Fridays are my day to have a little solitude in my life. I’ve never been the type that enjoyed clubbing on Fridays— I don’t even like to see my friends. If I didn’t have to work, I’d spend the whole day alone. The feeling of loneliness was unbearable to me as a child, but as I grew, I realized it was an unavoidable part of life. I think the sooner you can accept this fact, the better off you are. And since it is unavoidable, you might as well prepare for it. Cherishing solitude gives you control over it. Instead of something you dread, it becomes something you can hardly wait for. That’s why I set aside Fridays.
I give myself an hour of phone time when I get home from work, and then I shut it off and place it in my dresser with my socks. If I don’t do this, I’ll end up wasting the whole night staring at my screen. After that, I light a candle in the kitchen while I fill up the bathtub with hot water. After soaking for at least twenty minutes, I’ll dry off and start on dinner. The other days of the week I’ll heat up frozen food, but on Friday, I like to cook. It doesn’t have to be expensive, but it does have to be something I make myself. After I eat, I like to sit on the couch and read until I’m ready to fall asleep. Normally, I pull up YouTube on my TV and play a jazz album.
This Friday was no different. When I got home, I sat on Instagram until it was time to put the phone away. Dinner tonight was homemade pizza— I had prepared the pizza dough before I bathed, so by the time I got out, the yeast would have been activated long enough. I popped it in the oven and set the oven timer for 15 minutes. In the meantime, I sat down on the couch to read.
I turned on my TV and opened the YouTube app. The homescreen was full of suggestions for different music mixes and playlists. Normally, I would have decided the album I would listen to while I daydreamed at work, but today had been so busy that I didn’t have the time. I flicked through different videos, but none quite matched the mood I was looking for. The oven alarm went off while I was still shopping around, and I left the TV playing and went to pull the pizza out.
I let it cool for a minute before I carved the pizza into even slices, bringing half of them with me stacked up on a plate. It was annoying that I had already wasted fifteen minutes on the TV instead of reading, and I wanted to find something to listen to and be done with it.
I went to exit out of the album that was left playing, some bossa nova playlist, when I noticed an interesting thumbnail. It was a little residential street, the on-ramp of a bridge in the corner frame. It looked familiar, like a street I had been to on vacation at some point. My eyes flicked to the title.
”ODAIBA LIVE CAM 24/7 RELAXING JAZZ”
I was right— I had been to Japan on vacation a few years ago, and my hotel was only a few blocks from where this camera was. Nostalgic memories of the trip flashed through my head. This is the atmosphere I was looking for. Clicking the video, it took a second to load. When the video started, I could see that it was earlier in the day than the thumbnail showed. It was a clear blue day, and the quiet street had a steady but small stream of foot traffic. Although there was no date, the video did seem to be live. There was no audio from the livecam, but a smooth jazz track was playing gently. Out of curiosity, I looked to the stream’s livechat— nothing. The livestream had a total of 1 view, which I assumed was me, and had been going on for four months. The suggested videos were all other live streams of the same area at slightly differ angles, all with zero views. Some of those streams had been playing for over a year.
Reminding myself that my goal was to read, not fidget around on YouTube, I threw the remote on the coffee table and picked up a slice of pizza and my book. While I read, I looked up every once in a while at the view of the street. Grey clouds had rolled in, better matching the tranquil music. Between the book, the music, and the soft glow of the TV, I felt tired. I stretched out across the couch and set the book on my stomach. In Odaiba, a soft drizzle was coming down onto the little road, and I closed my eyes with a satisfied smile. This is what a Friday is supposed to be like.
I awoke later, unsure of how long I had been asleep. I couldn’t even remember when exactly I drifted off. The room was much darker now, and had fallen completely quiet. I blinked a few times to loosen the contacts that had dried up in my eyes and glanced up again at the TV.
LIVESTREAM ENDED.
I blinked again and turned the TV off. The room was dark now, and I stood up wearily, feeling my way to the light switch on the wall. I turned it on, and a warm light enveloped the room. As I cleaned up, a thought popped into my mind. What are the odds that they end the stream right when they get their first viewer? It was a mundane event, but nonetheless, odd.
When I finished cleaning up from dinner, I brushed my teeth and double checked that I had closed and locked the front door. I turned the deadlock of my bedroom door into place before I grabbed my phone from the sock drawer. Jumping onto my bed, I searched up the weather in Odaiba. The forecast showed that it had been a blistering day, but there was no mention of rain at any point. It was a small drizzle. Maybe it was too local for the forecast to pick up. Still, it felt strange. I turned my phone off and placed it to the side.
My bed was in the far corner of the room, under a window, with a streetlight directly outside. Even with the blinds drawn, the room was always cast in a purple-grey light. I flipped to stare at the wall, where the room was the darkest. My nap on the couch had left my mind awake and energized, and I thought of the soft rain in Odaiba to clear my head.
