Night whispers (Weekend freewrite)

Nobody liked the new tenants in 4B. Not that there was anything particularly wrong with them, they were a decent young couple after all… but they just didn’t fit in. There was something jarring to their presence and to Ella Trevor’s voice, the way she went on and on about the sloppy job the redecorating crew had done. The constant draft that chilled her to the bones, but search as she might she couldn’t find the cause. ‘It’s driving me crazy, I tell you!’ Or the creaking floors that kept her awake at night and when she finally went to sleep she had all those horrible nightmares. Everybody was sick of her complaints, only Miss Edna on the ground-floor had some understanding for the poor thing. ‘Women who are expecting are very sensitive. And prone to nightmares, I can tell you that’, Miss Edna would say as a subtle reminder she, too, had a daughter somewhere. No one in the building had ever since that Missy, who presumably was living in Florida, swimming with the dolphins.
Among those who positively hated the Trevors was Ben Sharpe, who lived right underneath in 3B. ‘Every damn night I can hear the TV blaring and their laughter. I know it’s their house, but you have to consider my situation’, he told the building’s manager, who nodded sympathetically. They all knew about Ben and the cross that he had to bear ever since his wife Martha fell sick with that terrible thing that saw her bedridden and totally helpless. Poor Ben spent long hours by her bedside, adjusting her pillows and giving her tiny sips of lukewarm tea. He’d often drift off to sleep right there in the battered armchair and he’d have the most awful dreams. Many times he woke up with a scream, too afraid to look at his hands, terrified that he’d find himself chocking Martha to death or holding a pillow over her face. The very face he drew portraits of when he was young, when they were young, now twisted in an angry scowl. But no, he’d find her sleeping, Martha had no trouble sleeping as long as he was there by her side.
Things were much easier for him when, instead of music and laughter, he could here Mrs. Dartmoor moaning upstairs. Even mumbling to herself when she was in a state, which she often was. He’d hear cry out, cursing the intruders only she could see. Some mornings she’d come down to complain of the talking dog that sat in a corner and spoke of the Devil. ‘I’m sure it’s a demon come to torment me. Who’d ever heard of a talking dog?’ Sometimes it was the purple squirrel that jumped around in her room, looking at her with evil eyes and crying ‘see you on the other side!’ Even the priest down the street had been told about these impudent devils tormenting the old lady, but the rosary he’d given her did not help at all.
Ben knew Mrs. Dartmoor was off her rocker, but at least he did not find her nightly anguish offensive, like the merry voices of his new neighbors. Sometimes, in the dead of night, when the building was all quiet he wondered if they slept holding each other, his strong arm over her growing breasts, her dark hair spilling over his pillow, in a room that smelled of scented soap, instead of the reek of piss that had taken hold of his apartment, no matter how many times he’d change Martha’s diapers.

When the baby came, things got even worse. The little one, Jonathan they called him, he’d keep them up all night with his wails. They each had their own worries, but somehow couldn’t resist following the commotion in 4B, as they took turns holding little Jonathan, trying to soothe him back to sleep with lullabies and soft music. Then they asked if it would me too much of a bother if they left the baby’s pram in the lobby. ‘We’ll put it in the corner, see, there’s plenty of room to open the front door’, young Ella announced, demonstrating with a few dance-like steps and a pirouette there was still ample space for the other tenants to go about their business. Those who were still able to go outside took a wide berth whenever they crossed the lobby, staying as far as they could from the dark blue baby carriage, with its colorful little monkeys hanging on a string and the bittersweet smell of milk and powder all babies carry around. It was as if the whole building was uniting against the little intruder, the one who will inherit a world they won’t live to see.
The young mother had no more time for squeaking floorboards and mysterious drafts as all her senses where now trained on the tiny creature in the other room. She had no time for nightmares as she was too starved for sleep. The talking dog spent countless nights morose in his corner and the purple squirrel escaped by the window left open in the living room for little Jonathan to get some fresh air.

The night creepers had been around long enough to know when they were beaten and sounded retreat, leaving the tenants in 4B to their present worries. No point in staying there just to hear the besotted parents cooing over the boy’s crib. No point in staying there to hear the child babbling. Or his first tentative giggles. Disgraceful noises that drove the night creepers to despair.
The good thing about being around forever is learning to wait. They had plenty of time. One day Jonathan will no longer be little. He’ll move out, no doubt. Move to Florida or wherever. And just look at Daniel Trevor, he’s got that red hue to his cheeks, that’s not healthy at all. Obviously he won’t live to see 60. And then it will be time for them to go back home. To keep Ella company. She’ll be skinny and withered by then and she’ll roam the empty rooms at night in her mottled housecoat, throwing anxious glances to the lizard cave under the bed. Or maybe it’ll be green aliens spying on her, lying in wait to snatch her aboard their brightly-colored ships. The form doesn’t really matter as long as the wandering nightmares find a head to fill.

Story written for @mariannewest's freewrite challenge. Today's prompt was - well, there were many prompts today. You can find some of them here. If you're looking for inspiration, check out her blog and join our freewrite community.

Thanks for reading!

Image: Pixabay