Ash Morana opened his eyes to the familiar, but somehow surprising sight of his ceiling fan with the blades lazily drifting in a circle, blowing stale air around the stuffy room. His left hand quickly went to his head and felt around his short brown hair, fingers groping for something that wasn’t there as he stared wide eyed at the fan swaying above him. His right hand suddenly twitched and instinctively tensed around what he was holding. He held his hand up and when he looked at it he saw himself clutching a small revolver that fit comfortably in his hand.

  He stopped groping around his head and helped support the small gun with both hands, feeling around the cylinder until he popped it open; five chances with one already gone. He closed it again before letting his hands fall back to his sides, still holding the gun. He shifted in bed, rolling over so he could try staring at the wall instead of the ceiling. The moment he rolled onto his side he came face to face with a brief glimpse of a horror that no soul should ever see.

  His mind did its best to shield him, lest he shatter on the spot, leaving him only able to see a single glassy eye staring back at him in the midst of a black void of sludge, an eye he recognized as his own.

  An overwhelming scent surrounded him that he was previously blind to, rotting, festering, and decayed. Every nerve in Ash’s body sent a jolt through his system as his blood ran cold enough to freeze. His body reacted before his thoughts could catch up as he scrambled out of his bed and onto the floor, hand still clutching his revolver. Before he knew it he was breathing hard enough to make his whole body shake as he tried yet again to look at what was lying next to him in bed. Every breath was followed by a wheezing, muffled scream clawing its way out of his throat.

  With his vision blurry, and legs trembling, the black sludge around the singular eye started to melt away, slowly revealing patches of torn, frayed flesh. The same short, brown hair, matted with rose tinted rust started to come into view. He could see traces of the clothes they were wearing, the very same clothes he was wearing now, a dark blue suit missing its jacket, not fit for sleep, or the interview it was worn to complete. Doubt was quickly disappearing at who or what this could be, and before the image could complete, he turned away as quickly as he could.

  Bile rose in Ash’s throat and before he could brace himself for impact he turned his head and lost a few slimy calories all over the floor. The dark blue suit jacket used to complete his outfit caught most of it, laying discarded on the ground. He looked at the revolver in his hand again, checking the cylinder one more time. The same as before, five chambers, but four bullets, with one case left behind. He didn’t bother vocalizing where the fifth bullet was as he closed it, trying not to think about it anymore.

  “What the hell is happening?” He said out loud this time, audibly and physically lost on how to proceed or process anything happening in front of him. His eyes met the singular gaze on the bed one more time as it felt like the world around him was starting to crumble as a droning in his ears bore into his skull. He took one step forward, inching closer to the shadowy mass on the bed, and as soon as he tried to take a step further, the mass’ eye shifted and stared straight back up at him.

  Ash didn’t have anymore to say, he spun around on his heels, socks digging into the carpet, and ran for the door. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he scrambled for the exit, his free hand twisting the knob to throw the door wide open and toss himself through the threshold. Ash slammed the door shut back behind him and took off sprinting down the apartment hallway. His vision blurred around the edges, barely seeing the shape of other apartment doors blowing past him. Directly in front of him in the distance was the entrance to the stairs, and without thinking any further he pushed his way into the stairwell and collapsed on the floor, breathing hard, and clutching his chest.

  His other hand, shaking, was still holding the gun with a vice-like grip. “Come on,” he told himself, in a hushed whisper, “wake up already.” Ash shut his eyes as he tried to control his breathing, taking deep breaths while he pushed himself up off of the ground. He opened his eyes again, half expecting to see his ceiling fan again, but he was still in the building’s stairwell. If this was really a nightmare, he knew a few ways to shock himself awake, and one of them was still comfortably resting in his right hand.

  After a few seconds of wrestling with the decision he heard a rhythmic echoing in the stairwell; it sounded like footsteps. Was it actually coming from the stairs, or was it behind him down the hall? Did his other self pull himself out of bed and make his way over here? His eyes darted around as his hand clutched the grip of the revolver even tighter before he saw a hooded figure at the bottom of the lower set of stairs staring straight at him.