I jolted awake again, shivering this time. I fell asleep on top of my comforter, but it felt at least 10 degrees cooler than it normally was in my apartment. I ripped the cover out from under me and wrapped it tight around my body, ready to sleep again.
That’s when I noticed a light pattering noise. Above the outside window sat an aluminum overhang, and it sounded as if little raindrops were falling and rolling down the curved metal sheet. I felt cold again, but this time from some irrational fear. I turned so that I could look out the window.
My bedroom door was wide open. Behind it was the hallway, but I could see nothing but a dark void. My heart sank. I lived alone in this apartment— I knew that I had locked both the front and bedroom door. I grabbed at my phone, but it wasn’t next to me anymore.
There was no use sitting still on the bed. Without a phone, my best bet was to lock the door if someone was lurking around my apartment. Creeping off of the bed silently, I moved to the bedroom door. I could feel my heartbeat in my hand as I gently pushed the door closed, turning the deadbolt again. I pulled the dresser in front of the door as an extra layer of protection. As I pushed it flush against the door, the sock drawer slid open and shut wildly, a hanging sock keeping the drawer from closing fully. Peering in, I saw that my phone was still nestled with the socks.
Relief washed over me, followed by confusion. I used it to check the weather, right? Was that a dream? The screen was cold, and the phone refused to turn on.
”FUCK!”
I shouted in frustration, forgetting that some intruder might still be inside. My hand flew up to cover my mouth instinctively, and I listened carefully for any movement. The only sound was the pattering of the rain. I had completely forgotten to check! The window was covered in frost, and it was jammed closed. A lone raindrop meandered down the outside of the glass. So it really was raining outside.
I sat on my bed, back against the wall. My room light wouldn’t turn on, nor would my phone charge. I was wrapped in the heavy comforter, but my teeth were still chattering. I don’t know how long I sat like that, but the room only became darker and colder, until even the grey-purple light left, and the room was pitch black. The rain carried on.
After a few hours, a light flickered on from underneath the bedroom door. It wasn’t sunlight, even though the sun should have risen hours ago. The room grew to an unbearable chill, and I pulled my blanket along with me as I pulled clothing from the bureau and slipped on another pair of pants. I knelt pressed against the bureau, transfixed on a muddled noise coming from the living room. I listened to it for minutes, hours; the room only got colder, and I was running out of layers to wear. I couldn’t stay here anymore.
I grabbed the best weapon I could find— a flat nose screwdriver that sat on my desk— and pulled the dresser away from the door. With a deep breath, I pulled it open.
The noise resounded in the hallway— in fact, it drowned out the noise of the rain completely. It was smooth jazz, the first track that played when I joined the livestream. I moved forward towards the flickering light and music, to the living room. As I rounded the corner, the television came into view. It took my eyes a second to adjust to the brightness.
On the TV, there was an image of my living room from a high angle. I was asleep on the couch, my book on my stomach, a tomato-stained plate on the coffee table, and the Odaiba livestream on. Did someone take a photo of me? I turned to look at the corner where the camera would have to be, but there was only a small singe of black on the wall, as if someone had held a lighter up to paint. I turned back to the TV, transfixed. There was something wrong here— something besides the camera.
The television in the photo flicked black, and the music stopped. This wasn’t a photo of me with jazz playing overtop, this was a livestream of me— hours ago. I leaned in to read the words “LIVESTREAM ENDED” in a small font. I was still asleep on the couch.
The light began to flicker, and a creaking sound played through the speakers. The quality was fuzzy, as if there was something interfering with the live broadcast. The creaking sound turned into a deep click. It sounded like someone walking in boots at the end of a long tunnel. I began to gasp in my sleep, ragged gasps. My voice sounded ragged and hoarse— I touched my throat to see if it was sore, but it felt fine. My breathing in the video was shallow now, and then I fell silent. The clicking had stopped, and as I began to sit up from the couch, the video paused. The television screen blinked, and the livestream started fresh; it showed me sitting on the couch, reading my book, and falling asleep. It showed the stream ending, the clicking, the gasping, and then it started again.
I ran to the front door and pulled. I didn’t know what was happening, but I wanted desperately to leave. I pulled hard at the door, but to no avail. I grabbed a chair and hurled it at the front window, but it bounced off pitifully, without leaving so much as a scratch. The livestream repeated itself again. Wailing in anger, I struck the television. The screen went dark, and the house fell silent, aside from the sound of rain. I wept quietly for a while, face nestled into my palms, the tears flowing over the blood and glass stuck in my hand.
I think it’s been weeks now. The television is still dark, the house is still dark. It’s still raining. It’s even colder now.
I don’t want to be alone anymore.