Work was done for the day. He grabbed his few items scattered around his cubicle and headed home. As he walked down the street he tried to ignore the large screens playing ads for various services. The screen hung low on the corner a block away from his apartment complex, the ad was so odd it almost seemed like a joke. The service was for a company called Pet Pals, as service for as far as he could tell renting a pet for an afternoon or a weekend. How this service would be of any use to a person was beyond him. Maybe men would rent a small dog for a weekend and hang around pet parks trying to pick up women with the dog as a front. It was clever… until it wasn’t any more. How much would one pay for a day with a dog? Did the dog come with some sort of accessory kit with a leash, treats and poop bags? One would hope so.
He walked up to the apartment and pushed the elevator button. It was slow to arrive as always so he checked the mailbox. There was one letter he grabbed it and stepped into the elevator as soon as it arrived punching in his floor code. He looked at the letter. His address was handwritten with no return address. He looked at it with suspicion, ripping the end of the envelope open. I grabbed the paper with in. The elevator chimed and he stepped out onto his floor. He pulled out the paper within the envelope and unfolded it. It was a handwritten letter. He stared for a moment wondering who had sent such a thing, a message from beyond the grave?
He unlocked his door and stepped inside hanging up his jacket and bag. He read the letter.
Hello,
It is good to hear from someone new. Not many take the time to write a real letter anymore. Though it is slow and incontinent we consider it a welcome treat. Kelley was glad you liked her zine. We would wish to give you Vol. 1 and Vol. 2 but each copy is hand drawn and made only in very limited quantities, about 8 if memory serves. Sadly the meager supply of Vol. 1 and Vol. 2 were dispersed out into the world some time ago. We would love to know where you found your copy of Vol.3 those small details often escape memories of the corridors we hand them of to. Perhaps you can visit us if you have time? We live in the remains of an old brick construction mid-century apartment block just North of Chambers St. We would be happy to host you if you have the patience to deal with us and out eccentric ways.
Your friends on the roof
Apparently that letter he sent off to a mysterious P.O. box has reached its intended recipient. While the offer was intriguing he knew it wasn’t very wise to wonder around a rundown part of town hoping to find an artists loft on a roof, as whimsical as that sounded.
He set the letter down on the kitchenette counter and went about some of this other tasks, hanging his jacket and looking at some bills then paying said bills over the corresponding phone app. Which quickly slipped into scrolling a couple of social media feeds. He quickly stopped and grabbed the letter off the counter and read it again.
How could he not go? He had been handed an invitation to a secret society of some sort this is what people dream of. This could be a ploy to rob and murder him, it could also be some sort of long game scam. It didn’t matter he wanted to find out.
Paul thought to himself for a few silent moments. It was Friday tonight and tomorrow he was free. He could go tonight no one would miss him. If anything happened no one would miss him. It was a case of dammed if you do dammed if you don’t. There was no simple or safe answer. He could stay home safe and miss out on this strange adventure, or he could go and risk his life for a shot in the dark at an adventure. Both seemed foolish to him. If you are going to live foolishly you might as well go out in a blaze of glory.
He grabbed his phone and looked up the exact address. The area was several miles away on the outskirts of an area that was being modernized… gentrified as some would call it. A transit stop was only a few hundred feet from the exact location. From his generals commanding top-down view the area didn’t seem to dangerous. He could take a bus there in 30 minutes or less. He had just over 3 hours of daylight left. He pondered for a moment then grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.
For the entirety of the 20 min bus ride he flipped back and forth from a sense of being a bold adventurer to ringing his hands to the point of pain over whelmed by a sense of terror. The bus stopped “9th street and South West park” called out the automated voice. He grabbed his phone and checked the bus rout map. He was one stop from his destination. He could get off now and turn around. Go home with nothing lost but an hour of his life and a modest bus fare. The door clacked shut and the bus lurched forward. It had been decided for him.
He sat on the bus looking at the few other passengers and older woman and her even older husband near the front and a teenager staring at his phone two rows ahead of him. The only sound that filled the late afternoon bus was the grind of the engine. The next few minutes passed either very slowly or very quickly, It was hard to tell. The buss came to a particularly rough and sudden stop “Chambers St.” chimed the automated voice. He stood looked at the other passengers, none of whom acknowledged him and stepped off onto a side walk greeted by a cool after noon breeze.
He walked the 500 hundred feet past a trendy set of apartments, a few small shops, a construction site, an empty lot and finally stopped across the street from a 5-story brick building. It looked rough clearly abandoned. Maybe he was the victim of a prank. Maybe this was the home of some drug dealer. He decided to wait and watch. The roads were clear so he could leave in multiple directions any time he wanted. He walked around the next corner and around the side of the building. The back of the old building was blocked off by a high brick wall and a door that was clearly locked and had been for a long time. He took the long route back down towards the bus stop and back to the front of the building. He stopped and waited.
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