For the Love of Writing: Voices of the Brownstone

Chapter 1

very day I sit in this cell and wonder how I managed to end up here. I have lost everything in my life for my crimes. Heinous as they were, I didn’t realize what I was doing. I take that back, I did realize it then I justified it, and I did it wholeheartedly. I am a murderer. I never meant to hurt anyone, but the voices made me do it. Not the voices in my head, not like that guy David Berkowitz. The voices in my apartment were telling me to kill. Let me start at the beginning….

It was June of nineteen eighty eight and I had just graduated from high school. This was a miracle in itself for me. I wasn’t stupid by any means, but I was hell on wheels back then. I had been involved with drugs for years. I graduated with honors though. Imagine what I could have done with myself if I hadn’t been doing the drugs!

I decided to get out of that little town and spread my wings. I hated the small town life. I grew up in a tiny town in upstate New York where everyone knew everyone else’s business as soon as it happened. I hadn’t lived at home since I was fifteen and everyone in town knew it was because I was a “problem” for my mother and she just couldn’t deal with me anymore. Even if I straightened myself out and tried to be a “productive member of society”, I wouldn’t get that chance in this town. It was time to move to the city, but which one?

Rochester had its good points. I had friends that lived there. It was definitely big enough to have a good time. It had Seabreeze Amusement Park, and I’m a sucker for a good roller coaster. It also had one of my favorite places to shop on earth, The House of Guitars. A lot of bands got their start there and the place was just awesome! You could find any music you wanted there, even local artists no one else had ever heard of. You never knew who you would run into in that place; it could be Billy Squire, Stevie Ray Vaughn, or Zakk Wilde. It was THE place to be! But I wanted more, I wanted anonymity. I needed a fresh start where no one knew who I was.

Buffalo was an option, but all I could remember about it was the Buffalo Zoo. A friend told me that there was a great theater there, Shea’s Performing Arts Center. I wanted to get into theater since I was so comfortable being someone else, more so than being myself. It would be a step in the right direction, but how would I ever get noticed in a local theater in Buffalo? I was soon headed for New York City.

The bus ride was long and the weather was stifling. I got off the bus in the wee hours of the morning. The bus station was busy even at four in the morning. People were sitting all around in plastic chairs with televisions attached, many sleeping. There were others camped out on the floor with their bags under their heads. I wasn’t sure if they were travelers stranded at the station, or homeless people just avoiding the heat. I decided it would be safer to stay inside the station until daybreak. I found a seat with my back to the wall and sat down to wait. I didn’t want to waste my money on the television, so I pulled out an old beat up paperback and started to read to pass the time. I don’t remember what it was, but it was interesting enough to keep me awake until dawn.

As the sun came up, many of the people left the station. I guess many were homeless after all. I found a newspaper one of them had left and started looking through the ads for an apartment. I knew I didn’t have a lot of money, but I needed someplace to sleep besides the bus station. I must have read through hundreds of apartment ads. Most were a lot more than I could afford since I had limited resources and no job yet. I went through pages and pages of ads. Most of the ads were for penthouse apartments that started at several thousand dollars a month. I had almost resigned myself to coming back to the bus station tonight when I got to the last ad in the column. I couldn’t believe my luck; I found a cheap apartment in what I recognized from my research as a pretty nice neighborhood. It was listed as a spacious loft in the Brooklyn Heights area and it was only five hundred a month. It included the utilities and furniture, I was thrilled! I had my entire life savings in my bag and it amounted to about six thousand dollars. I could pay several months in advance if I needed to and still have a bit left for food. I closed the paper and looked at the date on the front, it was three weeks old. The apartment was surely rented by now. I decided to call anyway, what did I have to lose?

I went to the nearest phone booth and dialed the number listed in the ad. The phone rang and rang and I was just about to give up when an old woman answered the phone.

“Hello.”

“Yes ma’am, I’m calling about the apartment you have listed in the Times.”

“Honey, that ad is three weeks old.”

“I know, I’m just getting into town and was hoping the apartment might still be available. I know it’s a long shot and it’s probably already rented, but I just had to try. I’m sorry I bothered you ma’am, I’ll just keep looking.”

Despondent, I was just starting to hang up the phone when I heard the woman speak.

“It’s still available.”

I couldn’t believe my luck!

“I’ll take it. When can I move in?”

“Don’t you want to look at the place first, honey? It’s an awfully nice place, but what if you don’t like it? I mean, I’m glad to have it rented and all, but still, I think maybe you should take a look first. No one else that’s looked at it wanted to rent it.”

“Why?”

“Well honey, it’s haunted.”

I laughed and asked her when I could come see the place. She told me I could come right then if I wanted to and gave me directions. I was on the next bus going that way.

When I got off the bus, the sun was shining brightly on the dew covered lawns. The houses in this area were well kept. I couldn’t believe my luck at finding a place in such a nice neighborhood. The woman’s directions were clear and concise and I reached the block in a matter of minutes from the bus stop.

There were rows of identical brownstones stretching down the block. They all had tall stoops, majestic entryways, long windows encased in heavy window lintels, and deep sills. There was a perfect symmetry to their uniformity, a pleasing rhythm and solidity especially when paired with the ancient trees, flower boxes overflowing with trailing vines and flowers, and heavy black cast iron railings and fences. I just had to like the apartment now; I was already in love with the neighborhood.

I walked along looking for the house, but also taking in the atmosphere. This appeared to be a family neighborhood. There was a park across the street with kids riding their bikes, families picnicking and lovers walking hand in hand through the flower gardens. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk just to take it all in. I turned back around and realized that I didn’t care what the apartment looked like, I wanted it.

When I arrived, I was a little taken aback to see the old woman staring out the window. I guess she had been watching for me, but it was just a little unsettling to see her face staring back when I looked up at the door. I began to climb the steps and she opened the door to let me in.

My first impression of the place was awesome! The foyer was beautiful. The tile flooring was immaculate and the woodwork was gorgeous. I just didn’t see how I could not like the apartment. She led me up the stairs and into the apartment. It was beautiful! I was shocked that no one had rented it before. If the place was haunted, I had to remember to thank the ghosts!

The furniture was nice, not at all what I expected to find in a furnished apartment. All other furnished apartments I’d seen before had shabby furniture that no one cared enough to take care of. Most of the stuff looked like it was antique. There was a small writing desk in front of the windows, overlooking the park on the other side of the street. There was a camelback settee on the opposite wall and a pair of library chairs positioned on either side. But I think what really made me fall in love with the place was the huge claw foot tub in the bathroom. I loved to soak in the bath and it would be great!

I had been walking through the apartment silently, taking it all in. I knew this was going to be my new home. How lucky I was to find a great place like this on my first day in New York.

“I’ll take it!”

“Don’t you want to know about the ghosts?” she asked me.

“I don’t care about any ghosts; I love this place.”

Her face was troubled as she grinned at me and told me I could have it for five hundred a month, but she’d need first and last month’s rent. In light of the ghosts, however, she told me she wasn’t asking for a security deposit. I reached into my bag and handed her a thousand dollars. I wanted to pay a few extra months in advance but she refused to take it.

“Let’s see if you’ll be able to stay. If they like you, they’ll let you stay as long as you like, but if they don’t you’ll be out in a week.”

“If who likes me?”

“The ghosts.”

I just smiled at her and told her not to worry, they’d love me. I just had to stay here, and if dealing with a slightly mental landlady made it possible, then so be it!