A snippet From my novel-in-progress What The Hell Ever Happened to Yuri Rozhenko?

  She heard music again as she was coming back from the corner store.
   The far off sounds of punk music. It was old school thrash.
   It was most likely coming from the same apartment that had been playing The Misfits at high volume the other day. The day before that they had been playing German industrial. She knew it was one of the apartments at other the end of the hall, but she was not sure exactly which one was playing the music.
   She had only moved in a week ago, moving into an available room in her friend Lindsey’s place in Portland after having been forced to flee the bone crushing rents of the San Francisco Bay Area.
   She couldn’t identify the band until she had gone farther down the hall. It was the Crimpshrine album she had worn out back in her Berkeley days, the LP that had been stolen at one of her house parties.   Moving around the hall, she finally identified the correct door. There were details about the door that told her who the residents were. There were a few more scratches and smudges on that door than most of the other doors, details she would not had noticed had she not heard the music, but were still very telling. There was a distinct lack of any accoutrements around the door: No welcome mat, no name plates on the most likely non-functioning apartment doorbell, and no welcome signs or decorations.
   She put her ear up to the door.
   Skye waited for Lindsey to come home so she ask her about it. When her roommate Frito came home first, she decided to throw caution to the wind.
   “You know the people down the hall?”
   “What people?”
   “Someone was playing Crimpshrine really loudly, down the hall. Last door on the left.”
   “Yeah, those guys. Come on.”
   Frito walked out of the apartment and into the hall. Skye followed. Frito walked up to the last door on the left. Some sort of industrial music that Skye couldn’t identify was thumpa thumping in the apartment. Frito leaned down and put her ear up to the door.
   “Keep listening,” said Frito.“Watch this.”
   Frito knocked on the door firmly, three times.
   The music stopped.
   It was suddenly deathly quiet.
   “What’s up?” asked Skye.
   “They won’t answer. C’mon.”
   Frito started walking back to their apartment as Skye followed.
   “In nineteen minutes, come back down here and listen,” said Frito.
   “What?”
   “Trust me.”
   “What’s going on?”
   “You’ll see.”
   Back at their place, Skye sat down on the couch and thumbed through a skateboarding magazine as Frito disappeared into her room. She came out a short time later.
   “Come on!”
   “What?”
   “It’s almost been twenty minutes.”
   Frito walked down the hall and then tip-toed up to the door.
   “Just wait,” whispered Frito.
   After a few moments some dub Reggae started up.
   “What’s going on?” asked Skye.
   “I’ve tried to find out who lives here,” whispered Frito, “Because I keep hearing this music. I figure they have to be from our tribe. Y’know, punks and burnouts since they keep playing our kinda music, but I’ve never actually seen anyone come out of this apartment.”
   “Haven’t you been living here for awhile?”
   “Yeah. That’s the freaky thing about it. I’ve seen virtually everyone who lives on this floor, except these people.”
   “There’s more than one in there?”
   “I’m pretty sure. This is the thing. Every time I’ve knocked on this door the music stops, and one ever answers the door.”
   Skye looked around the door. “There isn’t even a peephole. What the hell?”
   “After having done it a few times I realized that the music comes back on after exactly twenty minutes.”
   “What?”
   “Yeah. Knock on the door. The music stops. It starts up again after exactly twenty minutes.”
   “What the hell?”
   “It’s like they put on a timer.”
   “How do you know all of this?”
   “Excessive curiosity. Plus they have some really good music, and I’ve been trying to find out who some of the bands are.”
   “Wait, are you making this up?
   “No!”
   “I feel like I’m on a hidden camera show.”
   Frito waved a hand towards the door. “Try it yourself.”
   Skye stood straight and gave the door a good knock. The music stopped.
   Frito started walking back down the hallway as Skye reluctantly followed. “I swear, you come back in exactly twenty minutes the music will start up again.”

  Lindsey was home an hour later when Skye was eating her veggie burrito dinner in the front room. She asked Lindsey about the twenty minute door.
   “True story,” confirmed Lindsey.
   “F’real?’
   “Yeah. It’s really freaky.”
   “I thought Frito was pulling some elaborate joke on me.”
   “The twenty minute door is no joke. I keep trying to catch the residents who live there, but no dice. None of us have ever seen anyone from that place. I’ve even asked some of the other people who live on this floor and they haven’t seen anyone from that apartment either.”

  Their word wasn’t enough for Skye. For three straight nights, Skye tested it out. Sure enough the music always stopped for twenty minutes, and no one ever answered the door.
  She pointed out another curious detail to Frito. “When the music starts back up, it’s a different song. They don’t just keep playing the song that was interrupted.”
   Frito thought about it for a moment. “You’re right. I hadn’t noticed that!”

   Frito assured Skye that the music apartment had piqued the curiosity of her and Lindsey, perhaps a little too much. Skye was very curious as well, but she decided she would leave a note under the door rather than keep knocking. She knew what she wanted to say. She would tell them that she heard them playing the Crimpshrine album, and that she was an old punk who had just moved into the building and could she possibly borrow it.
  Skye walked down the hall with her carefully folded note and stopped in front of the door. There was some sort of thrash playing. She had to listen for a few minutes before she realized that it was an old DRI album.
   She held up the note and looked at the door.
   The seal around the door looked extra sharp. The dull stains and smudges on the door started to look like burn marks if she stared long enough.
   She leaned closer to the door so she could better hear the music.
   She stood back.
   She thought about sliding the note under the door.
  She was almost certain there was someone standing on the other side of the door. She could not explain why she felt that way.
   She crumpled up the note and put it in her pocket.   Skye walked away, back to her new apartment.