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I got a job in San Diego
not too long after the pandemic settled.

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It was in exciting time, but
I was also anxious about finding a place

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to live. I didn't have that
much saved up, so I had to

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find somewhere a bit more lenient to
newcomers. I signed up to all kinds

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of lists and tenant groups, but
most leads were dead in the water.

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The only places within my price range
had in a no pets policy, and

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I couldn't bring myself to rehne my
cat, Marmalade. Poor thing was just

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a year old and a complete Marma's
girl. After weeks of searching, I

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stumbled upon a landlord with a vacant
spot. He hadn't even got the time

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to list it. All I'd seen
was a post about a cheap apartment.

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I messaged him spontaneously and asked about
it. Turned out out the previous tenant

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had passed away. It was on
the fourth floor, not too far off

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Main Street, and surprisingly cheap cap
friendly too. He offered me a deal.

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If I paid for the clean up
crew, the place was mine.

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I couldn't say no. Once the
place was cleaned up, I met up

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with my new landlord and got the
keys handed to me. My new place

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was on the top floor of this
beautiful old building made somewhere back in the

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fifties, cool stone, tarred floors, spacious ceiling, and plenty of sunlight

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coming in from the body sized windows. There was a sort of French balcony

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with a little space to smoke or
a mini garden. There was a large

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living room area, a tiny kitchenette, and a cramped little bedroom on the

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sunny side. It wasn't much,
but I could see myself growing attached to

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it. You could tell it was
old, though. There were all kinds

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of little quirks, a lock that
you had to jiggle, pipes that rumbled

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a little whenever you took a shower, and you could immediately tell if one

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of your neighbors was smoking because of
the terrible ventilation. It was far from

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perfect, but for that price at
that location, I couldn't ask for a

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better deal. The one thing that
dated it more than anything else, however,

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was the strange seventies wallpaper. This
intricate floral pattern covered most of the

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living room along with the western wall
of the bedroom. A dark gray bass

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collar with lines of white rose tulips, sunflowers, all in variations of silver

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and blue. Beautiful in a sort
of primitive Art Deco kind of way,

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but you could tell it was old. I promised myself to get it replaced

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if I were to live there long
term. It didn't take long to move

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in. I didn't have much in
the way of furniture, and I didn't

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really have the money to bring in
something new. I figured i'd settle for

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what little I had for the time
being, instead of focusing on getting used

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to my new job. I was
working as a full time consultant for a

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telecom company, mostly focusing on process
management and evaluation. Might not sound that

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interesting, but you get a lot
of wiggle room to really switch things up

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for the better. Postpandemic. We
were on a routine of a single weekly

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meeting and the rest could and would
be done from our home office. It

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felt kind of done to force people
to come in once a week just because,

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but if I wanted the job,
that was the deal. Marmalade got

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settled in that place long before I
did. She found a sunny spot next

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to one of the big windows.
I set up a cozy basket for her

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to snuggle into. I, on
the other hand, was having trouble sleeping

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those first few nights. I lay
awake at night staring at the ceiling.

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I'd lose myself in that view,
sort of like when you're looking down into

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dark waters. You can't really see
where it ends. It is just this

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perpetual nothing, and you can imagine
it continuing forever. That first week went

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by in a flash. I had
my first meeting and got my first assignment

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process assessment at one of the branch
offices in Pittsburgh, long distance than in

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person evaluation at the end of a
two month cycle. Nothing I couldn't handle,

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but said office had a sort of
reputation for being unmanageable. It was

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the kind of assignment you throw at
someone to see if they got the chops

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for it long term. That first
day was mostly meet and greets, with

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a tiny after work at one of
the shek downtown bars. It was mostly

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an excuse the crack a few cold
ones, and on Monday, my colleagues

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were a few decibels louder than I
was used to, so I ended up

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sitting mostly in the background, learning
to appreciate a small label dark punkin Ale.

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The next day, I was in
full work mode. I set up

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my laptop with a view of my
awful wallpaper to make it look a bit

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more office like. Marmalade wasn't moving
from a new favorite spot by the window,

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so there were no fuffy tales in
the way of my webcam. I

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had a long talk with the branch
manager, along with a few technicians,

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to just sort of dip my toe
in the water. They were all courteous

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enough, but I could tell they
had been put through the ringer a couple

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of times. This wasn't their first
assignment, and it wouldn't be their last.

