I baked
you a special
treat!
My famous
banana muffins!
Oh, hush.
They're
a 'thank you' gift
for fixing my pipe the other day.
No,
thank you.
I haven’t fixed anything. I tell her as much, but she just waves a hand dismissively.
Here. I know
they're your
favorite!
Come now,
stop being so
modest.
Now if
you'd only do
something about
these halls.
They're a
whole 10 steps
longer than last
week! I've
counted.
At this
rate, I'm going
to need another hip
replacement!
I wish she'd leave and take her problems with her. I have enough of my own.
My thoughts drift back to the journal while Mrs. Green launches into a one-sided conversation about her neighbors being too quiet, houseplants that die and come back to life, and an invisible pet cat.
Since I'm
here, I should
tell you about the
mold I found in
my kitchen.
Whenever
I look at it, I
see the most unsettling
faces staring back
at me.
I was
nearly beside
myself last night when
I saw the spitting
image of poor
Nancy.
She pauses, her eyes wide and expectant, like a child waiting for a bedtime story.
SIGH...
...Who?
You know,
Nancy.
The poor
woman from 401
who went missing.
The trick
is listening to the walls, you know.
If you ask
me, she probably
just got lost in
the halls.
If Mrs.
Green knows
Nancy, it's possible
that she's crossed
paths with Anne
as well.
Mrs. Green,
do you know someone
named Anne?
Anne?
Goodness
me, I was hoping
you'd forgot
about that...
Forgot about
what?
My hearing
aid was on the
blink when I
first moved
in.
I thought
you said your name
was "Anne" when
you introduced
yourself.
Mmm... ¿S�
Mmm... ¿S�
Mrs. Green laughs and admits to calling me "Anne" for an entire month before realizing her mistake.
She seems to find it all quite amusing, but I feel like someone has sucked the air out of the room.
I'll let
you enjoy your
muffins,
dear.
Come by
anytime to see
the mold.
Mrs. Green finally leaves me alone with my thoughts.
Not only did
she think that
I was Anne, she also
claims to have called me that
for a whole month when
I've only been here
for a day...
While it's tempting to dismiss Mrs. Green's story after all of her wild claims today, the frequency of these "coincidences" is too statistically significant to ignore.
I can’t decide what I’m more afraid of—the truth, or the uncertainty.