he noticed my attention beginning to wane, he began talking about the building, with which he was completely enamored. He spoke about some amenities, and a road near the building. Then, he asked about my apartment, how long I planned to live there, and even seemed to suggest that I shouldn’t get too comfortable, because I wouldn’t be here for long. It was all very eccentric, and intrusive.
Before long, matters became nearly unbearable. I started having similar experiences with other men, some dressed in uniforms and some not, for the following few months—and not just around the building. I began running into them at the grocery store, the hardware store, and even public washrooms. It wasn’t just that I was being followed. The group began employing passive tactics specifically designed to brainwash people by displaying relentless propaganda messages. I had read about situations like these in stories, but never thought it could happen to me. That’s when I began taking precautions. I didn’t have the wherewithal to move and couldn’t be sure if I could get away from them if I did. Since then, I hadn’t heard from them directly. Years had passed without so much as a glimpse of the uniformed men, until a few months ago when they started sending me letters.
I felt nervous because of this new interaction, but their relentlessness was telling, and caused a major disruption to my routine.
In a sudden moment of boldness, provoked by their intrusion, I decided that the only solution was to oblige their request and finally confront them directly.
2
I put away the paint brush and began my search for clothing. I knew that if I was going to be out for a while, I needed to take the necessary precautions for protecting myself from the environment. For as long as I could remember, the air had been thick with pollution, but since moving to the building, I had the suspicion that someone had released some sort of contaminants into the air inside the building. My body had reached near decrepitude since moving in, with the soreness of my muscles and the headaches getting progressively worse every year. I had also determined that although the air was thick outside the building, it didn’t have the wretched stench that lingered inside, further confirming my suspicion.
Not allowing the unseemly atmosphere to seep into my sanctuary is one of the reasons I had fixed my blinds to the walls in my apartment; aside from not wanting to see my neighbors. I had found that the same dingy glaze that hovered in the hallways had made its way through my windows and into my living space. I hadn’t yet found a way to get the air out, but with the tape, had found that I could stop more from coming in. I wasn’t sure how other people had learned to live with the air, but they must have their own systems for keeping it out, similar to mine—unless they had simply accepted their fate.
As I finished putting on my second pair of socks, I considered what their motives might be for wanting a face-to-face meeting about the condition of the building. The likely answer was that they wanted to understand how their brainwashing tactics were affecting the residents’ psyche, so they could decide if alterations were necessary. It came to me just then that maybe the letter writer, Sam, wanted me out of my apartment. He’ll get me to concede to its deplorable condition, and then explain how there are better apartments in the building, moving me to a more vulnerable location. Or maybe he had snuck in when I was out picking up paint and had seen the progress I had made to the habitat. Once I vacate, he’ll take it for himself. It’s only a matter of time before a group like them starts taking whatever they want.
As I finished putting on my second t-shirt, I made up my mind to stand firm. No matter how appealing he made it sound, I wasn’t going to give up my apartment. I had spent years trying to make the best of things and I wasn’t about to start over because of intimidation. I finished my ritual by putting on my jacket, hat, scarf, and gloves.
I stepped outside the apartment and locked the door behind me. I hadn’t been out for a long time and the air unexpectedly seemed to get slightly better as soon as I stepped into the hallway. I walked down the long corridor toward the elevator and all along the way I kept my head down and my hands buried deep into my pockets, wishing to be invisible. When I reached the end of the hall, I carefully inspected the elevator before pushing the down button. As I waited for the doors to open, I looked back down the hall and saw two of my neighbors, a married couple, walk out of their apartment. I pushed the down button several times to try and speed up the process, but the doors weren’t opening fast enough.
Aside from the dingy air and the forced isolation, the worst part about the building was the other people. After my first encounter with the cult, I realized that most of the residents were part of the same group, and just as forthright in their intent to convince me to join them. Whenever I ran into someone in the hall or out on the street, they would ask me questions that weren’t particularly useful, other than to pinpoint my weaknesses. They often spoke about a road that would lead to a utopia that was ruled by a man called the Headmaster. The Headmaster seemed to be a fictitious Machiavellian caricature, used by the group to convey the idea that they were a consolidated bunch. No one had ever seen the man—every one of them would admit to this much.
The more I conversed with the people around the building, the more I began to suspect that I might be the only one who was still resisting our conundrum. I wasn’t sure if the average IQ of the common resident was dropping, but I could tell from the way they spoke with such naivety that it was highly likely. I also didn’t understand why everyone, other than myself, was so cheery all the time. Had they any inkling of their surroundings? If they weren’t going to think for themselves, they should at least recognize their imprisonment and not be so thrilled by it.
At first I would plan every time that I needed to leave the apartment in such a way that I wouldn’t mistakenly run into someone, so I could avoid subjecting myself to their meaningless ramblings. I suspected that if I exposed my mind to their chitchat too many times, I might not be able to hold my sanity indefinitely and may begin doing as they did. I’d spent considerable energy on the matter, even waking up early to determine their patterns. My research told me that most people were in the halls of the building between eight and nine in the morning. There was also a better chance of running into them in the late afternoon and early evening. Times could vary extensively when outside the building, making it much more unpredictable to go outdoors. My solution was to buy things in bulk such as groceries, project suppliers, and basic living necessities. I stocked up on the essentials and had learned to cope without the luxuries by only getting them when I had to pick up the essentials. The system worked well and continuing to improve it had been a priority.
“Hi John, it’s nice to see you out today,” said my neighbor, who stood smiling with his wife.
I could sense the tension in their eyes, but couldn’t decide what they wanted, or why they were speaking in such a nice tone.
“You’re bundled up. Is it supposed to be cold today?” he continued cheerfully.
He then turned to his wife and remarked, “Maybe we need more layers.”
The elevator chimed, indicating that this conversation was about to get squished into a tiny inescapable space. The doors opened and one of my other neighbors walked out of the small steel box.
“Oh, hi Ben, we’ve been meaning to speak with you about dinner,” the man who came out of the elevator said to my neighbor.
I slipped past the group, and as the three of them huddled in the hallway, I pushed the close door button inside the elevator several times. The doors slowly shut, but not before the man peaked his eyes between the diminishing crack and smiled. I felt a sense of relief and pushed the B button. It was a close call.
As the elevator made its descent toward the basement, I used the time to compile my thoughts. I ordered my priorities in such a way that I would only speak on topics related to the improvement
