DISCLAIMER: "Millennium" and Frank Black (and his family - Catherine and Jordan), Peter Watts, and The Millennium Group, Peter Bletcher, Sammael, Lucy Butler and Dr. Ephraim Fabricant are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and the Fox Broadcasting Company. "Hellraiser", Pinhead, Cenobites and the Lament Configuration are the property of Clive Barker, New World Pictures, Mirimax Films and Dimension Films. Deacon Fox, Jonathan Saxby and all other support characters belong to me. This story is not written for profit and is for fan-fiction purposes only.
Stephen Maxwell Frankton-Lowe (firstname.lastname@example.org) a.k.a. Maxx Blackwell
Nora Miller tightened her bathrobe around her as she laboured up stairs dimly lit by the flashlight in her left hand. Her head throbbed horribly from a migraine that was threatening to become a three-day event, made worse by the thunderstorm that had knocked out the power. She wouldn’t have been out of bed at all were it not for the troublesome neighbour upstairs – a young man named Simon something-or-other, who she thought of as Sullen Simon because of his unwavering despondent demeanor.
She lived in an old brown stone three-story Victorian style house, on the corner of Stratsconner and Corona – a quiet sidestreet in downtown Ottawa – that had been converted into a dwelling with six units.
Nora had complained many times to the landlord – Raj, an East Indian fellow – about the tenant who lived in apartment five directly above her and he in turn had spoken to Simon but with little to no effect. Simon’s list of transgressions, as far as Nora was concerned, included wearing black eyeliner, drinking, smoking, listening to loud music, burning strange incenses, chanting, and now watching movies late at night with the volume turned up too high. By the sound of the screaming going on it was a horror movie to be sure, and the shrieking caused her to wince.
When she got to the door of apartment five, marked as such by a bronze number 5 hanging upside down from the bottom screw and looking more like a deformed 2, she thought her head might explode.
As lightning flashed through the hallway window a black silhouette appeared suddenly. Nora, startled, pointed her flashlight at the silhouette and saw that it was nice Mr. Perkins from apartment six arriving who then greeted Nora with a furrowed brow and a nod.
“Damn noisy kid!” said Nora. “Someone’s got to stop him from playing his movies so loud so late.”
“But Ms. Miller, the power’s out. He can’t be playing a movie.”
He balled his hand into a fist and banged the base of it against the door, which then swung open.
The sound of the screaming and shrieking grew louder and seemed to be coming from a door with light streaming out from under it. Mr. Perkins identified it as the bedroom - his apartment was the reverse layout of this one.
The shrieking gave way to a gurgling sound as Nora watched Mr. Perkins swiftly cross the room to the bedroom door and take hold of the doorknob. Neither of them noticed something start to flow from under the door.
Mr. Perkins turned the doorknob but found the door wouldn’t open. When something thick and warm sufficiently soaked through his socks, Mr. Perkins took notice and looked down. Something was blocking the light that was streaming out from under the door earlier.
Nora lowered her flashlight and they both saw that a red, viscous liquid had pooled around Mr. Perkins’s feet. Blood. Mr. Perkins stepped back in revulsion and Nora’s hand covered her mouth as she gasped.
“Simon!” called Mr. Perkins. “Simon!” he shouted again, raising his voice and pounding on the door. “Nora, Call 911,” he instructed over his shoulder. “SIMON!” he yelled once more before starting to repeatedly throw his shoulder against the door.
Nora Miller, 63, who lived at the corner of Stratsconner and Corona turned on her heel and ran down the stairs as quickly as she could manage, her head pounding as the words “Call nine one one” repeated in her mind like a mantra.