The chilly breeze circulated through the thoroughfares of Dirennes, and a young lad in a long, thick, and brown overcoat that reached his knees tried to walk through the seemingly busy streets of the city despite the winds blowing in his path, evading masses of people that also passed in the cobblestone sidewalks that he tread as soon as he saw them. Finally, he had set foot upon the stairways of a medium-rise building and climbed one staircase before he reached the floor where his room was located. The sounds of heavy footsteps echoed across the floor, and in a few minutes, he stepped into the door of his flat. His hands then crept for the pockets of his coat, and when one of them had obtained the keys, he blew the cold metal before he inserted it into the doorknob and unlocked the door. He pushed the door gently and removed the coat that protected him from the cold of the city. To an artist’s eyes, the white bland walls devoid of any ornaments of the apartment’s interior would seem an eyesore. There were no clocks or paintings hung on them, and they only showed no other pattern, design, or color than plain white. On the edges and spaces of the apartments lay the appliances and furniture that the inhabitant, named Harry Lippincourt, utilized more often. For the creative-minded, the flat’s interior would be bland, but in his perspective, the setup of his home was perfect in accordance with his minimalist philosophy and lifestyle. Harry had a belief that putting unnecessary stuff in his abode would only take up space that could be utilized for more important things and that this would only create a stressful ambiance for him. Harry proceeded to the kitchen, where he placed the folded overcoat that was hanging on his shoulders on the granite tabletop and poured some water from the faucet into the electric kettle before he plugged it into a nearby socket and switched it on, making the water boil. While waiting, he placed a teacup on the tabletop and scooped a few spoons of coffee before he put the roasted black fine granules into the cup and added some tablespoons of creamer and white sugar, the two latter being almost out of supply. When the kettle whistled, with the vapor rising from the kettle’s mouth, and the appliance switched off from its own, Harry plugged off the switch and let the steaming water flow into the cup, dissolving the coffee, creamer, and sugar then mixing them. When Harry was stirring the contents of his cup while bringing it to his room, several knocks on the door rang around his apartment the moment he had entered his cup and was about to put his cup of coffee on his table that also lacked anything on top of it other than a journal and a laptop computer placed beside each other. He immediately but carefully put the cup on the table and rushed towards the door. Upon opening it, Harry saw a tall, beautiful girl standing outside his door, with two backpacks on her side.
“Oh, Dianne!” Harry exclaimed in a surprised manner. “Why are you here?”
The girl did not respond, and thus tried to avoid looking at Harry’s eyes. Her face bore the emotions of melancholy and sorrow. As Harry patiently waited for an answer whilst trying to figure out what was happening to his friend and former classmate, the whistles of the biting wind became dominant with the silence.
“Dianne!” Harry called her friend’s name, trying to stare at her eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Ha... Harry.” Dianne stutteredin a gentle voice and in a slow, bland tone. “Can I stay here in your apartment for a while?”
“Why?” Harry simply asked in a curious tone. “What happened? Is there a problem?”
“I... I...I was kicked out of my apartment.” Was Dianne’s reply, with her head bowing and with tears commencing to drop from her eyes.
“Why did that happen?” Harry asked again, baffled. “I mean? What was the problem? Like didn’t you pay the rent? May I ask why?”
Long before she gave her answer, her emotions overflowed and tears burst suddenly from her eyes. Harry had no choice but to simply gaze at Dianne, now crying erratically. He showed no feelings towards her, but deep inside conscience bugged him, as if it was convincing him to let Dianne into his apartment. Even though Dianne and Harry stayed together in the same section for two years, the two never became too close to each other, and simply knew each other, but never knew one another so well. But in the situation, Harry became compelled to receive Dianne, not as a close classmate, but simply as a friend being compassionate to his friend.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Harry said to Dianne, who wiped her tears and tried to prevent herself from crying. “The winds are cold outside. Come in. You might get sick from that.”
Dianne became joyous upon hearing those words from Harry, but it was not apparent in her face, for the pale complexion of her face, combined with the dark but relatively small eyebags that occupied the underneath of her eyes, became much whiter when Dianne cried. When Dianne had finished wiping the tears left from her face, she carried her bags and entered Harry’s room, with Harry closing the door.
“Thank you so much, Harry.” Dianne said after she stopped turning to Harry, in a tone that seemed to show gratitude. “I know we haven’t been too close when we were in high school, but I’ll try to make up for it.”
“No problem.” Harry replied after letting out a sigh. “Treat this as your home. You’re welcome here. Do you need anything further?”
“Oh! I forgot!” Dianne suddenly remembered. “It would be too awkward if we, like, share one room, right? So where can I sleep?”
“Well…” Harry said, thinking for a short while. “You can sleep there.” He added, pointing at the door of the second room beside Harry’s.
Immediately, Dianne lifted her bags again and went to the second room, where she opened the door and entered it. She left the door to be open and leaned her bags on the wall that was beside the door. She noticed that the walls had no decorations in them, the room had a bed far away from the study desk placed on the other side of the room, whose sheets were unchanged for years, even though no one slept on it. Also, the room possessed a small, wooden cabinet and an electric fan covered by a dark blue mantle unused for so long. When Dianne had finished inspecting the room, she pulled her bags near the cabinet, where she placed them near it and threw herself on the bed.
“Hey!” Harry shouted in shock, who saw what Dianne did. “I haven’t cleaned that! Let me…”
“I’ll just do it later!” Dianne replied, then snoring deeply a few seconds later.
