M4R5
𝗉𝗌𝗒𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗎𝗍
Ephraim Campbell
The Hermit
190 Sunnyside Drive, Apt 301
Tense & Frustrated
interactions
N/A
The morning was still young, the kind of early hour that wrapped itself around you like a warm blanket, a temporary refuge from the noise of the day that would eventually break through. Ephraim Campbell scoops the last bit of oatmeal from his bowl, the spoon scraping against the ceramic with a sound that echoes too loudly in the quiet, dimly lit apartment. With a sliver of time to kill before the grind of work began, Ephraim decided to lose himself in the pages of a book - a ritual that brought him a peculiar kind of peace. The living room was bathed in the soft, gray light of dawn, the air cool and still. He moves with the deliberate pace of a man who had lived this moment a thousand times before, heading to a window and sliding it open. The creak of the old hinges was a familiar sound, almost comforting. He reaches for his old worn and frayed camping chair. The fabric was threadbare, the metal joints loose, but it held together. Barely. With a practiced flick, he tosses it through the window, hearing it land on the fire escape with a soft clatter.
Ephraim set his coffee mug on the windowsill, watching the steam curl into the morning air, a ghostly wisp that disappeared as quickly as it came. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, his digits sifting through and finding the one he’d been saving for this moment. He lights the cigarette and takes a long drag as the end flares in the soft light. The feeling is a familiar burn in his lungs and he embraces the calming buzz while the nicotine wraps itself around his nerves like a nurturing embrace.
The world hadn’t quite woken up yet, and for that, Ephraim was grateful and he intended to savor it. He reaches for his current fixation, Helter Skelter, dog-eared and battered, full of his scrawled notes and highlighted passages. He flips through the pages, in search of the torn scrap of paper he uses as a bookmark, to find it nestled between the tales of the madness and murders of Charles Manson. Slouching back in his chair, he let the weight of the book settle in his hands, its presence grounding him in the moment. With his coffee in one hand, book in the other, and cigarette perched between his lips - Ephraim let out a long, content sigh. For now, he was exactly where he wanted to be and the world around him fades as he dives back into the chilling narrative.
---
The distant wail of police sirens pierce the morning air, sending a jolt of fear through Ephraim's body. He froze as the shrill sound grew louder, slicing through the silence he'd been enjoying just moments ago. His head snapped in the direction of the noise, eyes wide and unblinking, as the sirens zeroed in on the multiplex. The calm that had settled over him shattered and was cruelly replaced by a gnawing sense of dread.
He didn’t have to wait long to find out what was going on. The commanding voices of police officers echoes through the streets, their authority cutting through the air like a jagged blade. "Marysville Police Department! We need to speak to Kowalski!" The officers' voices carried a weight that made Ephraim’s heart pound in his chest. More officers began to swarm the building, their footsteps a drumbeat of impending chaos. The sudden pounding on doors sent a shiver down his spine, the command clear and terrifying: Evacuate immediately.
Ephraim cursed under his breath, the cigarette forgotten as he flicked it out into the street below, watching it spiral down like a dying ember. He slams his book shut, the spine cracking in protest and scurried back through the window with a clumsy urgency that sent his coffee mug tumbling over the edge. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, frustration bubbling up as the mug disappeared from sight. I’ll deal with that later, reassuring himself despite not knowing just how much later it would be with the current circumstances.
As he pulls himself back into the apartment, his mind races and he had to move fast, no time to think, only react. His sneakers, a well worn pair of black Chuck Taylors, were parked by the door. He shoves his feet into them, the laces barely tied as he double-knotted them with shaky hands. The thumping of boots on the stairs and the muffled shouts of officers filled the building, getting closer with each heartbeat. The commotion was rising and the panic spread like wildfire through the old walls. Ephraim snatched his keys off the table and was halfway to the door when a cold realization stopped him dead in his tracks. He patted his pockets - keys, wallet, pager - pager? “Shit!” The word slipped out, laced with panic. He spun around and lunged at the couch, fingers clawing through the cushions with frantic desperation. The sound of fists pounding on his door made his stomach twist into knots.
