The true horror stories in Modern Paris Part 2


The washing finally stopped after 01:00.  Mr KIND was suffering from mild palpation, but the much-craved silence gradually turned him drowsy.  The poor man was woken up by the grounding noise again.  It was 02:00 in the morning.  Leila knew her game.  She must have observed misery in the others and learned by now that giving her victims a pause makes the following strike more potent.  Mr KIND felt his chest squeezed, and he passed out.  He futilely knocked on the ceiling but slid off the ladder from the shaking limbs.  His memory ends there.  He had lost some sense in his tongue when he woke up later.  

He immediately complained to Leila's landlord.  However…Leila made good use of her youth and turned the story around.  Mr KIND, a lonely old man, had been seeking her attention, and after declining his advance, he tried to get back at her with his ludicrous claim.  Of course, the landlords tend to believe their paying tenants.  Also, the centuries of old men lusting after young women came back to bite Mr KIND.  Even I suspected him of that a little, not knowing him personally.  Mr KIND left the apartment broken and beaten before the noise affected his blood pressure more. 

Mirror that reflects your soul

I decided to move into this apartment because of its affordability.  So back to the scene where Leila first approached me.  She had already trashed her landlord as a spoiled Parisian and spoke of Mr KIND.  As an invasive narcotic man.  I secretly wondered what she would be saying about me later.  I kept the conversation polite and hoped for the best.

One night I came home with flu and headache.  Leila saw it and kindly said, 'I am sorry for that.  I hope you will have a good rest for a quick recovery.' Her eyes, however, were glimmering with amusement.  That night, her washing started at 10:00 and continued until 02:00.  My French was not yet good enough to contact the Police.  Besides, I was suffering from nausea, high fever, and headache.  Mr KIND was telling the truth.  Leila was the anti-social from Hell.  Try picturing a lonely woman skipping and jumping in high heels after midnight with a malicious, vulgar smile.  She had stepped over the boundary of normality and become a monster.  

Incapable of escaping the suffering, I was at the mercy of my anti-social neighbour upstairs.  I prayed for the morning to come sooner when Leila would have to go to work.  She did and her high heels kicking the floor subsided, but right before she left, she had set her washing machine for another long cycle again.  Beaten, I lost consciousness.  I woke up with a lot of sweat.  Weak as I was, my survival instinct kicked in.  I managed to get up and hobbled down to the nearest grocery shop to buy some fresh orange juice.  I drank 2 litres at one sitting. 

Now what?  Complaining to Leila's landlord did not work out for Mr KIND.  Besides, it would only fuel Leila's morbid desire to prey on the vulnerable.  It was her only way of mitigating her sense of inferiority against other Caucasians.   I had to pretend that her washing machine did not bother me so as not to encourage her further, but to do that, I had to book a hotel to get over my flu.  The hotel fees are exorbitant in Paris, mainly if you did not book in advance. 

It was really unfair, but the short stay in the hotel restored me back to health and gave me time to do some research.  Apparently, in Paris, you can call the Police if the noise persists after 22:00.  One would be liable for a fine of 90 euros each time someone called on them.  Fortunately, the washing machine's noise was included.  I went home wondering why Mr KIND had not resorted to this solution.

When I reached the stairs, I felt heaviness in the air.  Aura does carry weight, you know.  A pleasant person brightens the place while those with a dark atmosphere oppress.  My hunch turned out to be correct.  A man was standing by the window in the middle of the staircases.  He was not tall and had dark hair.  When he turned around and saw that I was a woman, his shrewd eyes broke into a condescending smile.  Then I heard her voice from above.  'Hey, that's our new neighbour I was telling you about.' Leila then turned to me, 'he is my fiancé.  We'll be living here.'  

The fiancé, I shall refer to him as such because I could not pronounce his name, the big man offered with a forced sweet voice to carry my grocery.  It contained a bottle of juice and a loaf of bread only.  Besides, I did not see him coming down the stair to get it.  Shamelessly fake who believes he can pass himself as a gentleman by a gesture of empty kindness.  Leila was observing me to size up how much damage she had inflicted on me by her washing machine antics.  'How is your flu?  Feeling better?' I suppressed my anger and replied quietly.  'It was not as bad as I thought, so I've just returned from a lovely short holiday.' The disappointment in Leila's eyes was disgusting.  

I was going to call the Police should the washing continue to the later hours, but the image of Leila's fiancé was somewhat unnerving.  Besides, that night Leila did not do her washing.  Probably she had tediously done so during my absence, only to find out that she wasted her electricity for nothing because I was not there to suffer the noise.  Her high heels could be heard on my ceiling, though.  It conveyed her mood that she was irritated.  Being with her beloved one did not seem to improve her mood.  Who said that love conquers all?  Not the dark desire to harm others from the looks of it.