Holes In The Wall

Music blasting from the room next to Boris’ room. His neighbors had almost no consideration for him. That’s how it was living in these apartments. Those damned Khrushchevkas. Everything about those buildings was depressing. Walking up and down the countless steps. Each building is like its own little town. Boris couldn’t escape. No amount of alcohol could numb what he felt from living here. Every waking moment is like a cry for help. The people who live here aren’t that friendly either. At least that is what Boris had thought. He lived a ‘normal’ life, one by his standards. Though in this life you can’t get greedy with what you have. When the neighbors got really bad sometimes he would have to tell them to stop himself. Boris hated doing this, made him feel more despicable than he already felt. Yet he is only forty-three. Most of the time Boris tries to be good. Saying hi when he can and things like that. Around this building there were even some kids. Quite a few families live here. A lot of Boris’ family is gone, not many left. Not after the war all that time ago, and those who remain don’t talk to each other. He is still longing for love and the only person in his life is his mother. Even then she is old and decaying. His father died from lung disease when the planes flew overhead with gas. Dealing with loss had been replaced by drinking, and even then money was tight. He could barely keep enough to pay rent. He would consider himself lucky if he had something left to spend, even if that was just a few cents. Most days he wished that he could have some company but who would want to give someone like him that. Boris found himself loathing. Telling himself pipe dreams that would obviously never happen. Though a little voice in the back of his head kept telling him it would. He hated that little voice. Everytime it would say something to him there would be no reaction. His life in Siberia was quiet. Nobody noticed him. Other than on holidays. The kids go by the doors on Halloween, or on Christmas when the kids would sing. It brought some joy to him but never much. Never enough.

As he was about to fall asleep Boris dropped his spoon. It had fallen into the cereal he had made this morning. That woke him up. He groaned as he wiped milk spatter off of his face. Looking over at the clock he saw it was only six-thirty. He didn’t get a good sleep last night. He was supposed to be going to his mothers today. It was her birthday. Now she would be turning seventy-four. He hadn’t made her a card, he hadn’t even gotten her a gift. It has been that way for around fifteen years now. She keeps asking and he never accepts. Always some pathetic excuse. It was getting to the point where he was running out of them. Soon he might have to get something other than himself. Though Boris wished he could, it's like he just couldn’t. The thought of spending money like that seemed like a waste to him.  Loud crash rang from the neighbors. They were a married couple who never got along. Sometimes Boris would hear crying. Not that of an adult but a childs. He would barely see them with a kid. Usually when they got like this Sergei, their kid would leave the apartment and walk around in the halls. Boris could hear him sometimes. Laughing with other kids, Sometimes alone. Sometimes not laughing at all. Standing up Boris thought to himself ‘today is the day that I would confront them. Or at least get some peace of mind.’

He walked towards the door and that’s when he heard a knock. It came from maybe midway up from the door. Near the bottom. He didn’t know who it could be. He went over to the door. He tried to look through the peephole but he didn’t see anybody.

Yet again there were knocking. He unlocked the door and opened it with just a jar. Looking down he saw who it was. Sergei, he looked at Boris with pleading eyes.

“Please help me, mister.”

He begged. Hands by his side, looking up at him. Completely vulnerable. In his eye a well of tears form.

“What’s wrong?”

Boris looked down at Sergei.

“I’ve no place to go, please let me in. I promise I won’t be a burden.”

He persisted. Like a salesman at the door. Boris contemplated on what to do. He debated only for a moment before opening up the door slightly more. Just enough for him to get in. He grew a smile of relief before walking into his apartment. As he got in he took a look at his surroundings. The place wasn’t very neat but then again wasn’t very dirty.

“So little one, why are you here?”

He turned around at Boris’ question.

“My parents are fighting. I didn’t want to get hit again.”

Sergei held onto his left arm. Boris reached down waiting for approval. Sergei nodded his head before Boris lifted up the sleeve of the blue and white striped t-shirt. A bruise formed. Quite a big bruise as well. Like a water balloon had been thrown at him and exploded on his arm. He looked at Boris with pain. They could both tell it wasn’t okay.

“What is this?”

Boris tried to show his concern to Sergei.

“Nothing, I don’t want to talk about it.”

It was obvious that it was a topic that he didn’t want to talk about, but the mark on the boy just made Boris furious.

“Little one, are you sure it’s nothing?”

He looked at Boris. Contemplating. That was until he made his decision.

“Ok, my father. He hits me sometimes. When mother and him are fighting. I wish they couldn't stay here until they are done?”

