Chapter 2: Insomnia’s Revenge

"I’m the only one exercising down there. Who else could you be yelling at?"

"I’m so nearsighted, how could I see from the sixth floor who was down there?"

The old man blurted out, "Couldn’t you hear me shouting?"

I slapped my leg and exclaimed, startling him.

"So I was wondering who the hell was yelling before dawn. Turns out you know you’re waking people up?"

Hearing this, the old man raised his hand like he was about to hit me. I leaned in, daring him to hit me.

"Come on, hit me right here, don’t miss!"

The old man’s beady little eyes narrowed, sensing something was off, and his hand froze midair.

He glanced up and saw the doorbell camera pointed right at his face.

He lowered his hand and spat, "Don’t try to fool me, I’m not falling for it."

I said regretfully, "You’re pretty sharp, old man. I was hoping to squeeze a couple grand out of you."

His eyes widened:

"You want to extort me? When I was running cons, you were still in diapers!"

As he spoke, he clutched his chest and collapsed.

"My heart! Don’t think you’ll get away with this..."

I pointed at the camera: "Old man, this camera records audio."

Hearing that, he scrambled up and glared at me viciously: "Fine, kid, you got guts. I’ll remember you!"

With that, he stomped off, muttering that I’d better watch out.

After he left, I couldn’t sleep anymore. No surprise there.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the whole exchange. My hands were shaking, but not from fear—adrenaline, maybe. Or maybe just the exhaustion talking. Either way, sleep was out of the question.

Since I’d quit my job and come home, I hadn’t looked for work yet. My savings were enough to get by, so I wasn’t in a hurry.

I ordered breakfast from DoorDash, and while I was eating, there was another knock at the door.

It was Mrs. Peterson from across the hall.

She was the kind of neighbor who always wore house slippers and a cardigan, even in the middle of July. Her hair was set in tight curls, and she smelled faintly of lavender and pancake syrup.

"Young man, did you tick off Old Marvin this morning?"

"Old Marvin? Oh, you mean the guy who walks himself at dawn? He was making a racket, so I yelled at him."

She pointed at me, worried:

"You really shouldn’t mess with that old devil—plenty of folks here have suffered because of him."

Then she told me about Old Marvin’s infamous deeds.

He was just a renter, too.

At first, he stomped around and sang in his apartment, prompting protests from neighbors and the landlord.

The landlord tried to refund his rent to get him to leave, but he clung on, making a scene and refusing to go, claiming he had heart disease and would have an attack if forced out. Anyone who tried to move him would have to pay his medical bills.

The commotion drove out all the neighbors, upstairs and downstairs.

Once there was no one left to hear his racket, he started disturbing people with his morning exercises.

People from all walks of life in the community tried to deal with him, but nobody succeeded.

Later, just making noise in the morning wasn’t enough—he started harassing women in the courtyard.

From old ladies to elementary school girls, he didn’t care about age.

A high school senior who rented a basement unit caught the old man peeking through her bathroom window while she was showering.

Halfway through, she looked up and saw his leering face peering through the crack.

The girl broke down, became depressed. She didn’t even take her SATs.

Her family didn’t want her to go to college anyway, so they took her back to their hometown and married her off. (Honestly, the way some families handle things...)

Her life was ruined, but the old man got off scot-free, even bragging every day about how many times he’d seen her and how soft her skin looked.

Everyone in the complex avoided him like the plague.

When he realized no one paid him any mind, the old man started targeting little girls alone in the elevator.

He’d touch their faces or flip their skirts. He got beat up by several parents and detained a few times, but it didn’t help—he only got worse.

Because of this menace, the whole community lived in fear, and even property values tanked.

Mrs. Peterson advised me, "Just let it go, kid. You’re still young and have a bright future. Better to move somewhere else."

She squeezed my arm, her voice trembling. "You don’t want to get tangled up with him. He’s a bad seed, and his family’s even worse."

Every cell in my body buzzed with insomnia-fueled irritation.

Whatever. I can’t sleep anywhere, and at least here I’ve got something to do!

"Auntie, don’t worry. What’s so special about 5 a.m. exercise? Is he scared someone’ll knock on his door at 1 a.m.?"

"I can play this game for a year!" (Yeah, I know I said it before. But sometimes you have to repeat yourself just to stay awake.)

She gave me a look like she was about to bless me or call my mom, but I just grinned. My brain was fried, but my stubborn streak was wide awake.

I caught up on sleep during the day, but at night I tossed and turned again, my mind a mess.

At five in the morning, right on schedule, the “hey hey ha ha” noises came from below.

I immediately perked up, threw on my hoodie, and went downstairs to follow behind the old man.

He puffed out his chest as he walked: “Hey!”

I followed a step behind him: “Ha!”

The old man shuddered, turned around and saw me, snorted, and kept puffing out his chest: “Hey!”

I kept up: “Ha!”

“Hey!” “Ha!” “Hey!” “Ha!”

“Who is it~ who sent you to my side~”

The old man couldn’t take it anymore: “Why are you following me?”

I ignored him and kept singing: “It’s that~ ancient turtle who lived too long~” (Okay, maybe a little childish, but sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.)