Julian Shnider

After I graduated high school, I spent many nights visiting my friend in his uni dorm right up until the week he disappeared.

 

I lived with my family then, and he was just two tram stops away. Summer holidays had just begun. I was half heartedly looking for a part time job , but mostly looking for ways to kill time before university forced me to behave like a semi-functional adult. Naturally, that meant many of my evenings ended up in his apartment

It was a skinny, cramped little place. The bathroom was only marginally more dignified than a portable toilet; sitting down meant your knees kissed the wall, and if you leaned too far forward you’d become intimately familiar with the basin opposite. He didn’t complain, at least it was its own room, unlike the kitchenette, desk, and bed that made up the rest of his dorm. 

The one distinguishing feature of the place was a pink neon ak 47, sign mounted on the wall. Apparently  it was a late night paraphernalia induced impulse buy. It dwarfed the rest of the apartment. But inadvertently made the space feel more appealing, stretching long pink shadows across the walls and tricking the eye into thinking the space was larger than it was.

The real saving grace was the balcony, it had a decent view. 10 stories up, high enough to feel detached, low enough to still be part of the world. To the west, it overlooked a semi busy intersection depending on the time of day. To the east was a train station, across the road was a church and beyond that a view of the city skyline.

The balcony itself wasn’t built for comfort, It was only wide enough to stand in, and a jutting slab of the floor above hung right at head height, forcing you to lean over the guardrail if you wanted a decent view. There was a crack where the concrete floor would have met the glass barrier. Too thin for someone to slip through, but wide enough to make you tighten your grip on whatever you were holding

 

Most nights we stood out there, shifting our weight from foot to foot as we drifted from pipe dreams to show recommendations to harmless gossip. Every now and then he’d toss out reports of bizarre behaviour he’d seen from the street below. He shared them casually, almost absent-mindedly, like he didn’t want me asking follow ups, or like he wasn’t sure they were real himself. Those were always my favourites.

 

 “I swear, there was this woman dancing in the church graveyard in the middle of the night, completely alone.”                                                                                                                          

“I saw a man just pacing the train platform, walking backwards the whole time like it was nothing.”

“ You see that wall down there? I keep seeing random people just standing and staring at it for hours, weirdest part is, i never see them come or go, I look down and they're just there” 

Other times the stories got even stranger.

 “I saw a girl sitting on a park bench feeding invisible birds, tossing crumbs into the empty air.”

“There was a guy standing perfectly still at the tram stop, but every few seconds he’d take one tiny step forward  like he was practicing waiting.”

“I saw that dancing woman again, but this time bro, get this. She was tracing the outlines of gravestones with her fingers, leaning in and whispering to each one.”

“And this kid, man… walking with a leash trailing behind him, attached to a collar. But no dog. Just the leash.”

 

I never saw any of these strange phenomena myself so I took it all with a grain of salt.          Well… all except one. 

 

It had started to get properly warm as summer was fully setting in, The air had gained a thickness, a limp viscosity like you were taking in gulps of warm molasses, it didn't want to go down cleanly. Sticking itself and filling up the void off your mouth, making you uncomfortably aware of  every nook and cranny as it worked its way down the folds of your throat. You could see it radiating off the roads and footpaths blurring and distorting the world's edges. It was the type of heat that made seatbelts sear your skin and open toed shoes to be a gamble. 

I’d just finished dinner with my parents, The horizon outside the dining room window had melted into a gradient of burnt pinks and heavy oranges

“Are you going to Isaacs again?” my Mother asked as she handed me a dish. It was still wet from the sink. It had a sheen on it, turning the porcelain into an iridescence mirror. I squinted while grabbing it, wiping it down, ruining its shimmer back into a dull off white self again.    

“Yeah”  I replied, shelving it.                                                                                   

“ You should start applying to some courses or go traveling or something. Just.. dont stay out too late” 

“Sure.” guilt filled my stomach as i replied. 

 I dredged up the hill towards the tram stop. The sun clung to the horizon, cutting the path into strips of long shadows. The concrete radiated warmth into the soles of my shoes. I gazed at the bench in the distance, heat churning it into a blur. It grew larger and larger until finally the shadows had won and I could sit down.  