Boris had no idea when they would be done arguing. He didn’t want to keep a little child around, especially in the house's current state. Vodka and beer cans scattered around.

He looked into his home. Then back down to the boy. He took a deep breath.

“Ok, you can stay until they are done.”

“Thank you so much mister. I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t I can’t go back there when they are like this.”

Boris gave Sergei a look of understandment. He stood by the door and waved his hand back. Letting the boy in. He smiled as he watched Sergei enter. It felt nice to help somebody. Much more as in a place like this. Panel buildings. The USSR put them everywhere. At least it is affordable. Most places are outrageously expensive. Sergei spent time looking at the place. It felt safer than it did on its own. Nobody yelling all of the time and nobody telling him what to do. He watched as Boris went over to the dining room table and took a seat. He pulled out a newspaper this morning. The flat wasn’t that big, nobody was. They were like the apartments in New York. Though that’s how it seemed. People in the rest of the world always look so happy, even more so on TV. Sergei wondered why he couldn’t be more like those people. Enjoying their lives and spending time with family. He could only wish that he could spend time with them. Even the other kids sometimes didn’t want to talk to Sergei. They ALL had found him weird or strange. Nobody really liked him. Boris though seemed to be an exception. Sergei felt at home here almost, better than anywhere else. He went to sit down on the living room couch. After a while of silence with the occasional yelling it finally slowed down. Sergei’s parents had stopped fighting. At least for now.

Boris didn’t even notice it had stopped. He was so used to it at this point it was really just background noise. Though he knew something was different. He put the newspaper down and looked behind him. Into the lying room where Sergei’s parents' flat was. Then he realised. They had stopped, he looked up at the clock in the kitchen and saw that only about twenty minutes had gone by. He stood up and went into the living room. Nobody was there. Sergei had moved. He could remember that he was in here. Maybe he left Boris thinking to himself. That wouldn’t happen. Maybe he was hiding. It would have made sense, after all the boy didn’t want to return home. Walking over to the bathroom he tried to open the door. It was locked.

“Little one, are you in there?”

Boris called out from behind the door. After a few seconds of waiting there was no response. Boris knocked. There was a gasp.

"I heard you, you need to come out now.”

“Ok…”

A small voice went out. One that regretted coming out. If only he stayed quiet, maybe Boris would have left him alone. That wasn’t possible now. He unlocked the door and slowly opened it.

“You can go home now.”

Boris said to Sergei with no care for what might happen after. That was like him saying things whether or not the person wants to hear it. He wasn’t really the person you would go to if you had a bad day. Sergei nodded then walked towards the front door. Turning back every now and then. All the way up until he reached the front door then he slowly opened it, and slowly left. Just waiting for Boris to have said something to him. Hoping to hear ‘Oh no, please do stay.’ Or something along those lines. The only thing he did get was silence, and a wave goodbye. Boris felt regretful not letting him stay longer. But he did need to have time to leave for his mothers. Can’t keep her waiting for too long. She would become furious. It had happened before, and for the next week he didn’t hear the end of it. How he was  either ‘the worst son’ or ‘a disappointment’ Boris hated being called that.

Looking at the clock he saw there wasn’t much time left until he had to leave, all Boris had to do was get his coat. He wore a black and grey overcoat. It went well with his style. He always liked how they looked, he thought they looked better on him though. Nobody else other than the old people and some others who wore the same as him. In his apartment he knew most of the residents. Some of them were assholes and some of them had a resemblance of a heart. Or as much of one a person can have living in a place like this. The kids that run around are a good reminder. They keep him reminded that there still is good in the world. Even if it is not all that much. Boris started looking through the whole flat. He couldn’t find the overcoat for the life of him. He had been searching for what seemed like forever at this point. He was about to give up then he had an idea. The chair in the kitchen next to the microwave. It was probably in that pile someplace. Lifting off shirts and other clothing pieces he finally found it. After what seemed like it had taken an eternity to find was his coat. Now he was ready to leave. As he walked to the door buttoning the coat up, so he wouldn’t get cold. The phone on the wall rang. He wondered who it could be. Probably his mother who was about to unleash hell upon him for not being there yet. Maybe a friend who wanted to meet up, get a coffee. There was no way to tell unless he answered. Racing to the wall he picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

He asked, wondering who was on the other end. His heart was pounding hoping he wouldn’t get ripped a new one.

“Why did you answer? You are supposed to be on your way here. Now.”

A familiar voice fell out. Of course, he had been right. It was his mothers.

“Sorry mother, I am leaving now. I just got—”

She didn’t even let him finish the sentence before speaking again.

