Mystery Loves Company.

Death. That was the only word to describe the odor seeping through the walls of my apartment. I had had problems with mice just months before. The building is old, and many a crack and cranny adorned its structure. This in mind, mice in the apartment was a common occurrence, despite my best efforts in sealing possible holes and laying traps. It made sense to assume that this stench was emanating from a deceased rodent in the confines of the dividing wall between my kitchen and the outer hallway. It was so pungent, that it began to creep under my door and wafted into my living quarters.

I knew death when I smelled it. I have always lived in old, wooden homes. Vermin, dead or alive, was not unknown to me. The scent is almost unmistakable. About a day had passed and the smell had not faded, and I had not had the chance to send word to my landlord regarding the matter. In fact, the temperature outside became unseasonably warm, which only intensified the smell. One evening after work, I had come and could not bare it any longer. I made it a point to sit down and send a message to my landlord about the issue:

“Hello Ted,

There is a rancid odor in the front of the building. I’m pretty positive a rodent died in the wall or something. It’s AWFUL. It is now seeping into my apartment, and I’m not sure how much longer my scented candles can fight this thing off haha. Is there anything we can do regarding this matter? Thank you!”

I had thought this sounded rather good, but apparently Ted had other ideas in mind. He replied stating that he found it hard to believe that a mouse could have died in the walls. He then asked if I had noticed a pair of shoes in the hall by the door that may be the culprit. I could not help but chuckle. I know I have smelled some malodourous foot ware in my time, however, the stench of death and that of feet are vastly different from each other. I explained that there were no shoes where the smell was coming from, and explained that this was indeed, decay reposing in the walls. I urged him to come and inspect. Unfortunately, he was out of town and would not be able to come for two days. I accepted this and decided to continue to burn my candles and hold my breath when entering and exiting the apartment. It was upon the day before Ted’s arrival that I began to wonder why the other tenant that shares this entrance with me had not notified Ted before I did, or even at all. Did the smell not bother him? I then began to wonder if the other tenants had mice problems at their ends of the building. I mulled this over on my way to work.

The following morning, I found myself on shift bright and early when I received a message from Ted. He wanted to let me know that he had come to the building and checked around the entrance way. He informed me that he could see what I meant by the smell but that he could not locate the source. This did not surprise me, as the source was coming from within the walls, as I had already mentioned! This was where the message ended, which vexed me. Informing me that the scent was present was not what I asked him to do. I had already established there was a putrid funk guarding my front door. I did not bother to answer. Moments later I received another message from Ted. He had put industrial air fresheners out and said that this should help, but that otherwise, the smell should fade on its own. I was still annoyed but semi thankful something was attempted. Albeit a band aid remedy, but I was willing to accept it. I messaged back my gratitude.

Another hour had passed on the clock when Ted sent another message. This one regarding my neighbor.

“Sam, I tried calling Dale a few times, but he isn’t answering. If you see or hear from him could you have him call us, please?”

I agreed to pass along the message but had no intention of seeing Dale. I planned to go home, eat, head out for an evening with my friend, get back late, and then wake up early again for work. I moved on with my day and thought no more of it. When I got home the scent was still present, but so was the scent of the industrial air freshener. I could smell the two fighting for dominance – and in that battle was born this scent that was neither pleasant nor offensive. Really, it was just tolerable. The next morning while I was at work, I, yet again, received yet another message from Ted.

“Good morning Sam. Have you heard from Dale yet?”

I had not realized that Ted had wanted me to actively seek Dale out. I responded that I had not seen him. Although, I rarely see Dale to begin with, and I have been living in the building for over a year now. He only ever comes downstairs to go out for a cigarette, to visit his son, or to buy groceries and more cigarettes. He is a nice man but just rather quiet. Not that there is anything wrong with being quiet. He lives alone and keeps to himself. He stays out of my affairs and is neighborly when necessary. I had no complaints about him. Honestly, half the time I forget he lives upstairs.

“Good morning Ted. No, I have not. Sorry”

I realized that may have sounded curt, but I was still annoyed regarding the bare minimum that was done to resolve the smell. However, the next message I found to be too off putting to answer in a curt manner.

“Would you normally hear him going out to smoke?”