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By the end of the day,
I was talking with one of the

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salesmen, a woman named Deirdre.
At that point, i'd been in constant

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zoom calls for over four hours and
my voice was giving out. Deirdre could

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tell I was exhausted, and we
just ended up talking about other things instead,

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my apartment, my job, my
cat. I had to bother Marmalade

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a bit just to show off.
Deirdre showed off her feline companion, a

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three year old rag doll named Popeye. Ironically, that call ended up being

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my longest, but it went by
the fastest Deirdre was a gem. I

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spent most of my time setting up
questionnaires and mapping out the overall structure,

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bouncing emails all the way down the
supply chain, trying to get a clear

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picture of the main issues. It
was the same old story that I'd heard

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a hundred times before, management blaming
the salesman, the salesman blaming the warehouse,

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and the warehouse blaming the technicians.
There were little hitches all the way

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down the road, ranging from dated
inventory systems to useless red tape. After

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the first few days, I started
getting into a routine pingponging between meetings and

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Excel spreadsheets. Marmalade and I made
their apartment into a proper home. Chinese

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tacot boxes started lining the kitchenette,
and I had a few extra talks with

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Deirdre just to pass the slow hours. I started getting used to that place,

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even the awful wallpaper. I stopped
hearing the rumbling pipes after a while,

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and the cigarette smoke from the neighbor
slowly blended into the background smells.

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I stopped waking from cars passing on
the street below, and my first paycheck

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went into making the living room walk
like something that could actually be lived in.

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I remember one night when I was
working overtime, I got a late

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email about submitting a progress report,
so I had to stay up making a

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presentation. I found myself by the
opinion that this was looking more and more

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like a management issue. Who the
hell sends this kind of email at four

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fifty pm on a Thursday, expecting
it to be done before lunch the next

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day? Unbelievable. I was done
by about ten pm. When I shambled

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away from my laptop. I picked
up a can of cat food for Marmalade

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and walked over to a favorite window. Only she wasn't there. Her bed

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was still there, but Marmalade had
moved to another window, still sleeping soundly,

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but she found a new favorite spot. It felt strange in a way,

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like the entire apartment had shifted a
little. Looking up at the wallpaper,

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I could have sworn the patterns had
moved. It looked identical, just

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a bit off. I could have
sworn it was different despite looking exactly the

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same. It was a strange feeling. Everything felt familiar with that one little

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twist made it feel like a new
room. Or starting to doubt myself when

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looking at Marmalade out of a basket. However, it was clear that something

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was different in some way. The
next few days I started to notice this

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shift in new ways. The walls
would look different at night. Where at

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one point I'd see a sunflower,
I'd see a rose the next day.

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Then again, I wasn't ever really
sure, and I chalked it up to

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me just not paying attention. Marmalade
would move from spot to spot, never

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really sure what her favorite ever was. One night, she couldn't settle in

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at all, instead moving from one
window to the next, yawing at me

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anxiously. That night, as I
lay awake, I had my eyes firmly

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fixed on the wall. I could
imagine the patterns moving on their own,

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the many flowers gently swaying to an
invisible wind. It was just that kind

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of unreal surrealist thought you catch just
before you fall asleep. But in that

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moment I could have sworn it was
real living. Even as I closed my

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eyes, I imagined the dark gray
background color to be as deep as an

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ocean, a darkness stretching into a
distant nothing. The next day, as

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I was making my morning coffee,
I noticed something peculiar I stepped on a

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dry blue petal. I couldn't explain
where it came from. I had no

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flowers in my apartment, and the
ventilation was so bad that it could barely

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rotate. Air flower petals were out
of the question. Marmalade played with it

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for a while, and I convinced
myself that it was just something I dragged

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in. Still, it reminded me
of a flower pedal from the Blue Rose

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and the wallpaper. He made me
anxious, but I couldn't figure out why.

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What was I even worried about.
I couldn't let that thought go for

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the rest of the day, that
I was missing something obvious, or maybe

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that there really was something to my
strange paranoia. So at the end of

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the day, when I talked to
Deirdre, I brought it up. I

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explained that there was just something inherently
creepy about living there, like an uncomfortable

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thought tickling your neck when you're not
looking. Deirdre tried to reassure me her

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chuckle coming through my headphones. It
takes time, love, she said,

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you just got here. Besides,
everything looks strange in the dark. Yeah,

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I just can't shake the feeling,
you know, I explained, like

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there's something more to it, like
what. I didn't know what to answer.

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As I stepped into the living room, I noticed Marmalade rolling on the

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living room carpet, casually playing with
another blue petal. Turning on the lights,

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I could see more of them,
over a dozen dry blue petals lining

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the edge of the wall. Finally, I could tell I wasn't going crazy.