“Well don’t bother, I have caught the cold I believe.”

She coughed at the end. It was also probably code for because you didn’t leave yet don’t bother coming.

“But mother…”

Before she heard anything else from Boris she hung up the phone. The only thing he was hearing now was the sounds of the dial. It was ringing non-stop like ears with tinnitus.

He put the phone down back onto the wall. He sighed in disappointment. He couldn’t see his mother that he already doesn’t see enough. He wished that he could because then that would be more time spent. But the possibility of even more arguments. He didn’t want that. Even though it might be beneficial for both of them. He couldn’t live with any more shunning from his only parent. He didn't have any family other than that, and the only visitor he had today was Sergei. Now Boris even pushed him away, he would probably be back though. His parents always fought. A miracle that they still lived together. They had always been so loud with each other, Boris had been living here for around three years. Everyday since he moved in they have been fighting. He wished that he could get out of that place. The only reason he lives here is because of the price. If it weren’t for that he wouldn’t be able to live. Instead Boris would be living outside, homeless. Under a bridge. He wouldn’t be able to live like that. His lifestyle was that of a proper man. He enjoyed living like that. Though the alcohol would keep in line. So he would say to himself. He didn’t have the power to actually kill himself so he figures drinking kills himself a little bit every day. The piles are slowly starting to grow on the kitchen counters. He feels regret that his own mother didn’t want to see him. It made him sad on the inside. Like a pang of guilt going through him. He wished that things would be better. Though they never do.

Looking at the clock, then back at the bag of garbage that is in the corner of his kitchen. He picks it up and then goes to the door. Boris needs to get rid of some of the trash that has overtaken the apartment. Picking it up felt like carrying weights. The trash bag was heavy and full. At the bottom it started to sag. He could see it almost wanting to break the bag. Thankfully they were strong. Walking to the front door he left. The halls smelled of cigarette smoke. His neighbors were heavy smokers. He would see them a lot of the time with one hanging out of their mouth. Smoke shooting out like a dragon with fire. One of them opened their door. The creepy person nobody liked to talk to.

“Hey Boris, what are you up to, this fine evening.”

Even the way she spoke was odd. Nobody fully understood him maybe. But maybe not. She would always talk about Sergei’s family. She found quite an interest in them. She wanted to know everything about them.

“I’m taking the trash out.”

Boris responded looking at him, emotionless as he had spoken to him so many times before. The feeling of strangeness and disgust eventually went away.

“That’s good, you don’t want a dump for a home.”

She looked at Boris with a crooked eye.

“Yeah. Ok Masha, I think you should go back inside.”

“O—okay. I’m going to go back inside. It’s not safe outside. He can see us.”

The thing Masha said left Boris feeling uneasy. Like they were being watched. The feeling only went on even as Masha closed her door.

Boris continued down the hallway. The trash in the bag rumbling every step he takes. Some of the bottles are clashing together. The sounds they are making become louder. As he walked to the stairwell a sound of breaking glass went. It was terrible like listening to a child cry on an airplane. One or more of the bottles had broken. Boris sighed before leaving the bag in the stairwell. He couldn’t be bothered to bring a leaking bag across the Khrushchevka. It would be a big mess that he didn’t want to have to clean up later. The neighbors would take care of it. They usually would. It wasn’t a big deal, they didn’t even know who would leave them. Sometimes even other people did it because Boris would come across bags that he didn’t leave. A part of him didn’t want to know what was in the bags that they left. If he didn’t know what was inside he didn’t want to touch it. It was on and off if Boris was a clean freak or not. Even he didn’t fully know himself. The place didn’t even have cameras so for all he knew there could well be a dead body. He didn’t want to risk getting any DNA on the bag, that is if there was any boy. Or other crimes. The smell of drugs had been strong from a flat that was a few hallways down from his. When Boris gets drunk and tries to go down and around places in the apartment he would wake up somewhere he didn't remember. When he would be going around drunk the place was a maze. He didn’t know one hallway from another. Though there was one night when he woke up with a terrible headache and a black eye. Most likely a fight that usually happens in the court though, outside of the Khrushchevka. It was odd to be inside. Somebody carried him back in. As he was heading back to his apartment Sergei bumps into him.

He looked down at Sergei and smiled a little bit. He was happy to see him again. Made him happy that he wasn’t hurt. Or not visibly hurt.

“Hi, Boris. I forgot to say but I wanted to apologize for what my father did to you the other night.”

“What do you mean little one?”

