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Chapter 004. The Nightmare of Room 1313 (1)
About four and a half hours.
After traveling by train from Boston South Station, I arrived at New York Penn Station in Manhattan at 5 p.m.
The sun was beginning to sink toward the horizon.
It was about twenty minutes by subway from the station to Columbia University.
And another five-minute walk to my newly assigned dormitory, John Jay Hall.
I had been told that check-in was until 6 p.m.,
so I had just enough time to catch my breath.
Instead of transferring directly from the train station to the subway, I first stepped outside the station and walked along the streets, enjoying the fresh air.
“Wow······ New York really was ten years ago ten years ago.”
New York, Manhattan, was the center of the world.
It was a city where the clock seemed to move much faster than in Boston, so I had expected the sensation of returning to the past to be weaker.
Instead, precisely because the city changed so quickly, its scenery was drastically different from what I remembered before my regression.
Still······ the vitality of the streets, packed with hurried pedestrians and cars constantly coming and going, was unchanged.
A place that seemed to be driven by something, where everything moved at a breathless pace.
That was Manhattan.
There had been a time when I wasted my life in its back alleys.
But I loved the vitality of these streets.
Even the sound of Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit coming from a street-corner vendor.
Nirvana, still listening to them.
I ordered a hot dog and a cup of coffee from the vendor, then leaned against the counter and listened to the song.
Last year······ September of 1991, was it?
The album Nirvana had released had exploded in popularity almost overnight.
It was the complete opposite of the flashy, optimistic, polished pop and glam metal of the 1980s.
Nirvana’s music was loud, rough, and chaotic.
If the former hummed Don’t Worry, Be Happy,
the latter screamed, I’m confused. I don’t know what’s going on. Everything is a mess.
Why did people cheer for music like that?
It wasn’t simply because they were sick of established culture.
It was because the songs sounded exactly like what was inside their own hearts.
This is an age of anxiety.
The American economy had been sinking into recession since 1990.
Young people of this era had lost the expectation that they would live better than their Baby Boomer parents,
while immigrants were experiencing firsthand the shattering of the American Dream that had once seemed eternal.
Frustration and anxiety were spreading throughout American society.
In other words,
beneath the breathless vitality of these streets, an uncontrollable fear was taking root.
As a little more time passed,
sophisticated horror novels that understood such fear would emerge······ and gain popularity with the masses, allowing horror to finally escape its status as mere pulp fiction.
Damn it, will I be able to pay next month’s rent?
Year-end restructuring······ If my name is on that list, I’ll—
Will I be able to leave this neighborhood before I die······
To understand all of that right now······
I was the only one who could.
“A hot dog and a small coffee, no sugar. Right?”
The street vendor placed the tray and my change in front of me.
“That’s right. Thank you.”
The hot dog, covered generously in ketchup and mustard over a cheap sausage, was salty, sweet, and intensely stimulating.
“Mmm. Tastes bad for you.”
The awful disease I had developed in my previous life had probably been influenced by drugs, alcohol, and my terrible eating habits as well.
I had changed everything else, so there would be no point if I lost my health.
This time, I intended to stay away from the things that had destroyed my body.
I had eaten this one last time before moving into the dormitory because I thought I might miss it later······
I don’t think I’ll miss it that much.
I put the half-eaten hot dog down and, after savoring the fear of the streets along with my coffee, headed toward the subway station.
* * *
The moment I exited the 116th Street–Columbia University station, I saw rows of brownstone buildings stretching eastward like a fortress wall.
“So this is······ Columbia.”
If I had not lost my parents the way I did in my previous life, I would have arrived here long ago.
Instead, I had finally reached this place after taking an incredibly long detour.
I felt strangely moved,
but I did not have time to remain lost in the emotion for long.
There were the freshmen who had just arrived like me······
“You can move your luggage slowly, so be careful!”
“Oh my God! Aiden, are you serious? You’re going to take care of the poster tube first? Are you still in high school?”
“Shapiro Hall, River Hall, Broadway Hall, and Carlton Arms are across the street!”
“Hello, everyone! If I may direct your attention to this toothbrush······”
Parents carrying their children’s luggage,
upperclassmen volunteers there to welcome the freshmen,
and peddlers selling all sorts of miscellaneous goods were mixed together, creating a scene that was nothing short of hell.