Sweat crawled its way down my spine, phantom insects wriggled down my back. I rested my eyes allowing them brief relief from the humidity. A distant thumping pumped through the air. Motors humming, metal wheels clattering through the track. It grew louder until the tram screeched to halt in front of me sparks jumping from the lines overhead. 

I stepped forward as the tram doors opened. Immediately the cool dry air smacked me in the face. I stepped on to an empty carriage. I hurried to a seat before the tram lurched forward. I watched the outside world whir by street lights streaking past. I scanned each approaching stop, hoping no ticket inspectors would get on. My eyes drifted to the driver's cabin mirror, the driver's gaze met mine. I looked away quickly, I felt judgment beaming onto me like he knew I hadn't paid. I told myself it didn't matter. The tram was already barren, it made no difference if I was here or not, the tram would still be running. 

The church loomed ahead, Mother Mary cast in stone towered over me, the street lights casting harsh light, giving her an expression of disapproval. I pressed the next stop button, breaking the humming silence. The tired speakers crackled to life*beep*

“The next stop is Ashford station ” 

I stepped off the tram, and crossed the street, looking up at all the windows of Isaac's apartment block. One unit glowed in a miami vice pink. A silhouetted figure stood on the balcony. A glowing ember sharpened their outline as they inhaled. 

I cut down the alley to the base of the apartment, the street noise fading behind me, replaced by my footsteps echoing off the walls and reverberating around me. I reached the lobby door and pulled out my phone. Before I could dial Isaac's number, the lock buzzed loudly. He had seen me. 

Inside the lobby was a sagging couch, a wall of letter boxes and a lift. The air smelled like cigarettes and Indian takeaway. I pressed the lift button with my knuckle, its surface coated in some tacky residue and unidentifiable grime. My phone chimed,  “Saw u walking up ;).”

I entered the lift and typed out a reply “u need 2 be put on a list.” The message stayed pending.  The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as lift wafted upwards, the smell of cigarettes and old food hung in every corner.  

 

An old dingy message board hung on the back wall, stained mirrors lined either side of the lift creating an infinite tunnel of my own reflection.                                                                           The board's dusty posters, tutoring ads, securities notices and a few handwritten complaints jostled for attention.  

“ Dear 315, please stop blasting music at 3am. If i have to hear every breath you take, one more time, i swear i will jump”                                                                                   

 A note for lost keys had several numbers written and then scribbled out beneath it. The tutoring notice had all its tabs taken, except one. Someone had written over the bottom.

 “Don’t take it.”

The lift chimed, and my message was sent. I stepped out into the hallway. The stark white lights stretched out and sterilized the hallway. It was deceptively quiet. I felt uncomfortably alone until a couple arguing or a microwave hum would slip through the cracks of the walls. Impossible to place whether they came from above, below, or right beside you.

I reached Isaac's door, pink light spilling the crack underneath.  My hand went up to knock, but before it could make contact,the door swung open. 

“You look fuckin thirsty cunt” He siad grinning, proud of his exaggerated crassness.

He handed me a beer, then motioned toward the balcony. We talked smack and watched the blinking city lights on the horizon. He described the awful smells of first year computer science students with gleeful exaggeration,  while we listened to awful soundcloud music through an old crackling jbl speaker. I half laughed and half winced. His tone shifted, seriousness emerging under the obscenities. 

“Wanna see something sick?.” 

“Sure,” I said, bracing myself.

He went inside and opened the bottom drawer off his desk and pulled out an old pair of binoculars. 

“Picked these up on a marketplace for dirt cheap, some old lady's birdwatching husband died, and you know I had to lowball that mf.” They looked well loved and had initials inscribed on the side of one of the lens tubes. “Happy birthday M.D with love from Martha.” They were obnoxiously large, like looking through two soda bottles.

“ Bird watching? I knew you had no life.” I said, Not missing the opportunity to insult issac.  

“Ha ha, very funny,” he said, face deadpan.

“Well… you wanna do some snooping?” he pressed.

“Somehow this feels worse than bird-watching, man,” I said.

“I could tell you more about the wonderful world of lecture hall b.o if you like?” He smirked. 

I caved.

“Shit, man, call me L. B. Jefferies. Let’s see some shit.”

It was underwhelming at first,  people scrolling on their phones, chuckling now and then. Groups of teenagers stood in loose circles talking. Couples walked past hand in hand. Delivery drivers weaved through the intersection.

