Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #21 December 2015 | Page 4

APARTMENTS FOR RENT

deadbolt and yanked the door open, ready to give a
tongue lashing to whoever was there. To his surprise,
the hallway was empty. He leaned out and looked left
and right. At last glancing down, Mr Klein spotted a
plain cardboard box sitting at the threshold. The four
top flaps of the box were interlaced shut. “Humph, I
wonder what this could be?” he mused as he picked
it up and closed the door. “There’s no address or
anything.” He held the box to his ear and carefully
shook it. It emitted a slight rattle.

By Bob Lee
A syrupy smell smacked Mr Klein in the face
when he walked into the apartment’s kitchen. His wife
and two pre-teen children were already there, eating
pancakes. With a grunt, he sat down at the breakfast
table.

“Daddy, open it!” little Lau ra cried, running
over to see what it was. She bounced up and down in
anticipation, her yellow pony tail bobbing frenetically.
“Maybe it’s a kitten!” she shouted, clapping her hands
and straining on her tiptoes to peek inside the box.

“Do you want me to make a couple for you
before work?” his mother-in-law asked as she turned
from the stove.
Mr Klein’s mouth watered at the thought,
but he shook his head reluctantly. “No thanks, Nana.
I need to watch my weight; my clothes are getting
tight. I’ll just have some cereal.” The portly fellow
reached for the box of generic oat flakes in front of
him. Flipping the top flap up, he poured the cereal into
a bowl. Myriad small black dots cascaded out with the
flakes. “Ugh, mouse droppings!” he snorted in disgust.
“Ever since they tore down the vacant building next
door, all the vermin have been swarming into this
place. It’s no wonder that everyone seems to be
leaving this apartment building. Do you know I saw
another ‘for rent’ sign on the entrance downstairs?”

“Well, a cat might keep the mice away,” Mr
Klein said with a frown, “but I don’t think that’s
what’s in here.” He placed the box on the table,
grabbed the flaps and pulled them. “Hey, look at this,”
he said in surprise as he tilted the carton to show
everyone. “It’s a Ouija Board game. I haven’t seen
one of these since I was a kid. I didn’t know they still
made them.”
“What’s it do, Dad?” Laura’s older brother
Brian asked, finally taking an interest as he lifted his
head up from his plate.

“Everyone who’s playing puts their hands on
“This is all we can afford at the moment, dear,”
this
little
triangle thing; I forget what it’s called.”
his wife replied. “At least it’s within walking distance
of our curio shop.”
“It’s called a ‘Planchette’ or ‘Message
Indicator,’” Mrs Klein said through gritted teeth.
“Yeah, there is that. Let’s hope today has
better sales. It was like a ghost town yesterday. Since
Saturday is usually our best day and Halloween is
tomorrow, we should get more traffic.”

“Oh yeah,
that’s right. After
putting their fingers
on the indicator,
one person asks
it a question. The
triangle moves
to point at the
letters on the board
and spells out an
answer.”

Ding Dong.
“God dammit, who the hell’s ringing the
doorbell at this time of the morning?” Mr Klein spat
as he leapt from the table. He hurled the cereal box
with disgust into the waste basket and stomped to
the door that was just a few feet away. He threw the

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