The Girl in Apartment 1901

Writer’s prompts.

If you’re ever stuck with writers block or just don’t know what to write about, they’re awesome to get you going.

In my VA Writers Group we often use visual prompts. And for this prompt, we used this one.

We had 10 minutes to write a short story. My first thought was “Rear Window” which is vintage Hitchcock. Awesome movie by the way.

But I didn’t want to do just do a rewrite of the Movie. I just let it go, and boy, are we talking of a trip in darkness. I bounced it off my counselor and I’m very surprised he didn’t send those nice young men in their clean white coats to collect me. Especially since I haven’t a clue where this came from. It just came.

Long and short, this story will be submitted for Writer’s Digest Entry this year. So enjoy.

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THE GIRL IN APARTMENT 1901- Richard L. Muniz

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” I half whispered when the slider between me and the priest opened.

“Go on, my Son,” he said quietly.

The confessional smelled of dust.

It was clean, but it was old. The crushed velvet kneeler had gathered the dust of a century since the church had been built. As I walked into the confessional, I tried not to think of what had been poured out here. How many confessions of spousal abuse, drunkenness, drug use, and midnight liaisons had been poured out in this room. I remembered my first confession at 7 years old. And thinking dust smelled of sin.

And now, I was adding my dust to it. One more sneeze in the nose of God.

“It’s been sixty years since my last confession.”

“I see,” he said, not seeing me at all. But his voice was low and reassuring. “Could I ask why you came in today?”

I didn’t want to say anything. My mouth went dry, and the words caught in my throat.

No number of Our Fathers or Hail Mary’s or Act of Contrition could cover this.

I was guilty, and surely God the Father would turn his back on me for what I’d failed to do.

“I…” I stopped. 

“Go on, my Son.”

I started again. My voice was a horse whisper. “I saw someone get hurt, Father.”

“And what happened?”

“I bought a telescope a few months ago.”

“And?”

“And the telescope turned me into a voyeur of sorts. I mean, while the world tuned in for a rerun of Game of Thrones or to watch the Olympics, I prowled the city skyline. I had a couple of magnifications on it, and if there was something interesting going on in the apartment complex across the way, I zoomed in to watch.”

“Why did you do this?” he asked.

” I don’t know. Maybe the thrill. Maybe the thought I’d see something exciting. I felt like a potential perv, Father. I mean, if I’d seen some people getting it on, would I have stopped to watch?”

I knew I would have. I never saw that, but I’d checked out a lot of people in various states of undress. And I enjoyed it.

“Go on,” he said.

“There’s a big apartment complex across the way. I enjoyed watching over there.”

“Why?”

“Big windows. Not everyone closed their drapes. Lots of people. I thought I might see something worth looking at.

“But most of the people there were boring. They go to work and they come home. They eat dinner. Some cooked their meals, and I wondered what their meals were like or what they talked about. Most just brought home takeout.

“Then they go to their bedrooms, change and spend the long, boring evening watching television. I guess in a way I was watching television with them. I was an unknown and invisible guest in the homes, looking over their shoulders. And none of them knew I was there.”

Despite it all, I smiled. “I guess I didn’t feel so alone by looking in on them.”

I stopped talking, and the Father said nothing for a moment. “And what happened?”

Did I dare to speak of this? After all, that’s why I came to confession. “A couple of nights ago.”

I stopped.

“Go on,” the comforting voice rumbled.

“I was watching and saw a young woman who lived alone directly across from me.” I stopped again. I didn’t want to think about this. But I had to tell it. “I’d watched her often. She was cute.”

“And?”

“I’d studied her a lot. She was tall, shapely, with dark hair. I even figured out she lived in apartment 1901.” I stopped as I realized something. “I guess I’d become a bit of a stalker.”

I could only imagine what the Priest was thinking of me. Was there some way he could see my face? Would he report me to the police? If there had been incidents in the neighborhood, might they come knocking on my door?

“And she got a ladder out, put it up, and climbed up it. She was dusting something.”