We’d been watching for the better part of an hour when I asked,

“Hey man, can people, like… see us staring at them?”

“Nah, no way. Most people barely have 20/20 vision. Even if they did, we’d just be a blurry splodge. Besides, who's thinking to look up here anyway? Everyone’s too busy on their phones.” His tone was laid-back and confident. I wasn’t so sure.

I went inside to grab another beer from the mini fridge, hoping the alcohol would level my paranoia. Crouching down, I swung it open, the clink of bottles echoed in the quiet room. An open pack of bacon, a carton of eggs, and three tinnies sat in the cool blue light. I let the cold air wash over my face for a moment.

“HOLY SHIT! Dude, get out here right now, we’ve got a wall-gazer!” Isaac shouted.

I shot up too fast and cracked my head on the counter. My teeth slammed together, biting into the inside of my cheek. The sharp taste of blood was immediate in my mouth as my skull throbbed. I steadied myself and stumbled back onto the balcony.

I followed the invisible line of Isaac’s binoculars. Halfway down the alley, tucked behind a kebab shop, there was a narrow recess. A dumpster, an empty parking spot, and a middle-aged man standing perfectly still, facing the wall. His hands covered his eyes. He stood about a foot away from the bricks, motionless. 

I don't know what I had expected, Isaacs description of the wall starers had made it sound way more alluring, an incomprehensible phenomenon that was akin to seeing alien life, but all I could see was… a guy.    

“That's it? I chipped a tooth for this?” I said, irritation bleeding through. 

“Nah, man, you don’t get it,” Isaac said, eyes glued to the binoculars. “Every person I ever see is doing something. They’re looking at their phone, talking to someone, flying a kite…  whatever. Even when they’re sitting still, they’re still looking at something. People in the park, cars going past, or they’ve got headphones in. The brain doesn’t just… stop. It needs stimulation.” 

“Maybe he’s meditating” I said, though the words sounded as unsure as I felt.

“Unless you're a monk you don't just sit still and stare at a wall.” Isaac chuffed. “ And this guy isn't a monk, he's like a divorced dad or something”

I had to admit, he had a point. Even if it was just some guy, he was weirdly close to the wall, and he hadn’t moved once. I squinted. He wasn’t covering his eyes; he was cupping them, like he was trying to block out the absent sun.

“You want a closer look?” Isaac said, handing me the binoculars. They were still warm from his hands, the lenses still fogged from his breath.

I raised them to my face and let my eyes adjust, focusing through the glass rather than at it. The cobbled alley swam into view. I shifted until I found the back of the man’s head. His hands now hung limp at his sides. He was dressed neatly. collared shirt, office pants, leather shoes. He didn’t sway, didn’t twitch.  He reached out in front of him, grabbed at the empty air, brought it to his face, and lowered his hand again.

We watched in silence for longer than we should have under normal circumstances. It wasn’t frightening so much as confusing.

I finally lowered the binoculars. Isaac sipped his beer. His eyes were glassy, watering. Sweat ran down from his brow into his eyes ; he blinked, finally breaking the spell.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered.

“What?” I asked, turning back toward the alley.

The man was gone.

I stared in disbelief, the alley was unchanged, same dumpster in the corner, same flickering fluorescent bulb hanging over the kebab shop door. Just an uncomfortably empty space lurking beside the wall, heat emanating off the asphalt. It was almost funny, the notion of being so disturbed by something that wasn't. I stood there stunned, the pink light seemed to glow brighter, the air felt heavier, my sweat momentarily stopped rolling down my back as if it too was taking a moment to understand. My brain scrambled for explanations to justify what I hadn't seen. Maybe he’d slipped into the back of the kebab shop. Maybe he’d walked toward the street, cut off from view by the edge of the building. Maybe he’d crouched behind the dumpster, or ducked into some hidden doorway. Something , anything

Whatever had happened, what Isaac said was impossible. Things don't just disappear like that. Especially not in the instance of time it takes to close and open your eyes. 

“Maybe he went inside the kebab shop,” I said, still grasping for logic.

“ That door is always locked, I've checked,” issac replied flatly.

“What about the lobby?” I tried again, my voice thinner now.

“Maybe,” he said, “but I’ve never heard the buzz or the slam.”

