Kims' Apartment

The spray on my face washed the last bits of conditioner out of my eyes. I could still taste its perfume where the run-off had dribbled on my lips, but the stuff itself was gone. I stepped back and let the water hit my chest, washing away the memory of the day.

That’s when I heard the creak. One of the floorboards in my bedroom makes a distinctive creak when stepped on. Since I live alone, and was obviously not in my bedroom, it could only mean one thing: an intruder.

Every evil fantasy of what could happen to a girl living alone with an intruder in her apartment hit me at once. But I’m not the sort who screams. Kimberly Myers, pull yourself together, I told myself, first assess the situation; you can panic later if you have to.

I got out of the shower without turning it off (no need to alert anybody that I knew they were there) and took stock of the bathroom. Towel: no, I forgot it in the bedroom, along with my robe. I’m doing this naked. Weapon: no, the plumbing stuff was all stored under the kitchen sink, and the blow dryer and curling iron were in my bedroom. I didn’t even have a nail file.

Well, unclothed and unarmed it would be. I pulled the door open and found myself face to face with a man. I started and jumped back. He did the same thing; he looked totally surprised to see me.

“What are you doing in my apartment?” We said it in perfect unison. His hands whipped down to cover himself; he was also dressed the same way I was. My hands did the same. Covered me, not him.

We stared for a few moments. He was a bit taller than me and just as thin; he had blonde hair and blue eyes like me, and even similar facial features. He could be my brother, if I had any brothers.

We both spoke at the same time again. “How did you …” He stopped and let me continue. “… get in here? I just moved in a couple of weeks ago and I made them change the locks beforehand.”

“Me too. This is apartment 9B, 204 Maple.” Okay, that was my address too. Things were getting creepy. He bit his lip, just like I do when I get nervous. “Maybe we should, you know, get decent and discuss this like adults.” He backed down the hall to the bedroom and ducked in. Meanwhile I opened the linen closet and examined the contents. Nothing but hand towels; I took a couple of them and sort of covered myself.

He came out with my bath towel wrapped around his waist and handed me a robe that looked sort of like mine. I turned away and put it on thankfully. Once properly covered I turned back to him.

“What’s going on here? How can we have the same apartment?”

“You got me. It’s like one of those ‘creepy stories’ shows. You aren’t going to grow tentacles and try to eat me, are you?”

“Uh, no. And you’re the only one with anything that looks like a tentacle.” I don’t know what had possessed me to say it; he turned beet red and so did I.

“Look, whoever you are, my name’s Kim – Kim Janssen. Maybe we should go into the bed…” he paused, “…the living room and talk.”

“Your name’s Kim too? Weird; Janssen was my mother’s maiden name.” But I went with him; it beat standing in the hallway.

The living room I walked into was almost mine. It had a bigger TV and some of the ornaments were more boyish; there was a soccer trophy where my field hockey trophy usually stood, but otherwise it could have been mine. I sat down in the chair and he took the love seat. He started to stretch out the way I like to, but thought better of it when his towel shifted.

He bit his lip again. “I’ve been thinking, Kim. Have you ever heard of parallel worlds?”

“Yeah. You think this is one?”

“Maybe. I’ve been working on a story for my English Composition class; I know Professor Johnson doesn’t really like SF, but …”

“… but you’re doing it anyway because you love SF? Me too. I was going to do a romance set on …”

“… a space station, but now you’re having other ideas? Me too.” We both laughed. “But will it be a romance?”

Once again something came over me. I got up and sat down next to him, then leaned in close. “You tell me.”

We spent the next hour or so going over the romantic aspects of our stories. I’m happy to kiss and tell, but if anything else happened it’s none of your business. Then I had one of those major realizations.

“The shower! My water bill’s going to be lethal!” I ran to the washroom and shut it off.

I could tell something was different right away. It wasn’t anything specific, but the room didn’t look quite the same. I knew if I went into the living room I’d find my own furniture and my own trophy, but no other Kim. The place suddenly felt emptier.

There was a hissing spatter behind me, followed by a startled scream. I turned and there was Kim, wearing his now-soaked towel. The shower was on and he looked like a drenched kitten.