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This wasn't a one time deal.
That was real. Marmalade didn't seem

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to mind, though. I'm going
to have to get back to you,

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I told Deirdre. Something came up. As the call ended, I started

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scooping up the petals by hand.
The moment my knees hit the floor,

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there was a power surge. It
was all so quick. A flash of

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black Marmalade hissed, looking straight past
me. I could hear a rustling noise,

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like a large animal moving through a
brush. As quick as it had

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come, it went, leaving only
a startled cat and my elevated pulse behind.

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The lights were slapped back on with
a click, blinding me. Marmalade

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retreated to behind the couch while I
picked up the rest of the petals.

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For a moment I just stood there, staring at the many patterns, petals

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in hand. I could imagine the
gray sinking deeper and deeper, showing me

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something past the obvious, like one
of those images you have to look at

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cross eyed to see the truth.
I had the same sensation, like I

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was missing something obvious. I can
imagine hearing things deep in an imagined forest.

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I could hear branches snapping, I
could imagine the blue flowers swaying in

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the wind, and somewhere in that
depthless dark, something roamed, something looking

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for an exit. At some point
I snapped to attention. There was a

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loud electronic noise and alarm. It
was already morning. For some alien reason,

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I'd been stuck there for hours,
just staring at the hypnotizing patterns,

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an entire night's rest gone. It
wasn't until I stepped away that I realized

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just how exhausted I really was.
My legs had locked in place, killing

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me over straight to the stone tiled
living room floor. Marmalade rushed over,

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worried about this sudden development. I
spent a few minutes just sitting there,

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calming myself down. The ringing from
my cell phone was going strong, trying

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to give me enough time to shower
before my first morning meetings. And yet

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I just sat there, slowly petting
my cat, my eyes bobbing in and

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out of sleep. My body deprived. Where had I been all night?

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What had I seen? I barely
made it through that day, having a

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forty five minute nap over lunch.
By the time I finished my last interview,

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I was a shell of my old
self, barely conscious. I filled

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Marmalade's food and water bowl and crawled
into bed with all my clothes still on

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the moment my eyes closed, i'd
hear something in the distance. In the

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half world between sleeping and waking,
I heard breaking branches, owls taking flight,

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and something large approaching. And despite
knowing I was well and truly alone,

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my body screamed at me to wake, to have one more lock,

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just in case I did. I
forced my eyes open. Something sharp scratched

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against the stone tarred floor, something
retreating in haste, A trail of dry

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petals leading right up to the side
of my bed. After a night of

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dream asleep, I woke up to
choking on something. It took me almost

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a full minute to cough up a
blue petal several of which had been sprinkled

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throughout my bed. I could have
sworn the wallpaper looked a bit lighter,

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as if several flowers were looking sparse. The whole wall looked a bit darker.

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That morning, I'd had enough.
I called in sick and brought up

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my tool box. I started scraping
off the wallpaper, piece by piece,

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across the entire apartment. I made
a day of it, listening to music

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as Marmalade looked at me curiously.
Every illustrated petal and stem dropped to the

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floor, cut by cut, like
trimming a paper garden. By the end

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of the day, my wall was
laid bare, revealing nothing but black lead

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painted concrete underneath. That night,
after a long shower, I went to

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sleep with wallpaper remains still lining the
edge of the room. Finally I could,

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I could look past the hypnotizing patterns. It was done, gone over,

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Except it wasn't. As I went
to sleep, my eyes drifted to

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the barren walls, a black,
eternal night, now unhindered by what little

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paper thin barrier had been erected.
Just looking at it gave me that feeling

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in my stomach like I was falling
forward, even closing my eyes felt brighter

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than staring into it, like it
was more than a color a place.

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At some point in the night,
I heard this loud yell. Looking up,

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I could see Marmalade sitting at the
edge of my bed, staring straight

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at the wall, hissing and raising
a hackles. Looking straight ahead, I

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saw something there, deep in the
dark of the bare wall. Something moved.

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I swooped up Marmalade, who clung
to my shoulder like a parrot.

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I threw in my pants shirt and
got my bag. I'd had enough.

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I wasn't about to stick around to
find out the depths of what was either

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my own sanity or something unnatural entirely
I didn't want to know. As I

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entered the living room, I stopped
dead in my tracks. Every single wall

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had turned a midnight black. The
windows had fogged up from the inside,

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blocking the moonlight from peeking in.
I ran my hand along the wall,

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looking for the door. Something cold
bumped against the palm of my hand a

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finger. I recoiled, almost dropping
Marmalade in surprise. I couldn't see my

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door. As I looked around trying
to find my bearings, I slowly came

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to the realization that nothing was quite
as it should. The kitchenette was further

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away, the windows were further apart. The proportions of the room were off

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and seemingly shifting every time I blinked. It was as if everything in that

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darkness was untrue, malleable, subtly
shifting as soon as I looked away,

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and so was I. Looking down
at my hands, they seemed different with

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every blink of my eye. They
could be older, younger, scarred,

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masculine. It was impossible to tell. It was just diffuse enough for an

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anxious mind to fill in the blanks. But it felt like more than that.