“Then what?” I asked, the words catching in my throat on their way up. Isaac took a slow sip of his beer.

“I say we check it out”

“Your serious? ” I said, failing to hide my reluctance.

“Yeah, why not? I could use a fresh pair of eyes. And, honestly… we’re down to our last beers.” He looked up at me like we were diabetics running low on insulin.

I couldn’t argue with that. Priorities, beer first, logic later.

We walked in silence. Isaac still held the remainder of his beer, the liquid sloshing with each step. It had gotten too warm to drink, but he clutched it anyway. It was something solid to hang onto, an anchor against the static anticipation building with every step we took. 

The hallway felt longer this time. The same white lights, but now every door seemed to watch us back. The faint noises of microwaves, TV chatter, muffled footsteps, had all bled into a low pulsating hum, like the building itself was breathing. The air pushed against me in slow waves, pressure rising and dropping. The veins at my temple throbbed.

By the time we reached the elevator, the corridor felt smaller, compressed, as if the air had thickened around us. I was oddly relieved to step into the less-stale but still smoky lift.

The pressure eased the moment we crossed the lobby and buzzed out onto the street. There it was in the distance. The wall.

We made our way toward it, a stupid kind of excitement building. It felt momentous, like we were explorers about to uncover some hidden chamber or pry open the Ark of the Covenant. Instead, we found a slab of cracked paint and illegible graffiti.

 

“There has to be something,” Issac muttered, dragging his fingers along the wall. A coat of dust smeared on his fingers.                                                                                                                    I started to realise how stupid this all was. It was just an ugly neglected wall. Underwhelmed I scanned it anyway, following the spiderweb cracks until I noticed one deeper groove just out of reach.

“Does dust normally feel… kinda wet?” Isaac asked, rubbing his fingers together.

I ignored him, focused on the groove.

“Give me a boost” I said. 

Isaac shot me a dubious look, glanced up and down the empty alley, then crouched and braced himself against the wall. I stepped onto his hand and placed my own on his shoulder, the other against the bricks for balance.

It wasn’t a groove. It was a channel. A narrow, deep cut slicing inward.

“Jesus Christ,” Isaac grunted beneath me.

A warm draft slipped out of the gap and brushed my cheek. The opening angled slightly downward, no wider than the top of a closed fist. I tilted my head, pressing my ear against it.

It sounded like holding a seashell to your ear, distant, shifting, alive.

“Can I put you down yet? You’re not exactly a featherweight,” Isaac strained.

For the faintest moment, I caught the sound of a wet shifting, like flesh pushing against flesh, reminiscent of someone clearing their throat. 

My whole spine tensed.

“Issac… there’s something…”

“Dude, what the fuck was that?”
He jerked his arm away, dropping me instantly. I thudded to the ground as he backed up, shaking his hand like it had burned him.

I was about to scold him for dropping me when I saw why his fingertips, the ones that had brushed the wall, were bright red and glistening. Even as I stared, small translucent blisters began bubbling up at the ends of each finger.

 

“Nah, fuck this,” he said, backing away, already turning. He was halfway to the lobby before I’d even gotten to my feet. I scrambled after him. We tore through the lobby and planted ourselves in front of the lift. Isaac clutched his injured hand by the wrist, knuckles white, temples slick with sweat.

Ding

We threw ourselves into the lift. 

“Let me see,”  I said, breathless.

Reluctantly, Isaac held up his hand. The skin on each fingertip had lifted and separated from the flesh beneath, swollen and pale like he’d dipped them in a deep fryer. They gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

I sucked air in through my teeth.

“That looks bad, dude.”

“Ya think?!” Isaac barked.

The doors parted. We stormed down the hallway and Isaac kicked his apartment door open. He rushed into the bathroom; the tap squealed to life.

I was about to follow when I felt a tingling crawling up my fingers and across my palms.                I looked down. My skin was wet. Not sweat too much of it, too evenly spread.In the wash of pink light, it shimmered, pearly, almost iridescent, like the inside of an abalone shell.

A bolt of panic shot through me. I rushed to the kitchenette and cranked the tap to cold, shoving my hand under the water.

 

“Do you have any ice?” I yelled 

“I barely have a fridge,” Issac whimpered from the bathroom.

The tingling deepened into a dull, biting heat, like a shower that's so hot that it feels cold. 

