8.15

Seventeen times last night Steph was wretched out of sleep. It was becoming more consistent now in the frequency of visitations, more constant in the number of nights it would come and it even seemed to grow harsher and louder. It was angrier with each visitation.

For the first month or so, right around the time Steph had moved into the new building, it could be heard periodically. Usually it came at night, and it didn't seem at all unusual. Things seem easier to explain during the daylight, and at night even a skulking orange cat emerging from around the corner under a street light is enough to frighten the most cautious late night pedestrian.

It was innocuous enough. She'd actually assumed that it had something to do with the construction work going on still in the third floor laundry room. After all, it was a new building. Settling within the walls, noises, these things were to be expected.

The repair work was now long done and the guys with their loud tools had left months ago.

Although she felt silly, she had inquired about the odd sound to her fellow residents. She feigned nonchalance when describing the harsh banging metal-like noise. Did anyone, she asked, have a child deeply entrenched in drum lessons? Not that this noise could be mistaken for music. It sounded more, to her, like hollow tin.

No one was helpful. No one claimed to know what she was referring to. Steph couldn't decide if they were truthful. She suspected they were either ignorant, afraid, or hiding something from her, but these suspicions were based on nothing in particular. It could have very well been true that they honestly had no idea what she was talking about. She'd even become desperate enough to ask the Super, Ronny. He looked her up and down, as if she was a steak he wanted to throw some A1 sauce on and enjoy with a glass of red wine. He suggested he spend the night in her apartment to try and solve the mystery. Steph could have gagged. She may have gagged.

She had to go it alone.