Bang! Bang! Bang! The door shook with the force of the blows. “Marysville Police Department, we need all tenants to vacate the premises immediately,” the officer's voice boomed through the wood, cold and unyielding. He shot a wide-eyed glance at the door, his heart hammering in his chest as his hands kept digging, searching, praying for a miracle. “One minute-” Ephraim called back, his voice tight, his mind racing. Finally, his fingers clasped around the pager, yanking it free from its hiding spot. He stuffed it into his pocket and bolted for the door, wrenching it open to come face to face with a thickset officer who looked like he’d seen it all and didn’t have time for anything else. “You need to - ” the officer began but Ephraim cut him off, his voice breathless and impatient. “ I heard you the first time.” he snapped, shoving past the officer and making his way to the stairs. The officer's eyes narrowed but he didn’t argue. Ephraim’s mind was already ahead, focusing on the steps beneath his feet, on the sound of sirens and shouting voices, on the gnawing uncertainty of whatever the hell was about to happen next.
---
The tenants spilled out onto the street like ants from a kicked-over hill, their faces etched with confusion and concern. Hushed voices carried a heavy weight, weaving a tense narrative of fear and speculation. The words, gas leak, floated in whispers from one mouth to another as they huddled together. Just a few feet away from the crowd, Ephraim spotted Kowalski, in the middle of a heated argument with the officers. His face was flushed with anger with crumpled paperwork clenched in one hand as he jabbed an accusatory finger at the documents. Whatever he was saying was lost to the commotion but the scene was enough to tell Ephraim that something was seriously wrong and their landlord was at the root of the problem.
Still in motion, Ephraim makes his way across the street to the telephone booth. He fumbles in his pockets, pulling out a handful of change and begins feeding the coins into the slot. The metallic clink reverberates in the booth as he dialed Kitty’s landline, the cold rotary dial sticking slightly with each turn. The phone on the other end begins to ring, each tone stretching out into eternity as Ephraim’s eyes flicker impatiently back to the building. “C’mon, pick up, pick up.” Ephraim stammers irritably, his grip tightening around the receiver. The ringing seemed endless and just when he thought he might hear that honeyed southern drawl, the dreaded click of the answering machine cut through the line. A monotone, mechanical voice informed him that the mailbox was too full to leave a message. He groans inwardly, the frustration boiling over. He should’ve known better - Kitty’s answering machine was always full, a side effect of her constant back-and-forth with her mother, Darlene. Reaching her was a game of chance, one he was clearly losing.
Ephraim slams the receiver back onto the hook with more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the small booth as his irritability spiked. Calling had been a long shot and now he was back to square one. He pulls his pager from his pocket, fingers moving apprehensively as he tapped out a quick, cryptic message to his sister, Liz: Don’t come home. Police. The words were stark, to the point, leaving no room for misunderstanding. With the message sent, Ephraim stuffs the pager back into his pocket and steps out of the booth. The scene on the street was growing more chaotic by the minute. He begins scanning the crowd, searching for a familiar face, someone who might know more about what was happening. The uncertainty gnawed at him while he makes his way back to the building but he kept his head on a swivel, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone who could give him answers.
Ephraim set his coffee mug on the windowsill, watching the steam curl into the morning air, a ghostly wisp that disappeared as quickly as it came. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, his digits sifting through and finding the one he’d been saving for this moment. He lights the cigarette and takes a long drag as the end flares in the soft light. The feeling is a familiar burn in his lungs and he embraces the calming buzz while the nicotine wraps itself around his nerves like a nurturing embrace.
The world hadn’t quite woken up yet, and for that, Ephraim was grateful and he intended to savor it. He reaches for his current fixation, Helter Skelter, dog-eared and battered, full of his scrawled notes and highlighted passages. He flips through the pages, in search of the torn scrap of paper he uses as a bookmark, to find it nestled between the tales of the madness and murders of Charles Manson. Slouching back in his chair, he let the weight of the book settle in his hands, its presence grounding him in the moment. With his coffee in one hand, book in the other, and cigarette perched between his lips - Ephraim let out a long, content sigh. For now, he was exactly where he wanted to be and the world around him fades as he dives back into the chilling narrative.
---
The distant wail of police sirens pierce the morning air, sending a jolt of fear through Ephraim's body. He froze as the shrill sound grew louder, slicing through the silence he'd been enjoying just moments ago. His head snapped in the direction of the noise, eyes wide and unblinking, as the sirens zeroed in on the multiplex. The calm that had settled over him shattered and was cruelly replaced by a gnawing sense of dread.
He didn’t have to wait long to find out what was going on. The commanding voices of police officers echoes through the streets, their authority cutting through the air like a jagged blade. "Marysville Police Department! We need to speak to Kowalski!" The officers' voices carried a weight that made Ephraim’s heart pound in his chest. More officers began to swarm the building, their footsteps a drumbeat of impending chaos. The sudden pounding on doors sent a shiver down his spine, the command clear and terrifying: Evacuate immediately.
