For as long as I can remember, my father has been irrationally afraid of mimes. I've seen him get reduced to a sweating, quivering mess at the mere sight of them. No-one knew why this was as he would always angrily brush it off whenever he was questioned about it and pretend that they didn't affect him at all.
While this had become a running joke in the family, I was always curious about the reason behind this odd little quirk of his. Well, this Christmas I finally got him to spill the beans after filling his stomach with copious amounts of cake and wine, and I took his story down, almost word for word, on my phone. It really is something, I can tell you that….
**
You really want to post this on the internet? It sounds extremely unbelievable, so don't be surprised if they accuse you of making this all up, okay? Jeez, where do I even start?
So, you know that I came to this country back in the early 90s, right? It was a couple of years before I met and married your mother. Times were tough for someone like me back then, I had to work two jobs just to put food on the table and have a roof over my head. Even then, all I could afford was the rattiest apartment in this decrepit old building in a crime infested shithole of a neighborhood. Like, it was so bad that you couldn't get a good night's sleep without hearing at least one gunshot each night. Just a mouldy, crumbling place to live in.
Now my second job was basically a weekend thing where I worked as a bartender at the local stripclub. Heh, it was called The Rear End, fucking hilarious. It was trashy, and not something I'm particularly proud of, but working at a titty club sure beats sleeping on the streets, I can tell you that.
What's that? Yes, your mother knows, we just don't talk about that part of my life. Don't look at me like that, those women were some of the bravest, most honorable people I've ever known.
Anyway, my job meant that I would come back to my apartment late, I mean 2 or 3 AM late. I need you to understand how late it would usually get those nights, so you can truly appreciate just how bizzare what I saw in the elevator that day was.
It was a Saturday night, I remember it well. I was exhausted, and just wanted to go back to my bedroom as quickly as I could. I got into my building, lumbered over to the elevator, and saw a fucking mime waiting for me there, you know, make-up, white face, blood red lips, striped shirt, the whole shebang. He was holding a string tied to a balloon in one hand and waving with the other at something in the distance with this weird, lifeless smile plastered on his face. And his hand wasn't moving naturally either, it had this weird robotic or doll-like quality to it, like it was something mechanical, you know? He jerked his hand, left, right, left, right, just smiling at something far off into the distance behind me with these wide, unblinking eyes.
Oh yes, there absolutely was just a wall behind me. Nothing else, which is what made it so creepy. I mean, I've seen all sorts of strange shit in this country, but nothing came close to seeing a mime in the elevator of my apartment building at fucking 3:30 in the morning. Needless to say, I was thoroughly creeped out, and decided to take the stairs to my apartment on the 9th floor.
I didn't actually have this belly back then, I was in decent shape, so that climb, while tiring, wasn't impossible. Sometimes I would even climb up and down those stairs, just to exercise. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I wasn't worried about climbing up all the way to the 9th floor and so making the decision to use the stairs wasn't very difficult.
I think I had reached the 4th or 5th floor when I noticed something moving from the corner of my eye. I paused, turned around, and there he was, climbing the stairs a couple of floors below me. Have you ever seen those old silent films? Ever see a character tiptoe around in an exaggerated manner when they're trying to make it obvious how important silence is? That's how he was walking, with his hands balled up into fists in front of him, and climbing with these freakishly long strides, jumping over multiple steps at a time, only using the tips of his toes to pull himself up.
He froze when I saw him, mid fucking stride, like a fucking statue with one leg suspended in air as he stood precariously. I expected him to tip over and fall backwards any second, but he didn't move even an inch. It was like he had turned to stone. Not all of him, however. He had this strange expression on his face, almost this cutesy 'oops mommy caught me stealing the cookies again' shit, and his eyes were darting around rapidly, refusing to acknowledge my presence. I was this close to losing my shit, but I steeled my nerves, and spoke up.
"Hey man. Cut it out." I laughed nervously. "You got me man. Hilarious shit."
I tried to rationalise it to myself, that it was nothing but a prank, or a practice performance or something, you know.
