un·known (/ˌənˈfiniSHt/) – not known or familiar.

30 percent of college students drop out or leave school after their freshman year. The majority of
them quit because of grades, while others depart for financial reasons. But there is a small group of students that nobody ever talks about, and that is the group that leaves for reasons unknown.

During my freshman year of college, I moved into a three-bedroom apartment with some childhood friends. It wasn’t the typical apartment complex one was used to seeing. The sparkling blue pool and the state-of-the-art clubhouse were reminiscent of a resort-style getaway, contrary to the buildings, modest at best, and in dire need of a facelift. Though small, the proximity from one unit to the next was perfect for fostering neighborly interactions. So it was no surprise that we ended up meeting the different families in our building. By the third month, we met everyone except for one family, the upstairs neighbors.

The upstairs neighbors resided in seclusion. No one came or went from their unit. But at night, the pitter-patter of little footsteps would sprint across my ceiling; the tiny feet ran, jumped, stopped, and then started again. While the thumping continued, the thought of what the kid looked like played on a reel in my head: short hair, beady eyes, and a gap between his bottom two teeth.  Night after night, I would hear his footsteps, imagine what he looked like, and then I would eventually drift off into a deep sleep. The next day, I would trudge into class, white eyes marked with squiggly red lines that raced towards my iris. Exhausted, my eyelids would battle the force of gravity in a futile attempt to remain open. And just like the time before, they would fail, only to be opened again by my professor’s booming voice. It was the end of the class, and I was the only one there. Following a thirty-minute lecture about not becoming a statistic, I set out to confront the upstairs neighbors.

As I drove towards our building, the burger and fries I had for lunch roiled in my stomach. The irritation subsided at the sight of a UHaul truck in the neighbor’s parking spot. The people above us were moving out, I thought to myself. I uttered a soft thank you to God, knowing that I wouldn’t have to confront them after all. While sitting in the car, I decided that if I saw the little boy on my way into my apartment, I would stare him down as payback for all the sleepless nights. And not just any stare, a stare that would communicate to him that he’s lucky he’s not eighteen, or better yet, he’s fortunate that I’m not four years old.   

With my shoulders back, chest out, and chin high, I got out of the car and strutted up the walkway, prepared for my stare down. I didn’t see anyone, but their vacuum cleaner’s incessant whine that escaped through the upstairs window let me know that they were home. Standing beneath their window, I could see inside the apartment. There were no pictures, no paintings, just white walls, and I couldn’t help but notice how clean they were. After a couple of minutes of waiting, I realized that no one was coming out, and there would not be a stare-down today. I let out a heavy sigh that was cut short by a rhythmic buzzing in my pocket. I pulled out my phone and on my screen was another failing-grade alert. My nostrils flared as I jammed the phone back into my pocket. All because of him, I thought to myself. I looked back up, this time with a clenched fist, and was frozen by the stare of a little boy in the upstairs window. He didn’t look much older than three. His thin lips nestled neatly between plump cheeks, which in turn held up his black pupils that studied me with piercing scrutiny. His raven-like eyes bored through my soul: no movement, no expressions, just a little boy in a black suit. I abandoned my stare down and darted into my apartment, grateful that I was seeing him for the last time. That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the image of the little boy’s face burned in my mind. My eyelids got heavier and heavier as I drifted into sleep. 

My eyes shot open as the pitter-patter of little footsteps sprinted across the ceiling. The tiny feet ran, jumped, stopped, and then started again.” My heart pounded as I sat up in my bed.  It couldn’t be, I thought to myself. I glanced up at the clock; it was 3:00 am. The flickering glow of the living room light seeping under the door into my room brought instant relief. It was just the tv. Then I heard it again; this time, it was right above me. I jumped out of my bed and dashed out of the room. Standing in the living room, I tried to make sense of the situation. My mind raced, searching for answers. I saw the family leave; the apartment was empty. Was I losing my mind? I stood in the silence, watching, waiting, but there was no noise. HELP! Boom, Boom, Boom! The pounding echoed through the apartment. I looked up at the ceiling; someone was in trouble. I had to go up there. 