“It’s the shower; that’s what opens the gateway. You disappeared when you turned it off.”

I laughed, partly from relief and partly because he looked so pathetic. “Yeah, I guessed. Now what are we going to do about it?”

“Well, at the very least I’m going to invest in a decent bathing suit and set aside more money for water bills.”

“Wonderful ideas, Mr. Janssen. I think I’ll do the same.”

Kristen

The Lord of Nightmares looked down at the new thing in his realm. It was a human child, as far as he could tell. It was standing there in a little red dress with scuffed red shoes and pink socks. Its skin was almost as pale as his, its hair was white as bone, and its eyes were pink. But the strange part, the truly unusual part, was that it was not cowering. It was staring blankly at him.

“Who are you?”

There was no trembling in its voice, no shaking quiver. He smiled his most menacing evil grin at her. “I am the Lord of Nightmares, child. You are under my influence now. Fear me!”

“Nuh-uh. You’re just a creepy old monster.”

He grew his most terrifying fangs and horns and did his best menacing loom. The little brat should be screaming for its mommy by now. He reached out a claw and dragged it across the child’s face, leaving a thin trail of blood on its white cheek. There was no reaction whatsoever.

“Why aren’t you screaming, child?”

“Because you’re not scary. You’re just a monster. You just want to eat me.”

“Then what are you afraid of?”

“People. They look nice and they act nice, and then they hurt you. But I’m in a dream now, so there’s only monsters. And monsters can’t hurt me for real.”

“I could tear you to shreds of bloody flesh, child!”

“Kristen.”

“What?”

“My name is Kristen; if you tear me apart I’ll just come back. What happens if I tear you apart?”

“Impudent brat!” He grabbed the child’s arms and tore her in two, then stomped the pieces to a bloody pulp. As he finished she walked into view.

He tore her apart again, and she appeared again; then a third time. Again she walked up, this time giggling.

“You can’t hurt me, Mister Monster; I know you. You used to scare me, but not anymore. Now I want you to teach me.”

“Teach you what?”

“To do what you do.”

“Never!”

“If you don’t teach me I’ll pull off your horns and give them to the other monsters.”

“You can’t!”

Wordlessly she reached up and snapped off one of his horns, then started looking around. He concentrated but it wouldn’t grow back.

“What trickery is this?”

“It’s my dream. Now teach me!”

“And so he taught the girl. She was an avid pupil and a quick study. By the time he was done she could do everything he could, only better because she could do some of it while she was awake, too. And that’s how I became a Magical Vampire Angel.”

“Can you teach me to be a Magical Vampire Angel?” The little girl’s green eyes stared into her pink ones.

“In time, dear, in time. For now go to sleep and remember the monsters can’t really hurt you.” Kristen tucked her adopted daughter in and kissed her forehead tenderly.

TJ

Something looked odd when the cab pulled up in front of our house, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. We’d just gotten back from that cruise; the one that had been cut short three days because of the fire on board. The company had given us a choice of conciliatory offers; we chose the 50% off your next cruise option, and changed our flights to get home early.

The driver and I had just finished getting all the luggage out of the cab when Trisha ran up looking concerned. “Martin, the door’s open.”

“Thanks, dear.”

“I didn’t open it. It was open when I got there.”

I set down the camera bag and looked at the house. From home to horror in five seconds; a new record. There was nothing I could think of in our luggage that would make a good weapon, so I carefully advanced on the door. Pushing it open quietly, I stepped inside.

I took the walking stick out of the umbrella stand by the door. It was made of stout oak and about four feet long. We’d inherited the damned thing when Trisha’s father died; I’d wanted to sell it but she decided otherwise. Now I was happy to have it.

“Hello?” I didn’t want to surprise the intruder; hopefully, they’d get scared and run when they found out someone was home. “Who’s there?”