The words stuck in my throat. I was as if I’d inhaled the dust of whatever she was dusting.

“What happened?”

“She fell.” I choked, but kept on confessing. “Backwards. She hit her head on the coffee table.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but said, “She lay on the floor. She wasn’t moving.”

The comforting voice wasn’t so comforting anymore. The Father’s voice had actually climbed an octave, and there was alarm in his voice as he asked, “What did you do?”

I shook my head, my words condemning me, causing hell to open before me.

“I didn’t do anything,” I whispered.

“You didn’t call for help?”

“I reached for the phone. I was about to dial when I knew what would happen if I did. I couldn’t father. You see. . .”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been looking through windows with a telescope. I saw this young woman fall. She struck her head. She died.”

I knew he’d filled in the blanks.

“And what did you do?”

“Nothing. I put the telescope away and never looked back. I left her lying there.” I tried to explain myself. “If I had called 911, they’d have traced the call to me. I could see the headlines. ‘Telescope Pervert Saves Girl’s Life.'”

He couldn’t see me, but I shook my head. “I’m a teacher! I’d have lost my job for sure.”

“My Son…”

I cut him off. “I didn’t look out there again that night. I sat all night watching their boring TV shows and wondering about what I’d done.”

“Can I ask you something?” the priest asked.

“No, Father. Youi can’t. I did nothing. The next night I looked across at her apartment. The lights were off. I can only guess someone went looking for her when she didn’t show up for work the next day.

“And the lights were off the night after that, and last night as well.”

“What are you going to do about this?” he asked.

“I’m going to forget it. I want absolution for this sin.”

It was a moment before he spoke. “I can’t grant that.”

“Why? A Lord Prayer. A dozen Hail Marys and an Act of Contrition,” I gasped. “I need absolution.”

“But you’re unrepentant, my Son. Are you going to stop peering into other people’s lives? Are you going to get help for this? And you let a child of God die. You saw her injured, and yet all you could think of was yourself. You let her die.” He let that one hang out there for a moment. “What are you going to do about that?”

“I don’t know,” I muttered.

“Will you wait for me after confession?” he asked.

No! He’ll know my face!

 I got up off my knees and fled the confessional and the church.

And I ran out into the street.

“Hey, look out!” someone shouted as I collided with them at the door and knocked him down on the cement steps. “You almost killed me.”

Maybe he would have been killed had he fallen a little differently.

I didn’t apologize.

 I just ran. Past him and out onto the sidewalk. I stopped, looking up and down the darkened block. Which way to run?

I was alone on the darkened street.

Footsteps.

Two police officers were walking towards me, their footsteps drumming on the sidewalk. Their badges gleamed in the dark. A chill ran through me.

The priest dimed me out. He called them! They knew! I’d let her die. I was guilty of that. I’d let her die in the holy name of saving my reputation, and I couldn’t bring her back. The priest told them! They were coming for me!

I stepped out into the street to cut across to get away from the cops. If I walked across casually, they’d never see me.

I took a step.

A horn blared at me as I stepped back in reflex.

“Watch it, buddy,” the driver yelled. “You’re going to get yourself killed?”

I gulped. I was so intent on the cops that I’d never seen the car.

I ran across the street. I looked back towards the cops. They hadn’t seen me, or I’d ditched them. They’d stopped in front of the church. I didn’t wait to see why they’d stopped.

I walked down the sidewalk. My footsteps echoed in the dark. Trees lined this block, and a streetlamp shone through an open space, bathing me in the light.

I looked up at the stars. They’re hard to see in the city, but I could see two bright ones.

They looked like eyes.

God was looking at me, I gasped. His gaze cut deep into my soul.

What had I done?

I passed a store and heard the shopkeeper angrily telling someone, “You’re going to pay for this, buddy!”

The words, meant for someone else, cut through my heart.

I rounded a corner. On a bus bench lay one of the homeless, crazy street preachers who haunt my neighborhood. He wasn’t up screaming a message of repentance. He was sleeping. But his cardboard sign proclaimed his message. “Repent of your Sins! Judgement is coming!”

