By Assie
When I first moved into the apartment, I thought the silence was a blessing.
The city was loud, my office was loud, even the bus stops screamed with tired voices and clicking shoes.
So when I found a one-bedroom flat on the fifth floor of a dull brown building on Greyhabour Street, I almost couldn't believe how quiet it was.
The landlord, an old man with a smile that was more wrinkle than warmth, told me, "You'll like it here. People come and go, but the walls remember kindness."
I thought it was an odd thing to say, but I laughed politely, signed the papers, and carried my boxes up the stairs.
The room was small, clean, and perfect.
White walls. Wooden floors. A single window facing a dim alleyway.
I unpacked, hummed to myself, and convinced my loneliness that this was the start of something new.
That first night, the silence was peaceful.
The second night, it felt thick.
Like someone had draped the air with something invisible and heavy.
********
The Little Noises.
It began with tiny sounds.
At first, I thought it was the pipes.
A soft knock near the wall, followed by a dragging noise under the bed.
It wasn't loud, just present.
"Old buildings do that," I told myself.
But that didn't explain why the noises only came when I turned off the lights.
On the third night, I was brushing my teeth when I saw something strange.
The bathroom mirror fogged up from the hot water, and when I wiped it clean, I noticed something faint — a handprint.
Not mine.
It was too small. Too thin.
I froze.
Then laughed nervously.
Probably a mark from before.
Still, I couldn't shake the image.
That night, when I crawled into bed, I left the lamp on.
The moment I closed my eyes, I felt it — the pressure of something watching.
A familiar stillness that wrapped itself around me.
"Just my nerves," I whispered, curling tighter beneath the blanket.
Then came the soft scrrrtch... scrrrtch... under the bed.
I held my breath.
It stopped.
The air was cold, and the smell — faintly metallic — clung to my throat.
I didn't sleep that night.
*********
The Neighbor
The next morning, I met my neighbor — a middle-aged woman named Mrs. Clea.
She smiled like someone who'd seen too much of everything and still found time to water her plants.
"You're the new tenant?" she asked, handing me a cup of instant coffee in a chipped mug.
"Yeah," I said, trying to sound casual. "Do the walls here... make sounds sometimes?"
Her smile flickered.
"Oh, they all do, dear. This place has been standing for almost a century. It creaks like an old man in winter."
I nodded, but before I could ask more, she added quietly,
"Just don't leave the window open after midnight."
I blinked. "Why?"
She looked away. "Because sometimes... the things outside don't like being left out."
Her words crawled under my skin.
I laughed, thanked her, and hurried back upstairs.
That night, I locked my window. Twice.
Still, at 2:14 a.m., I woke up to the sound of someone breathing beside my ear.
Slow.
Wet.
Shallow.
I turned on the light so fast that I almost broke the switch.
I saw no one.
Just the faint outline of my reflection in the mirror across the room — smiling when I wasn't.
********
The Mirror
The mirror became my enemy.
It sat opposite my bed, tall and framed in wood, a gift left by the previous tenant.
Every time I passed it, I felt the weight of someone else's eyes — as if the reflection was a second slower than it should be.
One night, I decided I'd had enough.
I dragged the mirror into the hallway.
As I leaned it against the wall, my phone vibrated — a text from an unknown number.
"Why did you move me?"
I froze.
The text had no contact name. No history.
My heart hammered. I threw the phone on the bed, then i laughed shakily.
Probably spam. Some damn scammer.
But then another text appeared.
"You looked prettier when you smiled."
I ran to the bathroom and locked the door.
My reflection stared back at me — tired, trembling, terrified.
"Stop it," I whispered. "Stop imagining things."
From outside the door came a soft tapping sound.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
I thought someone was knocking, but the taps were too high.
They were coming from the mirror on the other side of the wall.
*********
The Whispering Night
After that, things escalated.
The sounds beneath the bed became louder — scraping, dragging, sometimes even laughter.
Once, I felt my mattress shift, as if something had crawled underneath.
I stopped turning off the lights entirely.
The sleeplessness got worse.
My coworkers noticed. They told me to take a break, but I couldn't tell them why.
How do you tell someone that your own room hates you?
Then one night, the whispers began.
At first, they were faint, like a radio between channels.
But soon, words began to form.
"Pretty... little... thief..."
"Don't look away..."
"She shouldn't have smiled..."
I clutched my pillow and covered my ears, but the voices were inside my head — crawling like insects through cracks in my skull.
I screamed for them to stop.
Everything went silent.
And then, a single voice — a whisper so soft it felt like it came from my heartbeat — said,
"I'm under your bed."
*********
The Confrontation
I wanted to run, but I couldn't move.
I forced myself to sit up slowly.
The air was cold as ice.
My breath fogged in the room.
The gap beneath the bed was pitch black.
My trembling hand reached for my phone.
I turned on the flashlight and aimed it at the floor.
For a moment, there was nothing. Just dust.
Then something blinked back.
Two pale eyes — too wide, human.
They looked directly at me.
I dropped the phone, and it rolled away, leaving the light beam flickering against the wall.
A shape began to crawl out.
It was small, thin, its limbs bending at wrong angles, skin stretched tight over bone.
Its face — it was my face.
But older. Smiling.
"Hello, Assie," it said in a voice made of whispers.
I screamed and bolted for the door, yanking it open.
The hallway was dark.
At the far end stood the mirror I'd moved earlier — facing me.
And in the reflection, I saw my room still behind me, untouched, my bed perfectly made — no creature, no horror.
Just me standing there... still asleep.
The reflection smiled.
And blinked.
********
The Awakening
I woke up the next morning on the floor.
My phone was dead. The lights were off.