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  “Hey!” they shouted while running up a couple of steps, but they stopped in their tracks once their gaze fell on the gun in Ash’s hand. Suddenly the figure put both of their hands up, palms facing outwards as concern washed over their face. “Whoa hey, I’m not looking for trouble, we’re probably in the same boat.” A surprisingly relaxed voice, young, but not without confidence, called out from under the hood. For a moment, in his delirious gaze he could have sworn he saw a flame flicker in one of his palms.

  Even though he was thinking about using it a moment ago, Ash forgot he was holding a gun until it was pointed out to him again. He looked down at the gun again, before staring straight ahead. “You can put your hands down, I don’t plan on shooting anyone else.” Ash leaned back against the wall before he slumped down again, taking a firm seat on the ground.

  There was a small pause, but the hooded figure walked up a couple more steps, now pulling his hood down with his slender fingers as he properly came into view. A young boy without a wrinkle in sight was staring back at him, a stark contrast to his white hair. His eyes, a comforting, but dark blue, still kept their gaze trained on Ash’s gun. The black jacket he was wearing looked too thick for the summer heat, and the dark pants he was wearing made it hard to tell where his jacket ended and his pants started.

  “Else?” he asked, a twinge of concern crept into his expression, but it was soon replaced by a gentle smile. “I didn’t hear anything besides the door to the stairs opening.” He pointed to the door to the stairwell Ash just came from.

  Ash didn’t answer, he still wasn’t sure how to answer it, but the boy didn’t push it any further. His first question ignored, the boy looked towards the door behind him. “Is it blocked over there too?”

  “Blocked?” Ash asked back.

  “The stairs,” the boy’s smile brightened a little as he finally got a response, “they’re blocked back that way and I can’t go past the second floor.” He pointed behind him with a thumb, but there was no way to see any blockage from here without looking over the stairs’ railing. Ash finally stood up, making the boy take a small step back.

  “Blocked with what? Maybe I can help move it out of the way.” Ash offered, trying to sound a little more friendly while armed.

  “Unless that gun is a lot stronger than it looks, I don’t think anything is getting through the blockade down there.” The boy turned back towards the stairs, looking down the stairwell. “It’s just a solid wall, like they never planned on making a floor below it in the first place.” When he heard that, all Ash could think was that his brain was too lazy to dream up his entire apartment building.

  “You don’t look surprised, were you already down there?” The boy asked him.

  Ash felt around his back pockets, looking for a space deep enough to hold his revolver, wishing he had dreamt of an actual holster. “No,” he carefully slipped the small gun into his back pocket to make himself look a little less threatening, “I was just thinking it wasn’t very creative.” With someone else here, he figured the dream was at least worth continuing a little longer.

  “Sorry to spook you like that earlier,” he walked past the boy and to the stairs leading down. He looked off to the side of the railing, but wasn’t able to see the floor below from here. “I’m Ash, from 306.” he turned back around to see the boy looking his way, looking at least a little more relaxed. “I’m guessing you live on another floor? I don’t remember seeing you before.”

  “You live here?” The ever present smile faded, replaced by the face of someone lost in thought.

  “Look, I know it’s not in a great part of town, and there’s only one maintenance guy, and the carpets have a lot of crunchy spots,” Ash quickly stopped himself when he realized he was ranting. “But it’s not that bad. It’s,” he wracked his brain for the best compliment he could find, “cheap.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he turned back to Ash, his face calm but his eyes wandering, “I meant more like, I didn’t think people lived here,” he didn’t look like he found the words he was looking for yet, “or could live here.”

  To Ash that didn’t sound much better. “Alright I get it, Broolhaven Heights sucks for anyone with a pulse and a sense of smell, but yes, I live here. Plenty of other people unfortunately do too.”

  The boy almost seemed to look past him until realization clearly dawned on his face. “Oh,” he paused, “you surprised me since you’re conscious and pretty stable, but you haven’t realized it yet.”

  “Realized what?”

  “That you’re dead.”