I stopped. I glared at the sign. The finger of God was pointing at me from it.

Condemning me.

Accusing me.

I smiled. They’re just stars, I said to myself. They’ve been up there since before you were born. Nothing but two bright stars.

And this was all a coincidence.

 It meant nothing.

Just one of those chance things that happen.

Footsteps were coming down the sidewalk, but I didn’t look to see who it was.

“What did you do?” a voice whispered.

It was a girl’s voice. And while I’d never spoken to her, didn’t even know her name, I imagined it was the voice of the girl in apartment 1901 speaking to be from the morgue.

I spun, an icy chill through my body, and raised my hands to defend myself.

“Easy, buddy,” an old man said. He was out walking his dog. The dog stayed away from me.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I put my hands down and walked as fast as I dared away from him.

“Do you need help?” he called. I looked over my shoulder and saw him pull out a cellphone.

The police will be coming. He’ll call them, and they already know what happened.

“Why didn’t you help!” the voice came again.

That was it.

I stumbled to the gutter, fell to my knees, and threw up. Every time I heaved, it was like being punched in the stomach. Every punch, a punishment. I knelt, gasping for breath.

“Why didn’t you help me?” she whispered.

“My reputation,” I gasped alone in the street except for a ghost. “I’d have been fired if they found out I called. I was watching everyone through the telescope!” I didn’t dare to look around. I was sure I’d see her following me.

“Why didn’t you help?” the voice insisted.

I got to my feet and wiped the vomit from my mouth. I looked up one more time at the stars and averted my eyes. God was looking at me. I could convince myself his eyes weren’t on me. That they were just stars.

 But could I ever quiet the voice?

 It was part of me now.

I ran home and took the elevator up. The inside doors were polished metal, like a mirror. And staring out of the metal were my own accusing eyes.

As the elevator started up, the voice whispered again, but this time, “Help me. Stop the pain.”

The ride up seemed to stretch into hours. I turned away from the door and stared at the buttons. Anything except to look into my eyes.

There was a digital display on the elevator controls. As I passed a floor, the number changed. Passing each floor seemed longer to make than the last.

What if this is hell? Forever falling upward to a floor I’ll never reach with only my accusing self to keep me company.

But I made it.

I threw open the door to my apartment and staggered out onto the balcony.

 I looked across at her apartment.

Maybe there was still time. Maybe all this fantasy had happened in the blink of an eye. Maybe I’d played it out in my head and she’d just fallen.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

But it was.

The lights were still off in her apartment, and had been for days

Staring into the darkness, I calmed down for just a second.

 It was all good.

Her body had been found. She died in a senseless accident. That’s what the report would say. She was just one more number in a line of statistics for home accidents.

No one knew I’d seen her die.

I smiled. I’d gotten away with it.

“Why didn’t you help me?” The accusing words seemed to have blown in on the breeze from the land of the dead into my ears. “Stop the pain!”

I didn’t want to look up again, but I did. From heaven, God was staring down at me.

I hadn’t gotten away with anything.

 I’d seen her die.

And I did nothing.

I stared at the dark window. You’re guilty of her blood. You did nothing, and that makes you guilty of her death.

I still tasted vomit in my mouth. I looked at the window. I didn’t see the darkened room. The lights were on with her standing on the ladder.

And then she was on the floor and not moving.

And I did nothing.

I killed her.

I’d see her still form before me all the rest of my life.

I’d hear the voice on the wind. “Stop the pain!”

Maybe that’s why we have the death penalty. Maybe so the guilty don’t have to hear the accuser for the rest of their life.

Maybe death was a form of mercy.

“You let me die,” the voice whispered.

I had.

There’s only one punishment for killing someone.

And I climbed out over the railing.

I’d let a fellow human being die.

 Her blood was on my hands.

I let go of the railing.

And just before gravity grabbed me and tossed me to the pavement below, the lights came on in her apartment and she walked through the door, being helped by someone else.

Copyright – R.L. Muniz-2026