“······Good thing I came alone.”
Rather than stuffing my parents, whom I had only just gotten back, into this chaos and making them suffer, I would rather endure being a little lonely.
Leaving behind the tightly packed procession of people rushing toward the dormitories far from the station, I leisurely walked toward campus.
The dormitory I had applied for was John Jay Hall, located in the center of campus.
It was close to the lecture halls and library, and it even had a dining hall for students, making it the ideal dormitory for minimizing travel time in every way.
Welcome to John Jay Hall!
After passing beneath the welcome banner, I approached the lobby desk and handed over the dormitory assignment letter the university had sent me.
“Isaac Moon. What’s your major?”
“English Literature. I applied for a double room.”
“Oh, here it is. Here, take the key and sign here.”
The key the attendant handed me had a tag bearing the room number.
No. 1313
In the United States, where Christian traditions remained deeply rooted, thirteen was considered an unlucky number.
That was why many high-rise buildings simply skipped the thirteenth floor, going from twelve to fourteen, or labeled it something like 12A.
Columbia, being a prestigious university, doesn’t do things like that because of superstition.
Still, what a coincidence.
1313.
For someone dreaming of becoming a horror novelist, wasn’t that an incredibly fitting number?
“Haha, the thirteenth floor. Lucky, right?”
As I stared at the number on the key, the attendant seemed to think I was uncomfortable with it and laughed.
“We occasionally get students who ask to change rooms after being assigned to the thirteenth floor.”
He shrugged and raised both hands.
“But this is Columbia. We can’t change floors for a reason like that. Besides, we don’t have any spare rooms.”
“That’s a shame. I was hoping I might get the double room all to myself.”
When I made it clear that I had no complaints about my assigned room, he burst into laughter.
“Let’s see. Your roommate has already moved in. Same English department, too? Get along well.”
I took the Welcome Packet containing a campus map, dormitory brochure, and other materials from the attendant and turned around.
“Oh, by the way, where are the pay phones?”
* * *
After leaving a message at home to let them know I had arrived safely, I went upstairs to find my assigned room.
Room 1313.
“Here it is.”
When I inserted the key and opened the door, my roommate had already settled in.
He had taken the better spot by the window, farther from the door.
Unknown jazz was playing in the room, while a Macintosh Classic II and Bose 901 speakers gleamed on the desk.
A personal computer and Bose speakers?
At a glance, it was obvious he came from money.
He gave off the unmistakable air of a wealthy white family’s privileged son, the kind I had often seen in Boston.
“Oh, roommate?”
He turned his head crookedly from where he was sitting in his chair.
His brown hair had a coppery tint and was slightly tousled with curls, while his freckled, still-boyish face looked me up and down.
When I placed my old trunk and typewriter case beneath my desk, he hesitantly stood and approached me.
“I’m Leo. Leo Garfield. English Literature.”
He extended his hand.
I shook it.
“Isaac Moon. Same department. I’m from Boston.”
At that moment, I heard his fear.
Damn it, room 1313. What terrible luck······ Are they really not going to change the room?
My roommate is an Asian guy who got in on a scholarship. What if we can’t communicate?
For now··· I can’t let him look down on me. This is Columbia.
I smiled bitterly to myself.
This guy with the lion-like name was terrified of room 1313, yet he was putting on airs by playing jazz because he didn’t want to look weak.
“Boston? Huh, well······ welcome to the big leagues. I’m taking the window side. You don’t seem to have much luggage, so the side by the door should be more convenient for you.”
He did not seem even remotely apologetic about claiming the better spot.
Well, he got here first, so if that was a right, then so be it.
I shrugged and unpacked my belongings beside the bed near the door.
When I placed my old typewriter on the desk, Leo tilted his head.
“Isn’t that inconvenient? Nobody uses those anymore.”
I glanced at him.
There was no malice or sarcasm in his words.
It was more like the ignorance of an elite who had grown up without ever lacking anything.
“I guarantee you’ll get punched if you say that somewhere else.”
“What?”
“Even if you searched every room in John Jay Hall, you could probably count the freshmen who brought computers with you on your fingers. Maybe half the upperclassmen in Computer Science use them.”
“R-really?”
Of course.
