[Original Novella] Whittier Alaska, Part 3

^{source
Part 1
Part 2}

But when I got to the apartment, it was empty too. It makes no sense. Mom should still be here, at least. When she’s black out drunk, she’s no good to anybody until the next morning. There’s no way she could get up and leave on her own.

Maybe Dad took her out for a night on the town? The only tunnel into or out of Whittier closes at 10pm. Plenty of people have had to sleep in their cars just because they got back from Anchorage a minute or two late. That can’t be it either, though. It’s still light out.

I hesitate before calling Mom. If she’s up, then she found out Patrick and I went out without permission. But it just rings anyway, she never picks up. Probably she has it on silent and the phone’s in her purse. She’s always doing that. Dad gets on her case sometimes about how there’s no point to carrying a phone if nobody can reach her with it.

I hesitate even more before calling Dad. He bought me the phone as a birthday present, but it came with all kinds of conditions attached. One of them is never to bother him at work unless it’s an emergency. I look around. Is this...an emergency? I don’t really know. It’s not lying if you don’t know.

“Hey Dad? Listen, I know you told me never to bother you at work, but-” He interrupted me, barely intelligible through the static. “I’m not at work young lady, I’m at home. Where you should be right now. I hope Patrick’s with you, because if you let him run off on his own again-”

“Wait. Where are you?” He repeated that he’s at home right now. “Dad, you can’t be at home. I’m at home. What room are you in?” Not like there’s many possibilities. There’s just two bedrooms and a bath, the kitchen and living room are kinda smushed together.

“I’m in the livingroom. Is Patrick with you or isn’t he?” I didn’t answer. He continued badgering me through the phone as I turned in place, slowly studying the living room around me. “Dad, I’m in the living room. I don’t see you.” He just went on lecturing me about Patrick.

The static grew worse until I could only make out every other word. I banged on my phone a bit, not knowing what else to do, until the screen flickered. If I break this thing, there’s no way I’m getting a new one. It was hard enough to sell Dad on the idea to begin with.

Only one bar. The reception in here isn’t the best. It’s highly dependent which room you’re in and how close it is to the center of the building. There’s no reception in the elevator at all, something to do with the metal panels. Come to think of it, I can never get a text out from the bathroom stalls at school for the same reason.

Not here, though. It’s always been three or four bars. The battery’s at 62%. I hunted down my charger and plugged it into the wall, but nothing happens. No “boop” sound to register that it’s charging like usual, no tiny lightning bolt over the battery icon.

How could he be at home? Why would he lie to me? Patrick couldn’t have orchestrated all this. I slowly began to take seriously my growing suspicion that something’s gone wrong. Very, very wrong. I can’t...be alone here...can I? I ran into Mrs. Saganawa in the elevator. She should still be around here someplace, at least.

I tried calling Dad again, but it bounced. Again and again I tried, with the same result every time. Likewise when I tried to call Mom. For the first time, I caught myself wishing Patrick had his own phone just so I could track him down easier. Last time I asked I Mom why that’s automatically “my job”, I got an earful, so I haven’t asked since.

When the apartment phone rang, I was powerfully confused until I remembered these old land line telephones keep working even when there’s no electricity. The school subjects us to this gay safety assembly every year where we’re supposed to memorize emergency tips like that, I guess some of it actually sank in.

I pick up. The girl on the other end sounds faint and scratchy. Not so much like static, more like a worn out old recording. “Control the tone” she whispered. Tone? I ask if she means the dial tone. There’s a pause. “The mood. What joined you in the elevator…it will only appear when it’s cold, dark, and grey.”

I asked her name. She just babbled on. “The tone of the situation. The feeling. The atmosphere. Control the tone, and you can stop it from following you. Colors, lights, music. Disrupt the bleak, dismal tone, and it will stay away.” I asked if she lives in this building. She hung up on me.

Control the tone? Prank call, surely. If Patrick didn’t set all this up, she must’ve. I looked out one of the front windows. The windows of every apartment in the smaller complex, every shop and the handful of private homes were all dark.

That’s when I saw a distant, glowing red cross atop the Buckner building. It’s the other half of the military base all of this used to be, back during world war two. Begich tower got bought up and converted into what it is today. The Buckner building was just left to rot.

In the Summers, sometimes we’d go out there after dark just to poke around inside with flashlights and spook ourselves. Or play hide and seek, or take pictures. Probably some of the boys in my class also use it for the same...sorta thing...as the boiler room.

But the cross suggested a new possibility. I’ve never heard of the church a few floors down holding services in the Buckner building. I’ve never heard of it being put to any use at all. Yet there stands a great glowing crucifix, plain as day.

Can’t be a holiday I’ve forgotten, they’ve never gone out to hold a service there before. I doubt it’s a marriage either, those are usually held either in the lounge or the Ptarmigan room. Could someone have specially requested it? I don’t see why anybody would want to do it there, though.

As I watched, the cross seemed to grow brighter. So slowly I almost didn’t notice. Larger too, as if it’s getting closer. At the same time I felt pressure on my ear drums, and a slowly intensifying feeling of dread. It manifested as a weight in my chest which only pressed more and more sharply by the minute.

“Control the tone”. Someone had written it in the condensation on the window with their finger. I wiped it away. With the dehumidifiers down, all the other windows were starting to fog up too. I waited by the phone a little longer before setting off in search of Patrick.

