The $450 Manhattan Room Mystery: Why Was a Famous Surgeon Performing Midnight Blood Rituals Behind My Wardrobe Wall?
👉 Previous Decision: You chose Option B – Seal the hole with spackle immediately, ignore what you saw, and try to keep your cheap housing.
Terrified of losing my impossibly cheap housing, and the stability it represented, I walked numbly to a hardware store on 86th Street. I bought a tub of quick-dry spackle and a small trowel.
Back in my room, my hands still shaking, I pressed the white paste into the dime-sized hole behind the wardrobe. I worked quickly, smoothing it over, erasing the nightmare image. I pushed the heavy mahogany furniture back into place, careful to leave no gap.
I turned off my lights, crawled into bed, and pulled the covers over my head. I tried to pretend I had never seen Dr. Finch, never seen the red-lit operating room, never heard the hum of unseen machinery. I would ignore it. I would keep my cheap rent. I would be safe.
The silence of the brownstone pressed in on me, heavy and complete. I told myself it was just a dream, a trick of the light, the fatigue of grief. Nothing I needed to worry about. Nothing at all.
➡️ Read CHAPTER 19 to continue the story
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