An intense combination of noises roared from behind the door, in the same studio apartment that I sat, day after day, writing meaningless stories full of characters who wished their lives were bigger than life. The same studio apartment that was so cut off from the outside world I felt comfortable enough to cry out loud in when the pain in my head got too intense. The same studio apartment that I spent months guarding, only to let my guard down the day I thought someone was nice enough to get me a present. The same studio apartment that I will never be able to live in again because of that present…

There are 2 stairwells in my building. One for the tenants, and one for maintenance, even though there hasn't been a steady maintenance team here for ages. Tab usually just talks some random meth addict into doing a shitload of work in exchange for some trinket that they can trade for some speed. The maintenance stairwell is closer to the front entrance, and also has roof access, but no one ever uses it because the lights are busted in there, and walking up and down some shitty stairs in complete darkness HOPING that no one IS actually hanging out in there is spooky as shit.
My parents were always a little embarrassed of my appearance as I was growing up. I didn't realize it until later in life, the way they kinda HID me from certain events, or just convinced me that we didn't need to go to places like theme parks or zoos, or pretty much anywhere in public. I loved to swim when I was a kid, though, but my parents could never afford a pool, so we always went down to the community pool a few blocks from my house. When I was younger, I never really questioned why we would always go there at night and jimmy the lock open until I found out later that my Mom would pay the janitor there to look the other way while we broke in and swam after hours. She told him she didn't want me to be ridiculed by the other kids, and that it would SURELY happen if we came by to use the pool in the day, when everyone else uses it. I didn't mind swimming alone because I simply loved the water. My mom never swam though, she would just let me in and sit in the bleachers for a while until she usually fell asleep. The pool was pitch black at night, like the maintenance stairwell. And because I was alone, I would frequently get really creeped out by the floating pool sweeper. The first "droid" I had ever encountered, the pool sweeper had incredible AI. I knew its sole purpose was to just meander around the pool and clean it, but at night, when its dark, when visibility is next to nothing, and when I was alone, it seemed to SEEK me out. The calming babble of its motor as it treaded water and snaked around the surface of the water is the only way I would know its location. And I swear, if I would make a sudden movement that it didn't like, it would turn back around toward me so quickly its hose-of-a-tail would get wrapped around itself like a snake who was preparing to eat an egg. I would go under water momentarily, and pop back up only to see the sweeper hovering there, staring at me. I knew it couldn't hear me, but I used to tell it to go away frequently, and I eventually wouldn't go under water unless I knew that it was too far away to be there when I came up. I fear the uncomfortable unknown, and I'm sure many people share that feeling, which is probably why even the scariest people don't use the maintenance stairs. Even psychos and cretins have fears, at least a few.
To the left of my apartment is the normal stairwell. I didn't know where I was headed, but I knew that I now needed to get out of this fucking building and find someone or something that knows what the fuck is going on.
I don't know if it was the immense noise of the pigeons exploding through my walls, or if it was the prophecy that my TV spat out via Emergency Broadcast, but the hallway to the right was filled with tenants, all facing me, staring at the box cradled in my left arm. Even Mel Roth, the blind man from 40B was there, staring like he could shit lasers out the bowels of his empty eyes. I couldn't tell if it was confusion, concern, or determination that was painted on all of their faces, but as soon as I returned my own look of confusion, they all, in unison, began to advance toward me. "That's fine," I thought, trying not to panic, "I don't need to go that way anyway." I gripped the box harder and briskly walked to the left, glancing back over my shoulder to see if the tenants were still advancing.
Yup.
Crap.
I picked up the pace a little. It was weird, when I usually walk this hallway, regardless of the time, the floors are littered with vagrants and wanderers. But this time, nothing. The carpet lining the hallway was perfectly discolored in the places where they usually set up camp though. Soggy, faded spots created from years of drug-addicted asses pressing against the carpet. Gross.
The stairwell is right around the corner.
But, right as I was turning the corner, a lone, mangled pigeon skillfully flew underneath the bottom of my right shoe as I was picking it up in stride. I noticed this and immediately stopped my foot from crushing it, and, in turn, lost my balance, and fell forward.
The box threw itself from my arm (or maybe I just threw it, who knows) and hit the ground, lightly, its bottom facing me.
It was only a couple feet in front of me, but as soon as the box hit the ground, my head screamed with pain. I was crouching on my knees, palms down on the disgusting soiled carpet, neck tense from the headache, when I heard that familiar high pitched, horrifyingly beautiful Song of the Siren escape from the box. I rolled my eyes up slightly in the direction of the box, the side with the "hand" marking facing toward the ceiling and its top facing away from me, down the hallway.
And not only was the box singing for me, but it was completely open…