The weight in my chest wouldn’t go away, but it seemed to lighten somewhat as I put more and more distance between me and the apartment. Still, I felt consumed with anxiety. Hard to place the exact kind. It’s like when you’re little, hiding from a thunderstorm. It sounds like something huge is angry with you, and trying to find you.

Like something bad is coming. The weight, and pressure of it bearing down on me as it draws near. That nameless feeling of impending doom. Given how old Begich Tower is, unsurprisingly there’s a few ghost stories associated with it.

Most to do with soldiers, still roaming the halls, some whistling. That’s what they say. Someone will be walking alone at night when they hear footsteps behind them. But when they look, nobody’s there. That’s when the whistling starts.

I strain my ears, but hear no whistling. Nor do I hear any footsteps other than my own. Only after I’ve gotten into the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor do I realize that it has the only working light in this place. For that matter, why does the elevator still have power when nothing else does?

I search the elevator but see no clues. Only “Control the tone” carved under the button plate with a knife. Was that there when I started? I exhale, and notice I can see my breath in front of me. Just keeps getting colder. I’d better find somebody soon.

It didn’t take long to decide. However I searched, I could find nobody in the main building. It left me with no option other than to check out the Buckner building. That glowing cross was never there before, it’s the only obvious lead.

I took three jackets I found hanging on the rack by the front entrance. Nobody around to tell me not to, and I didn’t want to return to the apartment just yet. Once sufficiently bundled up, I headed out into the blank white expanse.

I didn’t get far before noticing little things are amiss. The cloud cover, as tumultuous as ever, isn’t moving. Normally it slowly undulates like the surface of an upside down ocean, but as I stood there watching, it didn’t budge. Several minutes passed with no visible motion before I gave up and pressed on.

The next thing to catch my attention was the snow. I didn’t even realize it was snowing when I left, but only because it wasn’t falling. I couldn’t accept what I was seeing until I got right up close to an individual snowflake. Hanging motionless in the air, like the others around it.

What is this? I’ve never seen anything like it before. I waved my arm around, which scattered the snowflakes, but they wouldn’t fall. Like they’re in space or something. That’s when I thought to check the time on my phone.

49% battery? Shit, I left the light on. That’s the least of my problems though. The clock still reads 5:28 pm. I didn’t bother to write down when we started, but that sounds about right. What is all this? It can’t really be what it looks like.

I can’t make myself deal with that on top of everything else, so I ignore it and keep trudging through the snow. Certain that I’ll find the Buckner building packed with familiar faces. A surprise party? It isn’t my birthday, but it could be someone else’s.

It’s just a short ways down the road. Easily reached in ten minutes of walking, during the Summer. When there’s snow blanketing everything, it’s a different story. I begin to work up a sweat, and feel tempted to peel some layers off, but something I vaguely recall from an assembly stops me.

I don’t remember exactly why, but when you’re out in the snow and start to feel overheated, you’re not supposed to strip down. Better too warm than too cold out here, I guess. I ignore the sweat and keep walking. As I draw near, I despair that the windows are all dark.

But then if it’s a surprise party, they would be. Or if they lugged the projector out here to watch a movie. Every conceivable possibility except the one I didn’t want to seriously consider swarmed around inside my skull. They’re all in there waiting for me. They have to be.

When I reached the door, I saw no signs of life inside. Just cold, silent darkness. Maybe they’re further inside? I get my phone out and turn the light back on. I hate how it chews through the battery, but I need it right now.

I find no traces inside that anybody’s been here at all since last Summer. Only rusted beer cans, some cigarette butts. A lone, filthy mitten. I didn’t trek all the way out here to give up so easily though. So I ascend the staircases one at a time, calling out for Patrick along the way, until I’m on the top floor.

Still no reply. I wander to the outer wall, peering through the window back at Begich Tower. If he’s not there, and he’s not here...where has he gone? For that matter, where is everybody else? I can’t make sense of it. Their cars are all out there too, so they can’t have all gone to Anchorage either.

As I studied Begich Tower, my gaze snagged on a little black dot near the entrance. I’m a bit near sighted so I couldn’t make it out, but after a minute of watching it, I could at least be sure of one thing. It’s getting closer.

Patrick? I squinted, but it was no use. The closer it got, the more confused I became. Whoever it is should be bundled up, but they’re not. They aren’t heaving back and forth the way I do when I’m trudging through snow either, and they’re not leaving behind the usual trough carved into snow that deep when you walk through it.

The figure just seems to...glide. Over the snow. Not moving their arms or legs, just drifting along. I retreated from the window. Pressure built on my ear drums. The weight in my chest returned, and steadily increased. However desperately I hoped someone would find me until now, some deep seated, primal instinct told me that I don’t want it to be the black figure.

I descended the stairs, floor by floor, my heart pounding. I almost tripped over myself a couple times on the way, but just kept going. I have to get to the bottom floor before...I don’t know. I don’t know what. Sweatier still, out of breath, I made it to the entrance...only to find Mrs. Saganawa standing there.

I seized up, one foot still on the bottom step. “...I didn’t see you come in. Where is everybody?” She didn’t reply. “Did you see somebody else on the way here? Dressed all in black?” Slowly, she shook her head. Then advanced towards me.

“Don’t come any closer.” She continued, step by step, regardless. When I climbed up a few steps, she lifted a short ways off the ground and began to glide towards me. I turned and scrambled up the stairs as fast as I could, choking back a scream.

---

^{Stay Tuned for Part 4!}