don't want to be late.”

  “Can we talk about the -”

  “Not now!” she hisses. “We have to get going! For Josh's sake!”

  I nod, even though I feel way too tired to drive. I take a sip of coffee, which for once is having no effect. I'm so exhausted, it's as if there are hundreds of little strings attached all over my body, constantly trying to pull me down to the ground.

  “And if anything else weird happens,” she continues, “you have to tell me, okay? We need to be on the same page here, Steve.”

  “Sure,” I reply. “I promise. I'll tell you if anything happens. No matter how crazy it might seem.”

  As she heads through to the bathroom, I smell the coffee and take long, deep breaths. I really need to wake up before -

  Suddenly Mary cries out, as if she's shocked by something. Setting the coffee down, I find her standing at the bathroom sink, staring at the mirror.

  “What's wrong?” I ask.

  She continues to watch her reflection in the mirror for a moment longer, before turning to me. I swear, I've never seen her look so pale.

  “Nothing,” she stammers finally, before looking back at the mirror as if she's worried about what she might see. She pauses, before forcing a smile. “Nothing at all,” she continues, as she starts washing her hands. “Come on, let's just get ready to go. I don't want Josh to be alone in that awful hospital room.”

  ***

  An hour later, having stopped for gas and more coffee at a service station on the motorway, I find myself almost falling asleep as I sit in an otherwise empty cafe, staring out the window and just idly watching the road. Cars are flashing through the darkness, racing directly beneath where I'm sitting, and I feel as if I'm somehow disconnected from the whole world. I can't help wondering where all those people are going so early in the morning. Work? A holiday? How many of them are going to visit sick kids in the hospital?

  Turning and looking toward the checkout, I briefly make eye contact with the girl at the till. She smiles before looking back down at her phone, and it's clear she feels sorry for me.

  I'm not surprised.

  I've avoided looking in a mirror all evening, but I'm sure I look like crap.

  Mary went to the bathroom a few minutes ago. She said she felt nauseous, which I guess is from nerves. She'll be out soon enough. Nothing I do, nothing I say, is making her feel any better. In fact, every time I try to help, I only end up setting her off again. She looks more tired by the second and I'm worried she's going to crack up at any minute. I'm quite sure that right now, she's sobbing in the bathroom.

  Glancing back down at my coffee, I realize that despite having drunk four cups at home before setting off and now a fifth here, I don't feel even remotely awake. If anything, I feel more sleepy than ever, although I know I have to keep going. The hospital, with its bright lights and constant noise, is only another half hour away, and hopefully there'll be some good news about Josh.

  I don't think Mary will be able to cope if we get there and nothing has improved.

  After a moment, realizing that everything suddenly seems very quiet, I glance back over at the checkout, but now there's no sign of the girl at all. Figuring she must have taken a break, I look out the window and see that there are now no cars on the motorway. I wait, but nothing appears in the distance, and it's as if suddenly the whole world really has disappeared.

  And the lights are off.

  All the streetlights have fallen dark.

  Whereas a moment ago the road was a bright tarmac strip, now it's a barely visible gray line.

  Suddenly I realize that the cafe is dark too. I look back over toward the checkout, but no lights are on anywhere in the entire building. I don't hear anyone, either. Even at half three in the morning, a place like this should have customers, and there were a few people milling about just a few minutes ago. Now there's no-one, and no sound of anyone in the distance either.

  I guess there must have been a power outage.

  I sit and wait, while taking more sips of coffee, but after a couple minutes I realize that the entire place still seems deserted. Looking down at the road, I see nothing but dark tarmac stretching into the distance, with not even a single car anywhere in sight. In fact, the world seems to have fallen still and quiet, and I'm starting to feel just a little uneasy.

  Finally, figuring that I should go and check that everything's okay, I get to my feet and carry my cup of coffee between the empty tables. Passing the abandoned checkout, I wander out of the cafe and into the corridor, where there are still no lights. After looking both ways, I head over toward the front door, although when I get there I can't help but notice that the sliding doors no longer slide. In fact, even when I walk right up to them and place my hands on the glass, they remain resolutely closed.

  I pause for a moment, before wandering toward the door that leads into the bathroom. Mary has been in there for a while now, and while I don't want to bother her, I can't help feeling a little concerned. Reaching into my pocket, I take out my phone, only to find that I don't have any signal.

  “Great,” I mutter, turning and wandering back toward the doors. “It's like the end of the goddamn world.”

