Sid is a good friend of mine from days long past. He has fallen on hard times. A lot of the men… and women… who have been the places we have been and done the things which we have done, have been overwhelmed by what has been burned into their memory once they try to “return to society.” Many, like Sid, try to drown the memories of what they saw… or did. When that didn’t work, he fell totally apart… booze, broads, drugs, everything, until he ran out of money and then did whatever it took to get another bottle or another fix. Sid became a homeless bum. But he was there with us. So he is still one of us. So we are still there with him.
I, and the others, have often helped Sid. Sometimes that help is bailing him out of jail. Sometimes it is tying him to a kitchen chair while he screams about the spiders and bugs that are crawling all over him. Doc, another good friend who was there, is usually present for those screaming DT sessions. Coming off booze after a couple of months of daily drinking ‘til you black out can be very hard on the body and mind and everything else.
Lately Sid seems to have finally gotten his life in order. He’s off the booze and has been drug-free for over two years. Another good friend, Alberto, who understands from experience, owns several apartment buildings and agreed to hire Sid as a live-in superintendent. Sid collects the rent, does minor repairs, makes sure the cleaning company is doing their job in the hallways and common areas, and tries to keep the street people out on the street.
He’s good at his job and seemed to be doing really well until four days ago. That’s when I got a frantic text from him. It said, “Sarge, I am either losing my mind or there is something really weird going on here. Please stop by so we can talk.”
I cut short a business trip so I could get over to his place and talk to him. He looked like hell when he opened the door. His eyes darted back and forth as if he expected some enemy to spring out of the shadows. His hands frantically signaled me to enter and he quickly slammed the door right behind me.
We sat at his kitchen table. I looked around for signs of booze or drugs such as empty bottles or needles or stuff like that, but the place seemed clean… except, that is, for a huge pile of cigarette butts in the ashtray on the table. He once explained, “Cigarettes are the one vice that is OK at the meetings.” I gave them up long ago, but I can control my drinking and don’t have to go to the meetings.
“Well, it’s like this,” he began, “I don’t know what to do. Every night about nine or ten, I hear these women talking really loud out in the hallway. I open my door, but there is nobody there. Then I hear the elevator doors closing and when I look down the hallway the elevator is heading down.”
“So?” I replied.
“Sarge,” he practically screamed, “I live in the basement… the sub basement. There ain’t no floors below this one.”
“Are you sure you aren’t dreaming?” I asked. I hesitated, but then added, “Or perhaps you are having flashbacks from something in the old days.”
“I didn’t dream this,” he said as he slid a small, orange envelope across the table. “Sid” was written on the envelope in a very fancy handwriting that somehow I knew was a woman’s hand. Inside was a folded orange card. On the outside of the card was an embossed, darker orange pumpkin with bright yellow eyes and a carved mouth that seemed to be formed into something between a smile and a leer. In the center of the eyes was a red flame that almost seemed to be flickering. Inside, the card read, “You are cordially invited to a Halloween party beginning at 9:00 pm on Halloween night. Costumes are optional. Fun is not. No need to BYOB, there will be a complete bar with “extras” and plenty of companionship. See you at 9:00 pm on floor L3.”
“So,” I said, handing the invitation back to him.
“So,” he practically screamed, “This is floor L2. There ain’t no floor L3. How in the hell could there be a Halloween party on that floor?”
I tried to calm him… and myself… down. What kind of sick bastard would be playing mind games like this with someone like Sid.
“It’s probably someone playing a very sick joke, Sid,” I said calmly. “God knows what they get out of something like this, but you need to just ignore it.”
“This I can ignore… maybe,” he said, putting the invitation back in the envelope. “But there is no way you can explain that elevator going down.”
“I’ll look into it,” I said as I patted the top of his hand. “But if anything changes, give me a call. I will be in town for at least the next week.”
“Yeah,” he said, “that is after Halloween.” Then he laughed and said, “Maybe you can come to the party with me.”
“Keep hold of yourself!” I said very firmly. “Don’t let these bastards push you back over the edge.”
“I know,” he said. “I know. And I know that I can call on you or Alberto to keep me away from the edge.” His face lost all expression as he said, “It’s a damn long way down once you go over that edge.”
I stood up and Sid walked with me to the door. “Are you sure you are going to be alright?” I asked as I stood in the doorway.
“Got your number right up here,” he said, tapping the side of his head. Then he held up his cellphone and said, “And you are on speed dial in here.”
Two days later I got a frantic phone call from Sid. As soon as I answered I could hear Sid almost screaming, “This can’t be real. This can’t be real. But you gotta see this. You gotta see this. You gotta see this.”
“Be there in ten,” I said and dashed to my parking spot. Thanks to good traffic and no cops, I made it there in eight minutes. I hadn’t even knocked on Sid’s door when he pulled it open and said, “I don’t know if this is a dream or a nightmare or what, but you have to look at this.”
Sid’s computer was on his kitchen table. There was a thumb drive sticking out of the side. “That was in my mailbox this morning,” he said pointing at the drive. “No note. No nothing. Just that damn video.”
Sid tapped a key and a video began to play. A beautiful, dark-haired woman appeared on the screen. “Hello, Sid,” she said in a very sultry, very throaty voice. Sid tapped another key and the video froze on the screen.
“I know that woman,” Sid said. “I don’t know where I’ve met her or when, but I know her.” He paused and then said, “And she scares me to death.”
He restarted the video and the woman’s voice continued, “I thought you might like to see some scenes from last year’s Halloween party.”
Sid stopped the video once again and said, “That’s where I stopped it and called you. Are they trying to drive me nuts?”