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It wasn't just the fear of the
dark. It was the dark changing

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me. Finally, I fumbled my
way to the front door. I pulled

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it open, and there was nothing, just the solid black nothing. The

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apartment was getting darker, even the
windows were turning black. The kitchen sink

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was running, pushing forth dark,
nondescript globes, all of which had this

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peculiar chemical smell like ammonia. Marmalade
was freaking out. She clung to me,

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digging her claws into my shirt,
hissing at something in the dark whenever

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I turned around, the room would
look different, swallowed further and further by

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the night. I could see vague
silhouette hands reaching forward, some small,

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some impossibly large. I can imagine
creatures the size of skyscrapers, tiring forward,

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impish, little nipping at my heels. I curled into a ball on

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the floor, clutching marmalade close to
my chest. Together we stared down anything

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and everything, creeping closer. But
I was losing My light was dying.

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It was all going dark. Then
I felt a rumble. I'd forgotten my

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phone was still in my pants,
bringing it out. I had a new

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message from Deirdre, the little screen
lighting up, a little bubble around me.

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I wasn't even on the floor anymore. I was sitting on a pile

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of dry grass and blue petals,
and I could see the edge of a

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dead field stretching out around me in
all directions. A wind cut through me

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like cold glass. And there really
were things moving out there, some big,

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some small, all vague and horrifying, waiting for me to look away

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long enough to take shape. Hey, Ann, I heard you were feeling

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under the weather, so I just
wanted to check in, get plenty of

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rest. We'll talk soon, it
played again and again. I filled my

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head with a voice and my eyes
with that little light the phone struggled to

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provide. I could feel Marmalade's pulls
beating against my neck. Something would brush

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against me, a light kick against
my foot, footsteps rushing past. I

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saw nothing, but they were there, hidden in the dark. We'll talk

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soon, deatrous message repeated for the
tenth time. I don't know how long

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I sat there, just waiting for
the dark to pass, but nothing came

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of it. The battery was dying. As it reached the final few percentages

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of power. There was little left
for me to do. The light was

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shrinking. I couldn't hear Dedre's message
anymore. Marmalade was yelling like crazy,

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hissing and striking at something unseen.
As the screen died, I felt the

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chill of the world descend on me. In the silence, I could feel

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something approaching, something careful and calculated. I couldn't see it, but I

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could feel it smiling at me,
leering eager. I was panicking. My

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skin fell like ice, and I
couldn't feel my fingers. I held Marmalade

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close to me, and in a
last ditch effort, I flung my phone

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into the dark. Glass shattered.
I'd thrown it through the window next to

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the little French balcony. A beam
of morning light broke through. I turned

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00:26:06,079 --> 00:26:12,200
around to an empty apartment, the
layout exactly as I'd remembered it, the

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kitchenette still running, torn down,
wallpaper lining the edges of the room,

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Marmalade's favorite bed still by the window, and the many Chinese takeout boxes still

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left unattended, just as it should
be, except every inch of the room

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was covered in dry blue flower petals. Needless to say, I didn't stick

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around for long. I moved out
to the branch office where Deirdre worked and

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ended up staying there. We're still
best friends to this day. I haven't

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been able to talk to a lot
of people about what happened that night.

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I get the sense that whatever lived
in that dark space was just waiting for

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someone to tear down that barrier,
that hedge of flowers and patterns, something

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waiting to pull me into a dark
place, never to return. Poor Marmalade

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hasn't been the same since. Her
fur has turned a matted orange, and

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00:27:19,559 --> 00:27:26,240
she's a lot clingier than before.
She's okay though, she's a happy cat,

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00:27:26,000 --> 00:27:32,680
but it'd be a lie to say
she hasn't changed. The same can

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be said about me. It isn't
a single obvious thing, but I feel

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00:27:37,160 --> 00:27:42,400
like there are things about me that
aren't the same. My eyes look darker,

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my fingers longer, my teeth sharper
and whiter. She just enough for

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me to notice and remember. In
my new place, my sleep with the

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lights on, I try, nodded, look too closely at the wallpaper,

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just in case.