  And then I stop suddenly, as I see a pair of eyes staring at me from the shadows in the far corner of the foyer. Someone, a woman I think, seems to be on the floor, leaning back against the wall, barely visible in the darkness. In fact, she's so indistinct, I'm not even sure she's real. Maybe she's just
an unusual collection of shadows and shade, and really -

  A moment later, her eyes blink.

  “Hi,” I say cautiously, before glancing back along the corridor.

  There's still no sign of anyone else.

  I turn back to the woman, but thankfully she's still there. Before I can say anything else, however, I notice several dark patches on the ground, some of them smeared against the tiles and across the wall.

  “So there's, a power cut, right?” I say finally, forcing a smile. “Pretty creepy.”

  I wait, but the woman simply continues to stare at me. Eventually she blinks again but, apart from that, she doesn't seem responsive at all. I can't really make out very much about her, since she seems to be wearing all black and she's shrouded in shadow, but with each passing second I feel more and more certain that something doesn't seem quite right. For one thing, her shoulders appear to be strangely hunched. For another, compared to the rest of her body, her legs are at a strange angle, pointing toward the door even though she's leaning toward the corridor.

  “You haven't seen anyone come out of this bathroom, have you?” I ask, gesturing toward the door behind me. “It's just, my wife went in a while back and...”

  My voice trails off as I realize the woman is still just staring at me.

  “And the main doors seem broken,” I add. “It's almost like we're trapped in here. I mean, that's pretty...”

  Again, I fall silent.

  She's still staring.

  “Are you okay?” I ask finally. When she doesn't answer, I take a couple of steps toward her, although there's an anxious, nagging sensation in the pit of my stomach and I hold back a little, not wanting to get too close. “Have you seen anyone since...”

  Stopping suddenly, I realize that although most of the woman's body seems to be completely dark, there's part of a white dress around her ankles. At the same time, there's just enough moonlight in the foyer for me to see that the darkness covering her torso is glistening, almost as if it's wet. I take a couple more steps toward her, and then slowly I realize that her white dress is actually soaked in blood, and that somehow her chest and belly seem to be missing, leaving her legs pointing in the wrong direction.

  Too shocked to say anything, I step a little closer and see that her torso is just a mashed bundle of guts, crushed and smeared across the tiled wall as if something slammed hard into her. Her intestines have flopped out of her body, hanging down and then rising until they meet the wall and vanish into another dark, smeared trail of bloody paste. The impact was so powerful, it left a series of thick cracks running almost all the way up to the ceiling.

  And she's still staring at me.

  Still blinking.

  “Are you...” I whisper, before turning and looking back across the dark foyer. Turning back to the woman again, I realize that her jaw seems to be trembling slightly. Her left hand, meanwhile, is slowly clenching and un-clenching.

  Looking down, I realize I'm standing in a pool of her blood.

  “He got me,” she whispers, her voice sounding impossibly dry and pained. “One slip. That's all it took. One mistake, and he got me.”

  “Who?” I ask, trying not to panic.

  “That's all he needed,” she adds. “You can be smart every second of every day, but then one slip... He drove his car straight... straight into...”

  Feeling a sudden breeze on the back of my neck, I turn and see to my surprise that the sliding doors are now open. It takes a moment before I realize, however, that something seems to have smashed straight through, shattering the glass and twisting the frame. Looking down, I see tire marks running straight across the foyer and beneath my feet, leading toward the spot where the woman has been crushed against the wall.

  “What happened here?” I whisper, convinced that there has to be some other explanation. “Where's my wife?”

  Suddenly the woman leans forward, reaching out to grab the floor with her hands as if she thinks she can drag herself toward me. As she does so, she lets out a series of pained gasps, but she can't get very far since most of her chest and belly has been crushed and smeared almost flat against the wall, with the blood having seemingly begun to dry. Still, her hands grip the tiles on the floor and she tries again to pull herself free.

  “I'll get help,” I stammer, taking a step back. “I'll go get help and -”

  “I can still get away,” she gasps, trying again to drag herself from the wall. “I can still...”

  She lets out a sudden groan of pain, accompanied by a slow, crackling sound as she starts pulling herself across the floor, peeling her smeared torso away from the wall while leaving her legs unmoved. Just as it seems that she might have a chance, however, the mangled flesh around her waist starts to tear and fresh blood flows down onto the tiles.