A girl, about fourteen, came out of the kitchen. Her jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide. She was almost as tall as Trisha and looked a lot like her in many ways. Of course Trisha was older and didn’t have an offset Mohawk that hung down one side, nor did she have a half-dozen studs in one ear, black eye shadow, or a small ring in her nose. She also wouldn’t be caught dead in a sheer black tee that you could see her bra through or uneven cut-off jeans that looked worn enough that Levi Strauss might have sewed them personally.

“Dad? What are you doing here?”

“This is my house! Who are you, and why are you calling me Dad?”

A look of dawning horror crossed her face. “Feek! You’re home early!” She bolted past me and up the stairs.

I gave chase, and caught her in the doorway of our bedroom. Past her I could see that our bedroom was in use; clothes were strewn everywhere and dirty dishes abounded. There was a laptop sitting in the center of our unmade bed.

“Okay, young lady, explain to me why I shouldn’t call the police.”

“Come on Dad! It’s me, TJ! Where’s Mom? She can sort this out!”

I had no idea what this girl was playing at, but she might as well have an audience of two. I held on to her shoulder as we walked back downstairs so she wouldn’t bolt. Trish was waiting by the door.

“Trish, do you know this girl?”

“She looks like my niece Sandra.”

“I’m not cousin Sandra, Mom, I’m me. TJ, your daughter!”

“I think I’d remember having a daughter, young lady.”

“You haven’t had me yet. Look, maybe we can go into the living room and sit down and I can explain everything.”

My wife took charge. “This should be interesting. Okay, young lady, into the living room. Martin, you get the bags; we don’t want them stolen off our driveway.” I did as I was told while Trisha got things arranged in the living room. Before too long it was time for a family meeting, plus one.

“Okay. TJ, was it? Martin and I are ready to hear your story.”

“There’s not much to it, really. I’m from the year 2029; that means I’ll be born next year. I have a book report due tomorrow – my tomorrow – and I needed a time out to get it done. So I looked through your vacation pictures and found out about the cruise you’re supposed to be on. Then I came back to use the empty house for a quiet place to work. But you guys got home early.”

“You travelled through time to get here?” Either this kid was crazy or the world was. I was still betting on it being her.

“Yes, I travelled back through time. Time is meaningless in the Foam. It’s your presence that matters. That’s why I had to come back to before I was conceived.”

“Well, what happens if we decide not to have you now?”

“The bubble splits; there’ll be two parallel worlds for a while, until one or the other doesn’t matter anymore. I’m guessing it’ll be the one where I don’t exist, since otherwise I wouldn’t be able to come here.”

Mind-bending. Apparently she’d spent some time thinking about this. “Suppose we want to believe you. How can you prove it? Who wins the World Series this year?”

“I don’t know, I don’t follow baseball from before I was born. How about this: when you call in to work they’ll tell you a new girl started in Accounting today. Her name is Liz, and she’s going to come on to you. You turn her down, but the event reignites the spark between you and Mom, and I’m born a little over a year later.”

Trisha seemed to be thinking; after a moment she spoke. “Okay, TJ, we’ll go along with your story on three conditions. One: Martin, you call work and find out if anybody new started while you were gone.”

I called and talked to my co-worker Bill. Before I could even ask he started gushing about a hot girl named Elizabeth in Accounts. Close enough; I thanked him and said I’d be in on Monday.

“Assuming ‘Elizabeth’ is Liz, that’s one right.” TJ looked smug.

Trisha continued. “Two: what does ‘TJ’ stand for?”

“Patricia Jean. I’m named after you, Mom, and your sister who was stillborn.”

Trisha turned gray, but marshalled up the last question. “Three: what book are you reading?”

“Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte. We have to write a spin-off story about one of the other characters; I chose Adele.”

I tuned out at that point and went to clean up our bedroom. When Trisha got into that mood I couldn’t win, and she was a total sucker for nineteenth-century romances. Even if the kid’s story was total BS, she’d won my wife over, and I knew better than to argue.

TJ ended up staying in our guest room for almost a week, and was actually a fairly nice kid. She was cluttered, but did clean up after herself when prompted. She finished her story about Adele running off to Italy to find her mum, and she was dead on about Liz. By the time she left I was a bit sad to see her go, but also anxious to spend some “quality alone time” with Trisha.