"I don't have any money, man." I added. "I'm dirt poor. So, eh…. You can stop now."
With that, I picked up my pace and started running upstairs. My blood ran cold as I heard him start moving again, much, much faster this time, but in the exact same motion. I looked behind me again. Fuck. He was just one floor below me, again turned into this living statue shit. But he was so close to me this time I could see the whites of his eyes as he stared off into the distance.
It was so bizzare. I didn't even know whether this was all malicious or not, you know? Was this mime trying to hurt me? I think knowing that he was a psycho nut would have made it easier to deal with. But this? It was irrational. The fear I felt was primal, shaking me to my core.
I screamed at him.
"What the fuck do you want?" I shouted at the top of my lungs, not caring who would wake up, no, hoping someone would.
"Leave me alone asshole. FUCK OFF!"
His expression instantly changed at that. He looked… sad almost, but it was frighteningly disingenuous, like he was putting on a show. His face fell, and he brought his hand up to wipe off a non-existent tear. I watched in stunned silence as he then proceeded to climb the railing of the stairs and jump before I could so much as open my mouth.
I screamed and quickly bent over the stairs to see what the fuck happened. He was sprawled on the ground, six floors down, limbs twisted at odd angles and lying in a pool of blood.
I must have spent almost a minute just staring at his lifeless body, wondering what the fuck just happened. At the back of my mind, I knew that I had to call the cops or something, but I was far too shocked to even move. It was a tingling sensation in my spine that brought me back to reality. This strange feeling of being watched, like thousands of ants running down your back.
I looked up at the stairs above me and I kid you not son, there he was, that fucking mime, looking at his own dead body with this shocked expression on his face. He was holding his cheeks like that 'scream' painting and his mouth had dropped open with his eyes threatening to pop out of his sockets. His face was just inches from mine, and I damn near peed my pants.
Do you see my hands right now? Do you see how they're shaking, just thinking about that night? Imagine how terrified I must have been back then. My body had just shut down, refusing to move, and we both stood there, like statues, like a fucking living art installation.
He was the one who moved. After about half a minute or so of being utterly still, his eyes moved and finally locked onto mine for the first time that night. Shivers ran down my spine as I stared into those deep pits of nothingness, but the spell was broken, and I could move my body again. I stumbled, and fell backwards, but quickly scampered off to my feet and ran. And kept running until I left the building, not bothering whether I was still bring followed and doing my hardest to keep away from the body lying on the ground floor.
I stayed awake that whole night, grabbing a coffee at the first cafe that opened at the crack of dawn. Of course I anonymously called the cops from a payphone in the morning, and of course there was no body in the building when the cops later showed up. I am not a very religious man, but I knew that shit was not something logic could explain.
For the next week I stayed away from my apartment as much as I could, only going there to shower and/or change my clothes, spending the nights at friends' places after making just the weakest excuses imaginable.
No. I didn't tell anyone. Are you crazy? Who would fucking believe me? And no, there were no CCTVs in that building.
Poverty is fucking cruel, son. I could no longer impose myself on my friends, and didn't want to go to the homeless shelter, so I decided to go back to sleeping in my apartment. I tried to fool myself into thinking that what I had experienced wasn't real, that I had dreamt it all up. Like it was all just a hallucination. But deep within me, I knew that it was real. All of it. And that it would probably happen again.
A feeling of tremendous dread washed over me when I stood outside my building 8 nights after I first ran into that mime. It was again pretty fucking late, around the same time when I had ran into him the last time. With a heavy heart, I trudged over to the elevator, trying to avoid thinking about the fear clutching and squeezing my heart. I couldn't even look at the spot where he had fallen and chose to stay the fuck away from it.
The elevator opened with a soft dinge and I breathed a sigh in relief to see that it was empty.
Why didn't I just take the stairs? Hell fucking no. Too much trauma associated with that place. Better to be cramped inside a fast moving elevator than risk climbing the stairs and meeting the suicidal mime from hell.
