Day 1: Your character moves into a new apartment. On the surface, the place seemed ideal, but his/her first night there, your character discovers a terrible problem with the place that he/she didn’t take into account . . .
I awoke with a start.
There was a sound, a pop, a knock, a crack. Something had jolted me out of my dream. I strained my eyes against the unnatural darkness that surrounded me. I wouldn’t see my hand even if it was right in front of my face. How is it this dark? I listened for the sound that woke me, waiting, anticipating, hoping it wasn’t real, that it was only apart of my dream. I dunno, but I never heard the sound again. I settled back in bed and waited for my heart beat to normalize and for sleep to come and claim me again. There’s no one here but me and Knuckles, my black Pomeranian. That’s when I realized I hadn’t heard him all night, which meant there really was nothing to worry about.
“It’s all in my head.” I sighed aloud more so I could hear a non-threatening sound fill this unfamiliar space.
I sighed and closed my eyes glad to be drifting off to sleep again. It was always hard for me to sleep in new places, but the move had worn me out and tonight I would sleep like a baby.
I sat up wide-eyed straining against the black. I definitely heard a creak in the floor boards. It sounded clear and crisp but almost distant, like it was in another room. I wondered if I should turn on my bed lamp, what if I didn’t like what I saw? What if there really is someone or something in my room? You’d be dead already, my subconscious quipped.
I frowned, leaned over the right side of my bed and fumbled for the light switch. I flicked it on and a dull glow spread throughout the room like wild-fire. My eyes searched the room, along the edges of my four-poster bed, from the lamp on the bed side table on the right of the bed, along the wall toward the closet, to the grandfather chair with all my clothes in the far corner of the room. The shutters on the window next to the chair were left open to let in some cool air tonight. I watched them sway in the night breeze to ensure the sound either came from them or no. I didn’t hear the sound so I continued my visual search of the room. On the other side of the window was a vanity which was adjacent to the bathroom. Nothing seemed out-of-place.
“Knuckles?” I called into the night. . . Nothing.
“Knuckles?” I called even louder expecting to hear the pitter patter of Pomeranian feet across my hard wood floors. Still nothing.
Where in seven hells is that guard dog of mine I thought throwing off my sheet and stepping into my fluffy slippers at the foot of the bed. As I stood I heard a slight groan in the floor boards, that is normal. The creak that startled me however, was something of an entirely different nature.
I tiptoed through the bedroom door and flicked on the living room light. Boxes lined the walls still unpacked and the furniture laid toward the center of the room. Everything just as I left it. But no Knuckles.
“Knuckles?” I whispered this time, as if I would wake the sleeping giant or some would be intruder.
“Knuckles where are you dammit? Quit ignoring me you little yip!” I still whispered not wanting to scare him off with my angry tone.
I took a deep breath and searched every crack and crevice in the apartment. Knuckles had to be here somewhere, he couldn’t have gotten out. I was on the third floor with only a front door to get in or out, and a patio with a breathtaking view of the city. The twinkling lights of the city below was mesmerizing, one of the major buying points for this apartment. That and its exclusivity; the apartment was the last in a row of units on the third floor, I had only one neighbour. The apartment is a one bedroom one bathroom unit with living, dining, wash room, water heater, and a copper free-standing bath in the bathroom. That is what really makes it exclusive. Apparently, my unit is the only one with a free-standing bath and I love that!
But now, I couldn’t find Knuckles and I worried that he’d found some hiding hole I haven’t discovered yet, and that he might die in there somehow. My thoughts grew dark as I searched the room. I moved boxes, shifted furniture as quietly as I could, given that it’s so late, checked along the base of the walls, I checked the door and the patio, and found no trap door, no secret passage or hut, and no Knuckles.
Where could he be?