“Yes, but lately I haven’t been home much during key hours of the day with work and doing classes at night.” I replied. I found this message strange. What was this fixation on Dales whereabouts? Was this… scent related?

It was then I thought the worst. The same thought perhaps Ted was having. Was the smell… Dale? Oh God! Was Dale “living” above me this entire time, decaying in an old recliner with the television on!? Was the odor that I had been smelling, in fact, his flesh rotting away?! Chemical compounds filling the apartment like water in a bathtub!? Was this “bathtub” so full that it made its way down the stairs? That stench of death creeping and wafting its way to my front door, so close that it came knocking, and I had answered each time! Inviting the post-mortem essence of what was once Dale into my home – and allowing it to soak itself into the fibers of my couch, clothes, curtains, and to descend upon my furniture! Would he begin to drip from the ceiling and onto my apartment floor?!

The thought of it sent my entire body into a chill. I shivered violently. So much so that I could not help but produce an indiscernible sound. My colleague looked over and asked what was wrong. I informed her of the events leading up to this day, the implications, and now my own theory regarding the circumstances surrounding Dale. Her dark eyes grew rather wide, and she assured me that this was probably not the case, although possible. I comforted myself saying that if an untimely fate had stolen Dale’s life, his son would have come by searching for him or to pick up his things by now. I was left to entertain these thoughts and fantasies for a few hours until my phone was graced with another message from Ted.

“Franny went up to check on Dale. His truck is parked in the lot, but once she got inside, she found that he was not home.”

Franny, Ted’s wife, was lucky – because I was nearly certain she would have found a rigor mortis man in that apartment. Why Ted felt he had to keep updating me was beyond me, but in this instance, I was happy he did. My anxiety had risen so high I was beginning to overheat. I went home that night, and when I opened the door to my apartment, I felt relieved. Yet the confirmed loneliness at our end of the building made it feel a tad eerie. The fact that Dale’s truck was parked and unmoved, but he was not home, made it even more suspicious.

Just over a week had gone by. The truck had not moved. Dale had not returned home. Snow began to fall and made a blanket over his vehicle. Beneath the truck, the pavement was bone dry. Not a change had been made. Everyday, I watched for any sign of life. Nothing. I never even heard him walking around upstairs. I had since quit my job and he never went out for cigarette’s anymore, so I knew he had not returned. For a middle-aged man that I hardly ever saw and never really thought about for an entire year, I really began to miss the comfort of his presence above my tiny abode. I now classified him as “missing in action” in my own mind. Where could he be? Every so often I would peek around the staircase and see if anything had been taken. But all his shoes were still strewn across the landing in a messy heap. His cleaning products were still lined up on the sill under the hall window. Nothing had changed.

On this particular day, a package arrived on the front porch addressed to Dale. Nothing sinister or deliciously mysterious about it. It just was a type of industrial PPE that he had ordered and had finally arrived. I began to wonder if he ordered this pre disappearance or during his absence. I figured it could not have been during. Mail has slowed down massively since the pandemic began, so it was highly unlikely. Even so, if he knew he would not be home to receive the package, why would he order it to the apartment? Moreover, why would this be priority? I decided to conduct an experiment and left it out on the porch to let the snow sweep over it. I wanted to see if it would disappear too. An entire day came and went. The package was left out in the cold, untouched.

Ted came to the apartment the following day and noticed the package outside. I was not home, and he had not brought his keys. He messaged me asking me to bring it inside for Dale. I did so and left it on the landing of the stairs that lead up to his place. I have checked everyday since placing it there. It has been a week, exactly. That box is still where I left it. As I write this, Dale remains MIA. Hospitalized, deceased, living a double life, vacationing, who is to say? The fact that a man could vanish, like wisps of smoke in the wind, seemed so other worldly. As if he never really existed in the first place. No one has come to claim his possessions, and this gives me hope that Dale is alive somewhere. I await his return each day with hopeful optimism. This tale may not yet be resolved, but it also may never truly end. That will depend on Dale, and his journey home. Whether it is to be successful or stopped dead in its tracks. If he slips into the shadows, then I bid him farewell and true peace. Regardless, however, I have taken a solemn vow to not allow his memory, should he never return, to be forgotten – as though he were a button that has fallen between the cracks in the floorboards. I will remember to remember Dale. After all, mystery loves company. In this life, or the next.

To be continued…?