I guess I should be thankful that my elevator ride was peaceful. I don't think I would have survived if he had shown up there. A heart attack would have killed me long before he could slice me up or something, I don't know.
I fumbled with my keys, but quickly got in and locked the door behind me. Kicking my shoes off, I immediately ran to the comfort of my blanket, and curled up in there, trying hard to fall asleep, but staying awake like a fucking owl.
So this apartment was pretty small, right? Just two rooms, excluding the bathroom. So you can hear whatever is happening in any corner of the room. You get where I'm going with this?
No. He wasn't in the house, but he was outside of it. I heard something rustling around outside my front door and instinctively knew that it was him. At first I thought I'd just stay there in my bed, but the rustling didn't stop. The fear just kept on building inside me, and it was becoming unbearable to just stay there. My heart was beating so fucking fast I feared it would leap out of my mouth.
Fuck it, I whispered to myself and got up to investigate. I banged my toe against the foot of the bed and yelped, with the sounds from outside ceasing almost instantly. After controlling my pain, I walked over to the door, as softly as I could, and looked through the peephole.
I whimpered as my fears were confirmed. There he was, that fucking mime, standing with his back to the wall in front of me, at attention, like some damn army cadet. I think he must have sensed me watching him, because as soon as I looked through the peephole, he bent over forwards, such that his upper body was almost parallel to the floor. His blood red lips stretched into this most vicious smile and he began to stare right at me.
I don't know how, but he was somehow looking straight at me. No, he wasn't anywhere near the peephole, so I don't know how, but I knew he was watching me watching him. I felt his eyes pierce my very soul, taunting me, letting me know he was playing with me and that he could kill me whenever he wished.
He brought his palms up to the side of his face, opened his mouth and began clicking his tongue. Except I never heard the clicking sound. What I heard was a knock, and my door began to shake.
Knock, knock, knock.
Short bursts of three.
I fell back in fear. You know, he wasn't near the door, but he still fucking knocked. I don't know what the fuck was happening, but I knew I couldn't stay there even for a second. I climbed out of my window and began descending using the iron emergency exit stairs attached to the side of the building.
I heard something impossibly large and strong slam against the door to my house as I began to climb down that rickety iron staircase. My door gave in with a painfully loud crunch and I almost fell down.
Why didn't anyone come out to check what was happening, you ask? Well, people mostly minded their own business. Home invasions, murders, drug deals gone wrong, it could be fucking anything. Not necessarily something demonic.
At one point on my way down, I considered just jumping and ending my life, I was that terrified. But I shook my head, and continued to fight for my survival.
I was soon free. I was out of that infernal building and panting and catching my breath on the streets below. I looked back up at where my apartment was, and saw for the last time in my life.
He was standing on the railing of the emergency stairs, right outside my bedroom, without a care in the world. I don't know how the fuck he balanced himself on that thing but he stood there, staring at me with that fucked up smile on his face. He theatrically brought his hands up, and clapped.
I watched in terrified silence as one by one, the lights in all of the apartments began to switched on. He was there, in every fucking apartment at the windows that I could see. Fucking everywhere. He was, Jesus, he was performing, if that makes any sense. In one house he was miming drinking tee, in another juggling invisible balls, just a fucked up sight to say the least.
But the original one continued to stare at me, and then with another clap, switched off every light in the building and disappeared, leaving me shivering in the darkness.
**
"Jesus fucking Christ, dad." I whispered. "Did that really happen?"
"That's up to you." He replied. "I know what I saw."
"So, did you go back there again?" I asked.
He shook his head furiously. "Never in the night. Never again. I moved out as soon as I found another place."
"What happened to that building?"
He sighed. "I kept tabs on it. The owner had to sell it to a builder. It was just not profitable anymore. A bunch of suicides occurred there, like 2-3 each year for half a decade. Bad omen all around. The new owner tore it down and built a shopping mall there."
"A shopping mall? Which one?" I asked. He looked at me blankly.
"You don't mean….." My blood froze as the realisation sunk in. "But… They have a mime performance in the amphitheatre there every month!"
He nodded.
---
Credits
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