“If you know that’s what they are trying to do,” I said firmly, “you have already won and they have failed.”
“Maybe,” Sid huffed as he poked the keyboard and restarted the video. The camera panned around a large room that appeared to have concrete walls and ceilings. In one corner a naked woman was positioned over a large cushion of some sort. A line of naked men stood behind her and another line stood in front of her. One very large man was grunting loudly as he pumped almost violently in and out of her ass. Another man stood with his prick in her mouth and just moaned softly as she was driven up and down on his prick by the force of her ass-fucking.
“That’s Becky,” Sid said softly, “she used to be my source for… for anything. If you could smoke it, snort it, or inject it, Becky could get it for you. Then she started using her own product and disappeared.”
The camera panned again to a man on all fours sucking an unbelievably huge dick. He was being rocked forward and back by the blows of a huge wooden paddle that was being wielded by a man dressed like the movie version of some ancient Roman or Phoenician slave master pounding a drum in the oar galleys of some ancient warship.
“That’s Booker!” Sid exclaimed. “They used to call him Booker the Hooker. He claimed he was the best cocksucker in town. He was also a pimp. He had a stable of young addicts– male and female– that he would pimp out to anyone.” He paused and then said, “I didn’t know he was into pain.”
“Maybe he’s not,” I said as the camera again moved. This time it showed a small, round table. A group of eight or ten men and women were doing lines. They were using straws or rolled up dollar bills. One even had an elaborately-engraved silver tube to suck the white powder into her nose. It didn’t look like any of them were actually enjoying themselves. Each one would draw the powder in and then cough or gasp or moan, “No, no, no more.” It looked like this portion of the video was looped because the lines kept reappearing as soon as they were sucked away.
“That must be some really good shit,” Sid said wistfully.
“Don’t step over the edge of the cliff,” I said firmly.
“I know. I know,” Sid replied, “but it still looks like high-quality white.”
The video panned past a long bar with men and women in costumes standing drinking. Many of the men were dressed like devils. Many of the women were dressed like sexy nurses or police women or whatever. One woman was standing at the bar naked. Red welts that looked a lot like the paddle that was pounding Booker stood out on her more than ample ass. She turned toward the camera and said, “I wish Sid was here. Maybe next year.”
Sid nearly jumped up from the chair in which he was seated. “What the hell?!” he exclaimed. Then he looked at me and yelled, “What the hell was that?” He backed up the video and froze it on the image of the naked woman. “I don’t know that woman,” he said angrily. “What are they trying to do?”
“They’re trying to get you to come to their Halloween party,” I said calmly. “But I think that party might be at the bottom of the cliff.”
“No,” he said emphatically, “it’s on floor L3.”
He took a couple of deep breaths and restarted the video.
The final scene showed what appeared to be a dozen or more mattresses pushed together on the floor. There was a jumble of naked arms, legs, pricks, cunts, boobs, and asses. Over the grunting and moaning of the public orgy, the sultry voice from the beginning of the video said, “Remember Sid, tomorrow night at nine right here on floor L3.”
“There ain’t no floor L3,” Sid screamed at the computer screen.
“Someone is messing with your head really hard,” I said softly. “Do you want me to stay with you tomorrow?”
Sid took several deep breaths as if he were considering my offer, then he said, “No, I think I need to face this myself.”
“I’ll be only minutes away,” I said at the door as Sid ushered me out of his apartment.
As I waited for the elevator, I carefully watched the numbers as it came down from the eighth floor. It stopped on the first floor and then came down past LL, the lower level with laundry, resident storage, etc, and then down to L2. There was only one apartment on L2 and that was Sid’s. The rest of the level was boilers, air handlers, and other equipment.
I got off on the ground floor and headed for my place. Things didn’t seem right, but Sid had said he could handle it himself. I had to respect his wishes, and he had been doing really well for the past two years.
I stayed very close to my phone on Halloween, especially as it started to get dark. Sid never called, but I still slept very lightly all night expecting a call. I was sitting at my kitchen table drinking my morning cup of coffee when my phone finally rang.
It wasn’t Sid. It was Alberto. “You’d better get over here,” he said flatly, “I think the police are going to want to talk to you.”
I think I said, “Shit!” about a hundred times before I even got to my car. There was an ambulance and a fire truck sitting outside the doorway to the apartment building. A cop motioned for me to stop and I said, “Alberto called me. He said I needed to be here and that you would want to talk to me.”
“I’ll take you downstairs,” the officer said and motioned for me to follow him into the building.
There was a gurney sitting just outside Sid’s door. A paramedic was standing next to it. “Waiting for the coroner’s permission to move the body,” he said as the officer passed him.
Sid was sitting at his kitchen table. There was no doubt he was dead. The laptop was closed. A white envelope was sitting on top of it. Sid’s name was written in a very ornate script. Beneath that, in Sid’s rather shaky writing, it said, “Sarge, tell the boys I decided to accept this invitation instead.”
A man in a paper jumpsuit and rubber gloves was taking pictures of everything. He looked up as I entered the room and said… I think to the police officer, “It looks like a heart attack.” Then he said very calmly. “I would put the time of death between eight and ten last night.”
“I think that is intended for me,” I said softly, pointing toward the note. He took a couple more images and then opened the envelope. Inside was a white folded invitation. On the front was a black and white drawing of a Jack O’lantern with a big smile and a golden halo. Inside, in very flowery script, it said, “Leave your devils and demons behind. Join us at 9:00 pm for a very special Halloween party on the fourteenth floor.”
“That can’t be!” Alberto sputtered.
“Why?” I asked, and he responded almost immediately, “This building only has twelve floors.”
