What the H..OTEL was that tap, tap-tapping—like something reminiscent of Poe??
One-day homeless had been sufficient to make her shake with muffled gibbering gratitude for this vacant and odorous apartment of a newly-deceased man of mystery (and no doubt, misery).
Landlord—vapid insecure woman, transparently lacking in credibility—had offered a first-month’s-rent discount for “as is” condition; meaning no cleaning had been done and maintenance requests were addressed without promise… Zinnia had been just desperate enough to enthuse: “Sounds spectacular!”
She’d spent most of her check on industrial strength cleaners, and within 3 days the place appeared only half-shabby—much of the furnishings still looked and smelled dubious—maybe next month she could hit the thrift stores.
After popping a can of warm Coke, she wiped a smear of grease off the old TV and sat on a cushion she’d covered with her own laundered towel; exhausted, she’d doze off in a sec—but for that damn tap, tap-tapping…
It wasn’t rodents or roaches; didn’t seem to come from walls next to neighboring units; no faucet dripped, nor was it raining against windows; the chipped, indelibly stained toilet was silent…then she spied the antique music box.
© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.
Image ~ Pixabay
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