Feeling that he couldn’t do anything, Harry exhaled air once more, and allowed Dianne to sleep on the dusty bed, and proceeded to his room, where he sat on his desk and opened his laptop. When he opened a document containing the story he was working on for months, Harry almost began to write after he stretched his arms and threw punches in the air. However, when his fingertips touched the surface of the keyboard, his mind was suddenly intruded on by questions of various types, but mostly concerning Dianne. When the intrusive thoughts inside his mind bothered him completely, Harry leaned back on his chair and refrained from writing, with his eyes looking at the words and letters inscribed in the document, but with his mind constantly running in circles.
“How did she return?” Harry began to ask in his mind. “Why? What happened to her?”
Harry’s mind juggled these questions, as well as others that penetrated his brain. In frustration, he slapped his cheeks and wiped his face in a much more forceful manner. His mind suddenly became occupied with Dianne, when during the days past, it focused more on the events that were occurring in the story. Out of despair, Harry closed the program and the laptop, and when its screen blacked out, he folded it and closed his eyes. He inhaled and exhaled constantly, and for a few breaths, Harry succumbed to the exhaustion of his brain, and he slumbered on his chair.
Some hours had passed, and the sun disappeared from the sky and at its replacement, the moon shone at its greatest extent, reigning at the dark skies that were brightened not only by its light but also by the twinkling stars, twinkling beautifully akin to diamonds. The darkness had also covered most of the interior of Harry’s flat, and inside his room, Harry suddenly woke up when the void of light had reached his senses. When he had opened his eyes, he could not see anything, and his hands crept for the light switch, which he managed to touch and flicker, putting light to his dark room. Harry had seen the darkness that engulfed the other parts of his apartment. Before he had stood up, he noticed the cup of his coffee still on the same spot where he exactly put it. When he touched it, the coffee lost its warmth, and he saw that the beverage was still unconsumed. Still, Harry gulped the drink until its last drop, and he raised his legs finally, with the coffee in his hand to bring it to the sink. When he went out of his bedroom, the darkness surrounded him, and the switches were still far away from his room. Even with that, Harry walked to the kitchen without fear and managed to put the cup onto the sink without needing to turn on the lights. When he was done in the kitchen, Harry walked to the room where Dianne slept and flicked its switch the moment he entered it. Even with the lights on, Dianne was never awakened by the lights, nor by Harry’s presence, and she slept in the same planking position that she had been when she laid at the bed. Harry, realizing that his friend was still snoring, left the room and turned its lights off again before quietly closing the door. He then proceeded to his bedroom, where he returned to his desk and opened his laptop. This time, nothing interrupted his writing, and he typed fluidly and constantly as he tried to finish two chapters of his story. Harry always made an effort to make a living almost entirely by writing, and he managed to get some success with it, with his first novel being published by a famous publishing house in Europe under a pseudonym, and through the royalties he was paid for it, Harry could be able to live a pretty well-off life in his hometown without much fuss, and even because of the moderate popularity of his novel, which was a crime noir set in 1950s Italy, Harry no longer desired to finish college, which was against the wish of his mother and moved out to live on his own. Harry continued to add parts of his story until he had finished one and a half chapter, but fatigue and drowsiness overwhelmed his desire to write, and when his brain felt their pressure, Harry saved the document containing the story and shut down the laptop before he turned off the lights and go to his bed, laying his body down on the soft mattress, and slept after a few minutes.
The next day, the rays of the sun, radiating its eye-burning light, penetrated the windows of his flat and even shone at Harry’s room. Irritated, Harry slowly peeled his eyes and woke up. He stood up from his bed and checked the time from the clock that was installed on the wall of his room near the desk and saw that the time was 9:49 AM. The time Harry got out of sleep was unusual, for he would usually wake up early, 7 or 8 AM, to begin his day. The moment his feet had stepped on the floor, the first thing that Harry did was to walk out of his room and check Dianne inside her room. While he stretched his legs, he felt as if he was weaker and more tired than yesterday, as if something was drained from his body. Furthermore, something was aching in his neck, and when Harry touched it, it was similar to a bite wound, but it was not too deep, and the pain was still feeble. Nonetheless, he managed to reach Dianne’s room, and when he peeped from the door after opening it a little, he noticed that Dianne was still sleeping in the bed. But he saw that the room and its articles were much cleaner than yesterday and that the walls had slightly more adornments as well. After he got a view of the room’s condition, Harry returned to his room and sat down at his desk, despite being unusually frail and sleepy. He saw the leather-covered journal beside the laptop. It had a smooth feeling when touched, and he used the notebook to record various things, most usually his dreams that he had every night. He opened the journal, and upon seeing the ballpen that he used as a bookmark for the last dream he had, Harry saw an empty page beside the diary entry he made the last day and seized his pen and began to write the thoughts that flowed out of his mind.
10 July 2018
Dear Diary,
I woke up with such a groggy and somber feeling as if the sleep I had wasn’t enough. I also felt weak and drowsy. But I had such a terrible dream, and it was one of the first times that I had such. It was a strange and bogey tale. I could recall, in my dreams, that I was just nailed in bed, doing nothing, just lying in there. While I was revolving my head, I saw a black, creepy figure beside me on my right. It had no face, no hair, or any other body part, but it took the shape of a woman. The figure slowly went closer and closer to me, and suddenly I saw its red eyes stare at me like it was piercing through my soul. It stared at me continuously for very long. I was sweating in fear and terror, but I couldn’t move, and its eyes hypnotized me. All of a sudden, it stopped going near me, but after a few seconds it suddenly opened its mouth, and its four long fangs gripped my neck in an instant. I bellowed in extreme pain, but even with these screams, it couldn’t let go. It was siphoning something from me, like some blood. I don’t know what was happening. I felt an intense pain in me. It was indeed a very horrible dream.
Harry Lippincourt
