My girlfriend and I moved into this apartment complex. The building we moved into only had 2 apartments, upstairs and downstairs, so they gave us the downstairs apartment. The manager said it should be quiet since no one occupied the upstairs apartment.

We got all moved in within a couple of days. The first couple of nights in our new apartment was uneventful, peaceful and quiet. On the third night, I was startled awake by what sounded like a pot falling the floor in the upstairs apartment, my girlfriend heard it to, half awake she asked, what was that noise, I told her I didn’t know. So I got up to look around the apartment to make sure everything was okay inside our apartment.

The next day arriving home from work I saw a maintenance man exiting the upstairs apartment, so I asked, is someone moving in upstairs? He answered no that apartment will be closed for awhile. Pretty messed up huh? I asked. That’s an understatement, he said, you didn’t hear from me but the tenant that lived there got hacked up about a week before you moved in, it was a bloodbath. Hacked up I blurted out! He shushed me and said we’re not suppose to say anything, they haven’t caught the person that did it yet. And with that he walked off.

I considered telling my girlfriend, but decided not to say anything, she would freak out and be ready to move.

The next night as I lay in bed, I had tried to dismiss the news about the upstairs tenant, the night was draped in a thick veil of darkness, the sort that clung to the walls of our spacious apartment like a guilty secret. I had tried to ignore the unsettling creaks and groans of the old building, chalking them up to its age. But as the clock struck midnight, those sounds took on a different significance, wrapping me in a suffocating embrace.

It began with hearing footsteps, doors opening and closing, the footsteps were faint—an echo of something I wanted to ignore. The taps and thuds drifted down from the upstairs apartment, like a distant lullaby sung by a bitter wind. I’d hear them, accompanied by the soft sound of something heavy dragging across the floor. It seemed like the apartment above was merely occupied by a restless tenant, pacing in their sleep or moving furniture at odd hours. I thought to myself, what the heck is going on upstairs?

But on this particular night, the noises grew hungry. The footsteps turned deliberate, a cacophony of shuffling and thumping tumbling down through the floorboards, rattling in my chest as I sat up in the dimly lit bedroom. I felt a prickle on the back of my neck as though someone—something—was watching me. Swallowing hard, I convinced myself to rise from the safety of my bed being careful not to wake my girlfriend, and tiptoe to the front-door and opened and peered up the narrow staircase to the upstairs apartment.

Closing the door behind me, I stood at the base of the stairs, peering up into the shadows that danced above and started up the stairs. Each step groaned beneath me as if they too were warning me to turn back. The door to the upstairs apartment was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of inky blackness yawning into view. That was new. It had always been closed, sealed tight like a tomb. Hesitation gnawed at my insides, but curiosity was powerful, an ancient drive urging me onward. As the air thickened with an unnatural chill, I pushed the door open, its hinges creaking in protest.

The hallway enveloped me, the air sharper, filled with an electric tension that crackled against my skin. My heart raced, and I hesitated for a brief moment, listening. Silence, heavy and oppressive, hung in the air, broken only by the soft whisper of my own breathing. I took a few hesitant steps forward, my own footfalls echoing back like a taunt.

And then it happened: the unmistakable sound of a door slamming shut from within the apartment. Time froze, and I froze along with it, every instinct screaming at me to flee. I couldn’t look away from the door, though, as though something inside was beckoning me closer. Captivated against my will, I took a step toward it.

“Who’s there?” I called, my voice feeble against the void.

No answer. Only the suffocating silence, that all-consuming quiet before the storm. I thought fleetingly of the old tenant who had hacked to death. The thought should have sent me running, but I could feel a presence—an energy swirling in the air—that made me yearn for contact, for proof of life, or perhaps something beyond it.

But as I reached out for the doorknob, the air shifted. From the shadows came a whisper, a voice dripping with malice as chilling as the wind outside. “Leave this place…”

I stumbled backward, tripping over myself as the door swung open wide, revealing a darkness so profound that it seemed to consume the very light of my own existence. The footsteps returned, now rushing down the stairs, dragging something with them—a reminder of the transient nature of life itself. Whatever lurked above was no mere tenant. It was a secret, an echo of loss, and in that moment, I understood that some doors were never meant to be opened.

Rumors about the apartment whispered from tenant to tenant—tales of grief, loss, murder and may-ham. My girlfriend and I decided to move out.

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