Boris asked with a raised eye-brow. He had no memory of a conflict with Sergei’s father. They haven’t even really spoken other than greeting each other in the hallway.

“You know, when he hit you in the head all those times. He carried you back into the building and told me you fell asleep. Though I didn’t believe him.”

After that it hit him. Boris knew exactly what he had meant now. That day he woke up with the black eye. It all made sense. Though the fact he would do something like that to Boris wasn’t good. Maybe he was hoping that Boris would never find out. Now that he knows Boris plans on having a ‘talk’ with him. He didn’t even know the name of Sergei’s father.

“Oh, yes, thank you little one.”

Sergei smiled then walked away. Boris could feel rage burning inside of him. He followed Sergei to his flat. The halls were very bland and boring. Nothing on the walls, the only thing was the white, closer to yellow colored walls. The tension in the air was loud. Anger burning throughout Boris. Once they both get to the flat Sergei enters. Boris waits just a moment before walking up and knocking on the door. The father answers.

“Hell— Oh, it’s you…”

Boris doesn’t even say anything, instead just grabbing onto the collar of his shirt.

“What the fuck is your problem!”

The father yelled at Boris as he got pulled out of his apartment. He tried to throw his hand but he was able to because of the awkward position.

“Stop it!”

He pleaded again, Boris now punching him repeatedly in the face. He could feel his face become tender and beaten. After just a little bit Boris stopped, he threw the father onto the ground in the hallway.

“If I find out you hit that boy again. I’ll be back.”

Boris said before leaving back to his flat. Sergei watched the whole thing. He watched his father get beaten up. He didn’t know what to think of it.

“You bitch! You don’t come near me again!”

He turned to Sergei.

“What the hell are you looking at?”

He tried to sound intimidating, to Sergei it worked. He ran to his room. Slamming the door.

Boris got back to his flat and locked his door. He didn’t want Sergei’s father coming back. Boris was laid off from his job so he didn’t have much to spend, especially if he was going to get into some major trouble. Like going to the hospital. That would cost him money that he didn’t have. It is something that he just can't afford. He sat down on his bed at the back of his flat. The room was only illuminated from the outside, and it has gotten darker. Boris’ bedroom is connected to Sergei’s apartment. The only thing separating them is a wall. He could hear the father yelling at him. It hurt but there was no stopping it. Nothing he could do now other than listen to what is going on. After a while the sounds stopped. Quickly, suddenly. It was followed by the sound of sobbing, from a little kid. After just a few more minutes of resting on the bed, he falls asleep. The night was peaceful. Though when he had come to wake. He had found some dust on himself and his bed. It was a white colored dust, he wiped it off of his face. Looked over at the wall and then saw it. The wall had a hole burrowed straight through it. Right above his head, right where he slept. He got out of bed and went into the kitchen. He went through his morning routine like always. Never missing a thing. The apartment now is more full of things. Cans of drinks, bags for garbage, unswept floor. The place was slowly becoming a mess. Yet none of it bothered Boris, as if he was slowly letting himself go. Quietly enough to where nobody would notice.

As he finished everything for that morning he sat at the table. Making room for his arm, as one glass hit the ground it shattered. Boris didn’t even flinch; he couldn't care less about the mess he makes. He heard someone knock on the front door. He went over to it, looking out he could see just the top of a hat that a small child was wearing. Or a very small adult. He opened up the door.

“Hello?”

“Hi, father says he is very angry at you, I—I don’t know how to help him?”

“He said he is angry with me?”

“Yes, but why would he be so angry?”

Boris sighed. He knew damn-well why. He had to do something about it, he figured he would later. Boots didn’t have the energy to. Until he heard the scream of a woman, pleading something from down the hall. Her voice was muffled from being too far away. Boris peered out just if he could see anything. He couldn’t. Not a thing other than what seemed to be an endless hallway. When he left, Boris had a feeling of who’s apartment it might be.

“Stay here little one. You should be safe inside.”

“Ok.”

Sergei replied before Boris left for the flat. He got tired of seeing him come for refuge to the flat. He got tired of hearing the yelling through the wall. As he got further down the hall, he found the yelling and begging wasn’t from Sergei’s. Instead it was one that had simply just been down the hall. On the left side as well. Room 138.

Boris knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again just louder, as he did the yelling stopped.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

No answer. He tried the door knob, it was open. He had such luck. Inside there was nobody, not a soul. There too was no more screaming, like it had come from disembodied voices. Stepping further into the apartment everything went black. Only light was from the door and nothing was illuminating the room. He heard a scream from the abyss.

“Help! Help me!”

