Apartment 308 Novels & Stories

"Room 304." My stomach does a weird flip. Julian and I exchange quick glances but say nothing, both grabbing our keys from the front desk. We take the elevator up with a few other teammates, everyone tired and ready to drop their bags. The hallway on the third floor is carpeted and quiet, room numbers climbing as we walk. Room 304 is near the end. Julian unlocks it and pushes the door open. We both stop in the doorway, staring at the interior. One bed. Queen-sized, neatly made with white sheets and too many pillows. One bed instead of the two doubles that every other room apparently has.

The woman nodded firmly. She could tell that this young lady was in a hurry to find a place to stay. She pointed to the top two floors of the apartment and said, “We’re renting the top two floors. On the second floor, we have a bedroom, a small living room, and a bathroom. “There’s also a small office with a computer and a desk, so you can draw or do work inside. “The third-floor layout is similar to the second floor, but without the office. However, the third floor gets a lot of sunlight and has a good view of the area. Would you like to take a look, miss?”

One they got to their floor Jordan took out a set of keys and opened apartment 608. Despite the rundown appearance on the outside, the actual apartment was bigger than Maya imagined. The door opened to an open plan living space that connected the kitchen and the living room. The tiles were laminate in a charcoal grey. They all stepped inside and got to work. Reid took out a laptop from one of the duffles and stared typing away. What he was typing and to whom? Maya was none the wiser. "Maya come, we need to change our clothes "Joel announced and walked into one of the three rooms.

It was well past midnight by the time I finally dragged myself up the rickety stairs to my apartment. The hallway light was flickering again, making the already depressing place feel even more like a scene out of a horror movie. Room 304. My front door had a well cased dish wrapped in foil, waiting for me. My mind instantly went to Mrs lauretta, the landlady. She was a sweet lovely lady in her late forties who genuinely cared about me. Dropping off dinner at my door steps once in a while. And today was no different.

He replies brightly, and makes a sharp turn which nearly gives me whiplash. We were fortunate enough to get the apartment that we share, we were the third people on the waitlist for the unit, and it just so happened that the people in front of us found new renting arrangements which meant that the the unit went to us. The complex itself is made up of three separate buildings and the one in which our apartment resides is the tallest of the three and has a quaint roof top deck with a small garden and offers a relatively breathtaking view of the surrounding areas, with Downtown Sacramento’s skyline in the not-so-far distance. Colton sets the two to-go bags on one of the picnic tables beside the

I moved forward, while squinting through the windshield. "Then let's stop waiting," I added. The stairwell smelled like stale beer and cigarette smoke. I climbed to the third floor, while Marcus followed behind me. It was Apartment 3B. The paint was peeling off the door and a single light bulb flickered above us. I knocked, but no one answered. I went ahead to knock harder. "I know you're in there," I called out. "Open the door." Silence stretched for several seconds, then I heard movement. It was slow footsteps, before I heard a chain sliding across and then the door cracked open, and a face appeared in the gap.

The safehouse was a third-floor apartment in the eighth district — Józsefváros, where the streets were wide and nineteenth century and the neighborhood was composed of enough layers of history to absorb new presences without registering them. The building's front door required a physical key. The apartment door required two — the second hidden. There was no elevator. The stairwell smelled of plaster dust and old cooking, which was a smell Dante had come to associate with functional anonymity.

The script is painfully simple: every strong man here will eventually die as a stepping stone, and every pretty woman—including our taken Succubus—will be magically brainwashed into his harem. What a tragic, predictable script, I muse. Good thing I don't care. I'm just here to make money. --- Room 306 is spacious. It features a shared living room, a kitchenette, two private bathrooms, and two bedrooms. I open my door. The room is immaculate—creamy white walls, a standard-issue bed with fresh sheets, and a desk. It doesn't need any cleaning. "Well," I say, turning to face Arlo. I clap my hands together. "Our contract is officially concluded. You are safely enrolled."