Ephraim cursed under his breath, the cigarette forgotten as he flicked it out into the street below, watching it spiral down like a dying ember. He slams his book shut, the spine cracking in protest and scurried back through the window with a clumsy urgency that sent his coffee mug tumbling over the edge. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, frustration bubbling up as the mug disappeared from sight. I’ll deal with that later, reassuring himself despite not knowing just how much later it would be with the current circumstances.
As he pulls himself back into the apartment, his mind races and he had to move fast, no time to think, only react. His sneakers, a well worn pair of black Chuck Taylors, were parked by the door. He shoves his feet into them, the laces barely tied as he double-knotted them with shaky hands. The thumping of boots on the stairs and the muffled shouts of officers filled the building, getting closer with each heartbeat. The commotion was rising and the panic spread like wildfire through the old walls. Ephraim snatched his keys off the table and was halfway to the door when a cold realization stopped him dead in his tracks. He patted his pockets - keys, wallet, pager - pager? “Shit!” The word slipped out, laced with panic. He spun around and lunged at the couch, fingers clawing through the cushions with frantic desperation. The sound of fists pounding on his door made his stomach twist into knots.
Bang! Bang! Bang! The door shook with the force of the blows. “Marysville Police Department, we need all tenants to vacate the premises immediately,” the officer's voice boomed through the wood, cold and unyielding. He shot a wide-eyed glance at the door, his heart hammering in his chest as his hands kept digging, searching, praying for a miracle. “One minute-” Ephraim called back, his voice tight, his mind racing. Finally, his fingers clasped around the pager, yanking it free from its hiding spot. He stuffed it into his pocket and bolted for the door, wrenching it open to come face to face with a thickset officer who looked like he’d seen it all and didn’t have time for anything else. “You need to - ” the officer began but Ephraim cut him off, his voice breathless and impatient. “ I heard you the first time.” he snapped, shoving past the officer and making his way to the stairs. The officer's eyes narrowed but he didn’t argue. Ephraim’s mind was already ahead, focusing on the steps beneath his feet, on the sound of sirens and shouting voices, on the gnawing uncertainty of whatever the hell was about to happen next.
---
The tenants spilled out onto the street like ants from a kicked-over hill, their faces etched with confusion and concern. Hushed voices carried a heavy weight, weaving a tense narrative of fear and speculation. The words, gas leak, floated in whispers from one mouth to another as they huddled together. Just a few feet away from the crowd, Ephraim spotted Kowalski, in the middle of a heated argument with the officers. His face was flushed with anger with crumpled paperwork clenched in one hand as he jabbed an accusatory finger at the documents. Whatever he was saying was lost to the commotion but the scene was enough to tell Ephraim that something was seriously wrong and their landlord was at the root of the problem.
Still in motion, Ephraim makes his way across the street to the telephone booth. He fumbles in his pockets, pulling out a handful of change and begins feeding the coins into the slot. The metallic clink reverberates in the booth as he dialed Kitty’s landline, the cold rotary dial sticking slightly with each turn. The phone on the other end begins to ring, each tone stretching out into eternity as Ephraim’s eyes flicker impatiently back to the building. “C’mon, pick up, pick up.” Ephraim stammers irritably, his grip tightening around the receiver. The ringing seemed endless and just when he thought he might hear that honeyed southern drawl, the dreaded click of the answering machine cut through the line. A monotone, mechanical voice informed him that the mailbox was too full to leave a message. He groans inwardly, the frustration boiling over. He should’ve known better - Kitty’s answering machine was always full, a side effect of her constant back-and-forth with her mother, Darlene. Reaching her was a game of chance, one he was clearly losing.
Ephraim slams the receiver back onto the hook with more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the small booth as his irritability spiked. Calling had been a long shot and now he was back to square one. He pulls his pager from his pocket, fingers moving apprehensively as he tapped out a quick, cryptic message to his sister, Liz: Don’t come home. Police. The words were stark, to the point, leaving no room for misunderstanding. With the message sent, Ephraim stuffs the pager back into his pocket and steps out of the booth. The scene on the street was growing more chaotic by the minute. He begins scanning the crowd, searching for a familiar face, someone who might know more about what was happening. The uncertainty gnawed at him while he makes his way back to the building but he kept his head on a swivel, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone who could give him answers.
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