I hurried into the night. Small white clouds formed with each breath, and my nostrils burned in the frigid air as I walked up the stairs underdressed and unarmed. The steps seemed much longer than they looked this afternoon, and the rubber on the bottom of my slippers scratched the cement as I ascended into the unknown. Somehow the door managed to grow as I drew closer to it. Boom, Boom, Boom, the door shook every time my fist hit it. I waited and listened, but there was no sound. I knocked again, this time with a little more force. No one responded. I prayed that the door was locked so I would have a reason to go back home with my dignity intact. I grabbed the cold steel of the doorknob and turned it. The door opened. “Hey, is anyone in here,” I whispered. The house was ghost quiet. I walked in. Little lines of light snuck through the blinds and lay neatly across the floor, while the low churn of the living room ceiling fan drowned out the beating of my heart. The cold air from the outside breeze nipped at my exposed skin, forcing me into the apartment. The kitchen counter was bare, and both the microwave and the oven flashed 3:00 am. If someone’s here, there’s only one place they could be; I thought to myself, the bedroom above mine.

I eased down the hallway, fingertips rubbing across the wall, which served as an anchor in the overwhelming darkness. “Hey,” I whispered again. Every muscle in my body tightened as the slam of the front door reverberated through the apartment. Tiny footsteps dashed across the living room as I stumbled through the darkness into the nearest room. I dove onto the floor inside the closet and slid the door closed. My body trembled as I tried to control my breathing. The room door creaked open. I prayed that my rapid shallow breathing would not give away my location. Tiny feet scampered across the room, stopping in front of the closet.

Then there was no movement, only the noisy inhalations that escaped through his nostrils. As I held my breath, a pain developed in my chest and lungs; why did I come up here. I closed my eyes and counted. 1, 2, 3, and then I opened them again. The loud breathing stopped. Peering through the slats of the closet door, I scanned the room. There was no sign of the little boy. This was my chance to get out of here. I slid the closet door open, stepped out, and razor-sharp teeth sank into my right Achilles tendon, sending a severe pain through the back of my ankle and up to my thigh. An ear-splitting scream escaped my mouth and rang through the apartment as I fell face down on the carpet. Warm liquid oozed from what was left of the back of my foot into my shoe and onto the carpet. Tiny footsteps crept around my body until the miniature shoes touched my face. I looked up as the moonlight displayed the blood-covered smile that housed the flesh from my foot between his teeth. I reached for my phone, and he pounced on me. His teeth latched onto my neck and pulled. The sound of my flesh tearing was followed by intense pain. My jugular pulsated, spilling copious amounts of my precious blood. My attempts to scream were reduced to gurgles as the air in my throat was replaced by blood. As I lay there, I thought to myself; I should’ve stayed my butt in bed. The moonlight faded as my eyes glazed over, and I drifted off into eternal rest.

My eyes shot open to the blinding rays of the sun, only to shift and lock on the familiar posters that hung up on the wall. I was in my bed; scrambling to my feet, I darted to the bathroom. Staring in the mirror, I inspected my jugular, then my Achilles tendon. There were no bite marks; it was a dream. Dropping my shoulders, I chuckled at my reflection in the mirror. I watch too much television, I thought to myself.

After showering and eating a small breakfast, I got ready for school and left my apartment. To my surprise, the upstairs neighbors were putting all of their belongings into a UHaul. I approached them and said hello. The conversation was dull and brief; as they got in the truck, I asked about their son. The man rubbed the base of his neck; the woman sighed, abruptly sat down, and closed the door.

“How do you know about our son?” He said.

Baffled, I ran my hands through my dreadlocks. “How do I know about your son?” 

With a breaking voice, he stared at me and said, “our son died in his sleep a couple of days before you moved in.” Without saying another word, the man got in his truck and shut the door.

Struck with an inability to speak, I struggled to focus on the objects around me. As they drove off, my mind raced. I turned towards the empty apartment, and there in the window, with a sinister smile, stood the little boy.