I unlocked his apartment, stepped inside, and honestly… it was cleaner than mine had ever been. Minimal furniture. A couch, a small table, a bookshelf. Three plants near the window, just like he said.
I watered them. Looked around a bit—nothing unusual. No photos, no personal stuff. It felt like a place someone lived in, but didn’t belong to.
I left after maybe five minutes.
The second day is when things started getting weird.
When I walked in, the air felt… different. Hard to explain. Not a smell, not a temperature change. Just that subtle feeling like something isn’t quite right.
I checked the plants. Soil still damp from yesterday.
Then I heard it.
A faint sound.
From the bedroom.
Like something lightly tapping… or shifting.
I froze.
At first, I thought maybe it was pipes or the building settling. Old buildings make noise all the time.
But this was… rhythmic.
Tap… tap… tap…
I stared at the bedroom door. Closed. Just like before.
“Don’t open the bedroom.”
I remembered his words and honestly? I almost laughed it off. My brain was trying to rationalize it.
Probably a window open. Wind moving something around.
Still… I didn’t stay long that time.
By the third day, I didn’t want to go back.
But I had the key. And ignoring it somehow felt worse than just getting it over with.
So I went.
This time, the tapping started the moment I stepped inside.
Not loud. But clear.
Tap… tap… tap…
I stood in the hallway, staring directly at the bedroom door.
Something had changed.
The door was slightly open.
I’m 100% sure it had been closed before.
That’s when my chest started tightening. Not panic, but that heavy feeling like your body is telling you to leave.
Right now.
I should have listened.
Instead, I walked closer.
Each step felt louder than it should’ve. The floor creaked under me like it was trying to warn me.
The tapping stopped.
Silence.
I reached the door and gently pushed it open.
The room was almost empty.
Just a mattress on the floor. No sheets. No furniture.
And on the far wall… scratches.
Deep ones.
Not random. Not messy.
They formed lines.
Vertical. Repeated.
Like someone had been marking days.
Or counting something.
I stepped closer without thinking.
That’s when I saw the phone.
Sitting in the corner. Screen facing up.
It turned on by itself.
No notification sound. Just… lit up.
A recording was playing.
Grainy video. Dark room. Hard to make out details.
But I could hear it clearly.
Breathing.
Heavy. Uneven.
Then a voice.
Daniel’s voice.
“I think it knows when I leave.”
My stomach dropped.
“I tried staying outside longer yesterday. When I came back… the marks were already there.”
The camera shifted slightly, like he was holding it with shaking hands.
“I locked the door. I swear I locked it.”
There was a loud bang in the recording.
I flinched in real life.
The video cut to black.
That’s when I heard it again.
Behind me.
Tap.
I turned around slowly.
The bedroom door… was closing.
On its own.
I ran.
I didn’t lock it. I didn’t water the plants. I just ran straight out of the apartment, slammed my own door shut, and didn’t sleep that night.
The next morning, I called the landlord.
Told him everything. Or at least, enough to make him check.
He opened the apartment with me standing behind him.
Everything was normal.
Too normal.
No scratches. No mattress. No phone.
Just an empty bedroom.
Clean walls.
Like no one had ever been there.
“Your neighbor moved out,” he said casually. “Didn’t tell you?”
I didn’t answer.
I just stared at the wall where I know those marks had been.
A week later, I slipped the key under his door.
I didn’t want it anymore.
That night, as I was trying to sleep, I heard something from across the hall.
Faint.
Barely audible.
Tap…
Tap…
Tap…
I moved out two days later.
But here’s the part that still messes with me:
Sometimes, late at night, I hear that same sound.
Not in an apartment.
Not from a wall.
But from my phone.
Screen off.
Silent room.
And then—
tap… tap… tap…