This was an era when the penetration rate of home computers was still below thirty percent.
I knew perfectly well how convenient a word processor was, but it was far too expensive to buy one just for that.
“Once word gets out that there’s a computer in this room, all the guys on the thirteenth floor will come by to take a look at least once.”
“Ugh, that sounds annoying.”
Of course, I was planning to get a PC myself soon.
The more I wrote, the more desperately I was starting to feel the need for a word processor.
Well, this works out. Thanks to this guy, the attention will be divided.
Just then, a tall Black upperclassman opened the door with a knock and poked his head inside.
“Room 1313, checking in both residents. I’m Mike, a junior. I’m the RA for the thirteenth floor. The rules are posted behind the door, so make sure you read them······ Oh, right.”
Mike winked at us.
“The guys who used this room during the spring semester made a huge fuss about hearing strange noises every night. It’s probably nonsense, but if you hear anything, come find me.”
It was probably just the usual joke told to residents moving into room 1313.
But the moment he finished speaking, Leo silently screamed.
Seriously? Damn it! Tell me you’re joking! Oh my God, how am I supposed to sleep here tonight?! Wait, Asian guy, you’re not bothered at all?
But Leo’s mask was perfect.
He snorted as though the idea were ridiculous.
“Ghosts? You’re quite the joker, senior. This is Columbia, not some cheap state college campfire.”
“Haha, true. Anyway.”
Mike checked something off on the paper he was holding.
“There’s a Welcome Pizza Night at the dining hall at seven tonight. It’s not mandatory, but you should go if you can. It’s free pizza.”
The moment the RA left, Leo deliberately put on an expensive-looking jacket.
Then he looked at me, sitting there doing nothing, as though I were some strange creature.
“Why are you just sitting there? You’re not going?”
“I’m fine. I have some writing to do.”
“Writing? ······Seriously? On your first day? Hey, Isaac.”
Leo lectured me as though he were some veteran of life.
“This is the Ivy League. You clearly don’t know how things work. Parties like that are real studying. You need to put faces to names, build connections, and get attention. Just follow me. I’ll introduce you to people.”
I simply shrugged.
Leo turned away with an uncomfortable expression.
“······Well, good luck, then. I’m going to make some friends.”
So he really is an unsociable nerd. Damn it, I have to spend every night alone with this guy? In this unlucky room?
Leo disappeared, leaving behind thoughts filled with a mixture of contempt and fear.
“······.”
Silence descended upon Room 1313.
Connections? Rules? Attention?
I knew one successful writer who had achieved success through those things.
Sean McKenzie.
Come to think of it, Harper Goldman was also an alumnus.
Harper was considerably older than me, so he had graduated long ago, but Sean McKenzie might still be somewhere on campus.
Regardless.
When I thought about his case, it was clear that there was value in gaining attention within the university community.
The name recognition built here would definitely be useful later on.
“All of that is fine. But you’ve got the method wrong, Leo. Just as Sean and Harper had no choice but to depend on my writing, in the end, you need something of your own inside you.”
Leo was a foolish elite who pretended to be strong and cool.
His prejudice was not rooted in malice like that of the bullies who had tormented me during high school.
It came from ignorance and youthful arrogance.
Like it or not, I would have to live with him for at least this semester.
I wanted him to come to his senses.
If only for the sake of my own peaceful life in the dormitory.
If he keeps acting like that, it’ll be exhausting for me too.
The problem was that I wasn’t a psychological counselor.
And I had only one thing at my disposal.
An axe.
An axe called fear.
An axe that shattered human masks and revealed their bare faces.
Should I write something, just to loosen up my hand?
I looked at Leo’s desk and bed.
The place where their owner had left was empty, but the scent of the fear he had left behind was abundant.
Room 1313······
Unlucky, ominous—
An Asian roommate? How am I supposed to become friends with him?
The ghost rumors—they’re scary······
I don’t want him to look down on me. Don’t make yourself look easy.
I want to be the center of the party······
FWIP······
I inserted a clean sheet of paper into my old typewriter.
Tap······ Clack, Clack—!
In the silence of Room 1313,
a sound more ominous than any band music of the 1990s began to echo.
RATTA, TATTA—ATTA———!
I began drawing a map of hell for my first reader, Leo.