  “I don't think you should do that,” I tell her, trying not to panic as I take a step back. “Please, just wait and -”

  Suddenly she screams, but she still keeps trying to pull herself away from wall, slowly tearing herself in half. Whatever smashed into her torso, it clearly mashed her body hard against the tiles, hard enough that now she barely has the strength to get away. Still, her scream gets louder and louder, and all I can do is step back and watch as she somehow manages to drag herself away from the wall. When she finally gets free, her chest slumps down to the ground and she immediately starts dragging herself toward me.

  “I want to help you,” I tell her, although I take another step back as she tries to reach out to me. “Please, just -”

  She screams again, louder than before, and this time she lunges at me.

  I stumble back, missing her grasp by inches.

  “Please,” I continue, “just wait a moment and -”

  Another scream, and this time there's a loud rasping sound from the back of her throat, accompanied by a fine spray of blood that coats her lips and then splatters onto the floor. Her body has been torn entirely in half now, with her legs and waist still over by the wall as she lunges at me again, desperately trying to grab my arm as she lets out another grating scream. Behind what's left of her waist, she's trailing a section of intestine. Reaching toward me with her trembling right hand, she tries to say something, but all that emerges from her mouth is an eruption of blood as she starts choking and coughing.

  “Honey?”

  Spinning around, I find Mary standing right behind me with a smile on her lips. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, the lights are back on and the doors are open, with a man and a woman wandering into the service station. At the same time, as if to taunt me, a tannoy announcement mentions a special offer on donuts at the food court.

  I stare in shock at my wife for a moment, before turning back and seeing that the woman on the floor is suddenly gone. There's not even any blood.

  “Steve? Are you okay?”

  I turn back to Mary, but I feel as if I can't possibly explain what just happened.

  “I got a call from the hospital,” she says, her smile growing as she holds her phone up. “They said Josh is completely fine now. He's awake, nothing's wrong with him and he's asking for us! We can bring him home!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  After grabbing the backpack from the car seat, I slam the door shut and turn to head back into the building.

  “Mr. Holland!” a voice calls out suddenly. “Mr. Holland, can I have a quick word?”

  Turning, I see old Mrs. Monroe shuffling this way, leaning heavily on her walker. Frankly, she's the last person I wanted to bump into right now.

  “And how are you on this fine morning?” I ask, forcing a smile even though I feel like I'm ready to drop.

  “Mr. Holland,” she continues as she gets closer, “I don't mean to nag, but I was down in the storage area this morning and there was some kind of noise coming from your cage.”

  “A noise?”

  “It sounded like something mechanical,” she adds. “I just thought I should let you know. We have very strict rules in this building regarding what
can and can't be stored in the basement, and if you've read sections five and six of the association's ordinance material, you'll undoubtedly be aware that -”

  “I'll -”

  “And the association does publish regular electronic bulletins offering advice on these matters. I know it can be difficult to keep up with the requirements, Mr. Holland, but they are there for a reason.”

  “There's nothing in there that should be making a noise,” I tell her, “but I'll get right on it. I'll go take a look this afternoon.”

  “But if -”

  “I'm really sorry,” I continue, keen to get away before she draws me into another of her unending conversations, “but I promise, I'll go down there and fix whatever it is. Thanks for the tip, Mrs. Monroe. Have a nice day!”

  As I head toward the building's front door, I tell myself that the old woman is simply confused. After all, there's nothing strange in our section of the storage area. I haven't even been down there since I shoved the printer to the back of the cage.

  ***

  “No, you're going to have to go back some tests in the week,” Mary is telling Josh as I step into the apartment, “and we have some things to talk about, but you're not going to have to another night there. You're home now, with us, and everything's going to be fine.”

  Pushing the door shut, I can't help thinking back to the woman at the service station. I'm relieved to have Josh home, even though the doctors said they were unable to find anything wrong with him, and he seems to have made a sudden and complete recovery. At the same time, that vision of the dying, smashed woman felt so real and so vivid, I can't stop wondering exactly why and how I saw her. I mean sure, I'm tired, but I've been tired before and nothing like this has happened. Now I'm starting to worry that maybe I'm the one who's got some kind of medical problem.

  Maybe a tumor, or some kind of neurological condition, or worse.

  “He got me,” she told me. “One slip. One mistake, and he got me.”

  “Honey?”

  Realizing that Mary was talking to me, I turn and force a smile. I guess I zoned out for a while.