20-year old Chloe lives in New York and writes
music on her piano. A summer night all power goes off and someone
knocks on her door.
August 9. 9.00 pm
She wrote down the notes on the note paper and tried to play the whole piece through. In the end she just hammered the piano keys, angry, that she couldn't make the two pieces work together. “God dammit!” she exclaimed, closing the piano in anger. As she sat there looking around the small apperrtment, she come to think about her life in the previous few months.
She had just finished her third year in college, she only had one left, afterwerds she would be left to her self. But it was okay, because she just got a job at the café a few blocks from her appartment and she had send some mails around to some movie-magazines, asking if they would like her as an internship, and she had recently talked with an up-coming producer, who really liked her work, and who “would love to work with her in the furture”. So, yeah, overall it went great. Exept for this piece she was writing. That was not going great at all.
In the end she decided to get herself and early dinner, which this night would be CupNoodles, as the most of the nights the past year, since her dad only sent her money for the first year and bought the appartment to her. Not that she was complaning, no, not at all actually, she was greatfull for having sutch a huge opportunity, to live in Manhattan, appartment payed, money for a whole year, an up coming career, a job, she couldn't be more thankfull. But still, it was like there was missing something.
She shrugged at the thought, walked to her tiny kitchen and turned on the kettle. When the water was boiled, she poored it into the noodle-cup and walked over to the coutch and the tv. She turned on the news channel as she waited for her noodles to get ready.
“...It has just been reported that the electric-station have been out for a terrible accedent, luckly no one is injured, but there is some concerns on weather the power will last for long. This might couse a shut-down on the whole Manhattan.” And with those words the tv turned off and with it all the lights.
Chloe cursed in the dark. Allthough it was summer, the sun had set over an hour ago, so it was pretty dark outside by now. And now it also began to rain. As she listened to the angry drivers down on the street and the rain, dripping on her windows, she tried to find all the candles in the house. There was not many, since she wasn't that mutch into candles, really, but last Chrismas her aunt got her a whole box with block-candles, which she, at the time, though was a little silly, but now she could see what a useful gift it actually was.
She set all the candles, only having her phones lamp to guide her, around the livingroom/bedroom/tv-room. A couple also went on the piano, but only after packing all of her notes in a folder and carefully putting it in her bag, so they wouldn't catch on fire, if the accedent was to happen.
Just as she lit the last candle, the sixth on the coffee table, she heard the door bell ring.
What the... she thought to herself as she stood over the coffee table, her shoulder long hair dangerously dangling over the candles. At first she thought it was just something on the street, but then the doorbell rang again and she strut up in fear. Who could it be? Most certenly not one of her friends, coming over to have a power-is-out-sleepover. Allthough Liz might come up with that, but... No, she lived in the other end of town and even she wasn't that crazy.
As she got up and took the candle she just lightned in her hand, she kept wondering who it was. The bell rang for the third time, this time longer than the previous two, followed by three knocks. As she walked to the door, she kept thinking the words please don't be a serial psycho killer, please don't be a secial psycho killer... over and over again, as if it was a kind of mentra.
She desperetly tried to look through the eye-hole, but since it was pitch-blach in the corridor, she couldn't see anything. In the end she decided to open the door, thinking that if she got killed because of it, well, at least she had lived a great life, and died almost famous.
As the door opened, making that kiiiirr sound only old doors make, she saw that the person standing behind it was none other than her across-neighboor, 14b.