“Rent”

I’ve never met my landlord. I pay my rent on time every month and he comes and collects it yet I’ve never actually seen him. The strangest part of that is… he lives in my building. Every month on the first I send a text message to his number to let him know that the rent is ready, he tells me to leave it under the doormat and then he comes and picks it up. I never know when he does it or see him in the act of picking it up. A few times I’ve been home and tried to listen for his footsteps to open the door and catch him in the process but to no avail. But he always comes and gets it, without fail.

Except for today.

I texted the usual number but got no response. I placed the envelope with the rent check in our agreed-upon spot, figuring that maybe by now it’s a protocol and no advance warning is needed, but I started to worry about leaving such a precious piece of paper in an easy-enough-to-find place. So I did something I don’t typically do: I tried calling him. The phone just rang and rang and rang. I grabbed my envelope from under the doormat and figured I’d wait until I heard from him, just as a precaution.

Normally I’m a bit of a night owl, but after a particularly stressful day at work, I found myself drifting off to sleep a little earlier than usual—until I heard the familiar blip of the notification sound I have specifically chosen for my landlord. I jolted out of bed and check the time: 11:49 PM. Disoriented, I read the text:

PLEASE GET RENT TO ME. ONLY 11 MINUTES. NOT MUCH TIME LEFT.

Confused, I texted back to let him know that I had tried contacting him earlier and left the rent in our usual spot. I didn’t want him thinking that I had forgotten or was trying to pull a fast one on him. I like my apartment, it’s quiet, spacious, airy, two bedrooms and two bathrooms, a deck, centrally located, and, if I’m being quite honest, a steal for how nice it is. He responded soon after:

LEAVE OUTSIDE MY DOOR

In the last few months I had lived there, I never once visited the landlord’s apartment. I knew it was near the basement, but I never had any reason to be down there nor did I ever see him coming and going from it. Nervously I threw on my bathrobe and some slip-ons and made my way downstairs.

It wasn’t hard to find which apartment was his—it was the only door there. It didn’t have an apartment number on it nor did there seem to be anything to indicate that it wasn’t anything more than a closet. I went to place the envelope under the doormat but… there was no doormat. I texted to indicate my arrival but the lack of cell service in the basement meant that my message was left hanging in digital purgatory. I tried calling but, again, it just kept ringing. There was only one option left.

I had to knock on the door.

I mustered up the courage and raised my hand to the door, listening to hear for any sign of life on the other side. I lightly rapped on the door and waited. Nothing. I knocked again, a bit more forcefully. Still nothing. Finally, with my whole first I slammed on the door.

It creaked open. Not from the force of my hand and not from anyone opening it on the other side. A red glow emanated from inside, and as I nudged the door open slightly more, the glow turned to a piercing red glare that made my eyes burn. A low, gravelly moan came from inside:

JUST LEAVE IT

“Leave it where?!” I asked, shielding my eyes.

HURRY BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE

The voice was raspy but piercing. It didn’t sound like it came from a man. Or a woman. It was something else entirely… something inhuman.

I tried to place the envelope on a surface inside the apartment but a heat unlike any other I’ve ever experienced whipped at me, scalding my arm, leaving behind a portion of melting flesh. I shrieked and grabbed my arm.

YOU FOOL!!!

I was ready to vomit from the pain, the heat, the blinding red light, and… worst of all… the smell. It was like a garbage dump set on fire. I couldn’t take it anymore and I clutched the envelope to my arm to hold what was left of my skin in place as I shrieked and ran back upstairs to my apartment.

Rent was not going to be paid that day. The next morning I would find a new apartment to move into, even if it meant sacrificing space, quality, and location. And, next time, I’ll know better than to write checks granting my soul to a landlord who promises me something that seems too good to be true.