After ten long minutes, Isaac emerged with toilet paper wrapped around his thumb, index, and middle finger. He looked pale. 

I pulled my own hand out of the stream. The pain had dulled to a throb. My palm was entirely red, like a fresh sunburn, tender, but nowhere near the blistered state of Isaac’s.

“Beer,” Isaac declared suddenly. He tugged open the fridge with his good hand, grabbed a can, and nudged the door shut with his hip.

I grabbed the last one and followed him onto the balcony where Issac stood frozen

We both saw her. 

Down by the wall, A woman stood in the exact same place the man had been. Too still, too silent and defintly too soon.

She looked about our age, jeans, T-shirt, sneakers. just standing there, staring blankly at the wall. 

“We’re gonna catch this shit in 4K,” Isaac muttered. He placed his beer on the ground and fished his phone out of his pocket, never breaking eye contact with the girl. He hit a record.

“Im gonna watch her so she doesnt slip away, your going down there and getting some fucking answers” Issac ordered. 

“Dude i don't really…” I tried to protest, but he cut me off.

“Do you see my fingers?” Isaac barked, holding up his hand, the toilet paper unfurled revealing his blistered fingers beneath with bits of the paper sticking to his skin “Take the keys out of my pocket so you can get back up the lift.”

Reluctantly, I did. I had to walk past the wall to get home anyway, I just wished I didn’t have to do it while she was there.

I walked out of the apartment. The door slammed behind me, leaving me alone. The wandering sounds from before had abandoned me. The hallway stretched ahead, every creak of the floorboards making me flinch. I called the lift. Minutes stretched longer than before, I watched the floor indicator count up, each number lasting longer than the one before until the doors parted and I stepped inside. The fluorescent buzzing above was suffocating, the smoky air filling my nose and tightening my lungs. Sweat dripped into my eyes, stinging.

Ding

The doors parted. A student stood on the other side, nodding along to music leaking from his headphones. He gave me judgmental glance. I froze.

“Are you getting out bro?” 

I took shaky steps out of the lift past him 

“Uhh… you know only residents are supposed to be in this building, right?”

I heard the words but they sounded distant and muffled like someone talking through a daydream. I just kept walking through the lobby, not turning back.

“Do you hear me br…” The lift doors snapped shut and cut him off.

 

Each step toward the lobby door was met with a thousand little protests from my body: my knees buckled, my stomach lurched, my fingers tingled. Still, I pushed on. My hand clasped the handle, limp like I was wearing an oven mitt. I cracked the door and peered down the alley.

Nothing. 

I pushed the door all the way open. S I stepped out slowly. The alley stretched out in full view. It was empty. Street chatter and cars hissing past drifted up the alley mocking in their normalcy. The girl was gone. A rush of relief hit me, I stepped further out into the alley letting the door shut behind me. 

I fumbled for my phone and called Isaac, glancing up at the balcony.

One ring ..

Two rings ..

Three rings….

Connection.

“Issac, did you see what happened? She's gone man” 

 Isaac's voice came through, it was low and too calm.

 “Your looking the wrong way” 

The hairs on the back of my neck shot upright. I spun around, scanning the alley

*Smash*

A phone hit the ground five metres to my right, exploding into plastic and glass. My heart lurched. I shot my gaze upward toward the pink balcony.

It was empty.

I bolted back into the building. Both lifts were occupied. I didn’t wait. I tore up the stairs two at a time, lungs burning, sweat spilling into my mouth, flecks of phlegm catching in my throat. I hit Isaac’s floor at a full sprint, stumbling and catching myself against the wall as I charged toward his door. I shoved it open.

“ISSAC?!”

Silence.

 

The apartment was empty. The fridge door hung open. The kitchen sink was running. I stepped forward carefully and turned the tap off. The whole space hummed with pink light and an oppressive deafening stillness. I walked onto the balcony.

Down in the alley, Isaac stood perfectly still. 

Facing the wall. 

Staring at it.

 

I don’t know how long I stayed there. My eyes burned, watered, dried, burned again. Sweat pooled along my lashes. My vision quivered, then steadied, then wavered. Time folded in on itself. Seconds stretched into something endless. My chest tightened. My hands twitched. I felt suspended, trapped in a frame that shouldn’t exist.

And then finally,

I blinked.