He stared into it. The deep, dark void in front of him, almost as if it too, was staring right back at him. Then it all went dark. No light from the door. Any windows, nothing. No light. Boris woke up back in his bed. Almost as if it didn’t happen, that is if the hole was gone. That problem is even worse now. More holes. Light just barely peeking through. Boris leaned over and peered his eye through, what he saw disgusted him. Sergei’s father holding a bottle while yelling for another, he couldn’t imagine a life where he did something like that. Then came Sergei, slowly almost scared to give his father another bottle of beer, though when he did. All Sergei was met with was a half-smile and a ‘thanks kid.’ utterly pathetic. The father looked over at where Boris would be if the wall wasn’t in the way, then he acquainted his eyes.

“Hey! Stop watching me creep!”

The father yelled seeing his eye through the hole.

Boris fell back onto the bed almost to the floor thinking about that. Boris wasn’t a creep, and that it can’t be true because Boris didn’t put the holes there. At least he didn’t think that he did. Standing he heard something from the closet. Like an animal let loose inside of a small room. Going over to the closet and opening the door, he didn’t see anything strange. All but one thing, the hanging light from the ceiling gone, but on the floor shattered. Like it had been torn out. Nobody was in here, but he heard something. A noise that of a gurgle. Disembodied and no reason for it to be there. Boris left the room and slammed the door. Whatever was in there he didn’t want to be getting out. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a chair to prop it up against the door. As long as it stayed there the door wouldn’t open, and it was lodged in just good enough to where it probably won't fall out of place. Looking up at the clock on the wall he saw that the day no was only half gone. Shocking because only what felt like moments ago it wasn’t. He once again made himself right at home in the kitchen. Taking out a beer bottle made him feel like Sergei’s father but that wasn’t able to stop him. Boris popped open the bottle and leaned back.

Interchanging from bottle to can they seemed to be nothing but the same after a while. Then knocking on the door, he stood with as much might as he had. Stumbled past the kitchen opening and into the hallway. Around the edges of the door light was shining into his apartment. Through the dampened hearing from the alcohol Boris could hear the knocking turn to banging. Then soon yelling, for a moment he thought it had been the police. It wasn’t instead a young boy and not Sergei this time. This was somebody else, perhaps one of the kids that Sergei would talk to. Boris made an attempt to get to the front door, and even with the effort made the sound of glass breaking brought poor Boris into darkness. Once again. Waking up, Boris found himself on the ground lying down on his face, some shattered glass in his cheek and jaw. Pushing himself up his head was pounding, standing on his feet felt now painful. The only thing that made sense because of the broken glass all over now. The holes were everywhere now. Like a machine gun came through and shot the place up. Some tape was put on the walls from where Boris was trying to patch it up. Boris gave up on trying to stop it now, he didn’t know what to do. Going to the closet he took the key from beneath it and unlocked the box. The padlock hit the ground causing a thud. The yelling from Sergei’s flat now louder from the holes.

Grabbing the gun from the box and then headed out into the hallway. Going into the bathroom he looked himself in the eyes, the eyes once hopeful now lie dead. The shine that had once been there, gone. Boris lifted the gun to his head. His hand is now trembling. A single tear went down his face seeping into the cuts from the glass. It stung like he had been shocked. Then he did it, he squeezed his finger around the trigger. Collapsing to the ground the gun remained in his hand. Now he was free from all of his problems.

After only a few minutes the police came. They barged in through the door and looked around for only a moment to find Boris laid down on the ground. The walls are now barren of any holes. Beer cans and bottles scattered across the flat. Some officers started asking if anything strange was seen happening near his apartment. Not many people said anything, Masha only mentioned a few things about how Boris only once said hello. They got to Nikoli, Sergei's father.

“Sir, did you notice anything strange about a man named Boris Petrova.”

He looked at the police, his mind thinking.

“I’m not sure, me and him haven’t really spoken but he is a strange character.”

Sergei came out from one of the rooms looking at the officers yet they never acknowledged him. The apartment wasn’t bad anymore, instead it was cleaned up and reformed. As if everything changed quickly, or none of it had even happened. The officers finished asking around and went back to the flat. As they did, some other cops went up to them.

“I found these papers, I believe this to be a suicide.”

He grabbed the papers and started reading. The paper was from a psychologist, about how a Mr. Petrova had some mental illnesses consisting of: Delusional personality disorder, Post traumatic stress disorder, and heavy alcohol abuse. After the search they contacted his mother who hadn’t heard from Boris in at least fourteen months. She was horrified to learn this, it had broken her heart.