Everything looked normal — except for one thing.
The mirror was back in my room.
Standing right where it used to be.
On the surface of the glass were fingerprints. Small. Thin. Pressed from the inside.
I packed my bags that same morning.
The landlord didn't look surprised when I told him I was leaving.
He just nodded and said, "You lasted longer than the last one."
When I asked what he meant, he smiled that wrinkled smile and said,
"Some rooms don't like being forgotten."
*********
The Aftermath
It's been six months since I moved out.
I live in another city now.
I avoid mirrors whenever I can.
But sometimes, late at night, I catch glimpses of something in the glass — a flicker, a smile, a shadow stretching just a little too far.
I tell myself it's nothing.
But deep down, I know.
The monster didn't stay in the room.
It followed me.
It likes quiet places.
It likes when I turn off the lights.
And it loves when I look into mirrors.
Stream Commentary; Tape #51. "A Monster In My Room"
Well, well, my lovely night owls… that was something, wasn't it?
"A Monster in My Room." A story that made everyone in the chat start checking under their beds.
But now… let's talk. Because I've seen your comments flying faster than my stream bitrate during thunder season.
[@Jaija: thatwasn't a monster, Kai. That was a stalker. I don't care if it could mimic or change shapes and identity—what it did to her, the way it waited and watched—that's obsession. Something intelligent was behind those walls]
[@642: Obsession? You think that thing cared about her? Please. I think the landlord was in on it. You don't just "forget" to tell your new tenant that the last one didn't lasted long in the room. He was hiding something. Probably feeding it]
[@Jaija: Wait—so you're saying the landlord was working with the monster? That's messed up. What if that creature was… I don't know… human once? Maybe a former tenant who never escape the apartment. Maybe that's why it only attacked at night. It knew the patterns. It remembered the fear]
[@Ovesix: Hold on. Remember the neighbour that told Assie not to leave her window open after midnight? What if that neighbour was already dead? Like a ghost warning her. Because we never heard from her again]
[@Jaija: Oh, come on. That's even worse! Imagine she's been talking to a ghost the whole time while something else crawled inside her wardrobe]
[@Ovesix: I kinda agree with what you said before, Jaija. The monster's too personal. It wanted her. The way it waited until she was alone, the way it touched her hair—it's giving stalker vibes, not demon energy]
[@642: You're saying it was… what? A human in disguise?]
[@Ovesix: not human anymore. Maybe something that used to be. And it found its "replacement."]
(Kai smiles, shaking his head helplessly)
Interesting theories. Though I must say, calling a clawed, wall-dwelling shadow a "stalker" might be a bit of an understatement.
But hey, semantics.
Please continue.
[@Enchomay: if there is something that worries me about this story, is how we didn't meet any other tenants, except for Madam Clea, the apartment seems….a little too quiet]
[@Jaija: Ugh, stop. That line gave me goosebumps. I swear, I keep thinking—what if the neighbours weren't even human?]
[@Ovesix: mean like, the whole building was just a trap? The landlord, the neighbours, even the old woman who smiled at her in the hallway—all part of it?]
[@Jaija: a feeding ground. New tenant every few months. "Welcome home." Then silence]
[@642: That explains why rent was cheap]
[@Jaija: Kai, if I were Assie, I'd move the moment the first noise came from the wall. Like, no thank you, Mr ghost-stalker-wall-demon, I'll sleep on the street]
[@642: If I were her, I'd burn the whole apartment down. Problem solved]
[@Jaija: Yeah, until the smoke clears and it's standing behind you, whispering your name]
[@Ovesix: I'm packing my soul and leaving the country]
(Kai laughs quietly)
" Oh, the bravery of my followers.
But I must say, you guys forgot she didn't escape even after leaving the apartment."
[@Jaija: oh! You're right, we forgot about that-seesee?! It is a stalker!]
[@642: so my stalker friend will follow her for eternity?]
(Kai shrugs)
"Maybe or maybe not"
[@Jaija: i might have to double check my entire house, especially under my bedbeforeheadingtobed]
[@Enchomay: but, Kai, what kind of creature was that thing? Shadow entity? Parasite? Something psychic?]
"Perhaps it wasn't a creature at all.
Perhaps it was guilt. Fear. Loneliness personified.
We tend to forget that the mind, when locked inside walls for too long, starts making its own monsters"
[@Ovesix: So… you're saying Assie might've imagined everything?]
"Oh, not everything.
Just enough to make you wonder whether she was prey… or prisoner of her own paranoia".
[@Ovesix: , that's worse than a real monster. At least with monsters, you can run]
[@642: or burn them]
[@Jaija: Or sue the landlord]
(Kai laughs softly)
My dear audience… the moral of this story is simple yet cruel.
Monsters exist, yes—but sometimes, they don't come from under the bed.
They come from within the walls we build around ourselves.
They thrive in silence, in the cracks of our loneliness, in the echo of nights we pretend not to hear.
So, if you ever move into a new apartment and hear something knocking from the wall—don't knock back.
You might not like what knocks next.
[@Jaija: yeah, I'm sleeping with the lights on tonight. I already moved my bed away from the walls too]
[@642: Does anyone want to crash at my place tonight?]
[@Jaija: Only if your place doesn't have walls]
(Kai chuckles)
Now then… before you hide under your blankets, I have something new to whisper in your ears. Our next story is titled—
"Jimmy, Open the Door."
[@Jaija: no. Oh no no no. I don't like how that sounds, this doesn't sound like a bedtime story]
[@Ovesix: Please tell me Jimmy doesn't open it]
[@642: Ooh, you just know he will. Humans are curious. It's why we keep dying in horror stories]
[@Enchomay: indeed, and he sounds like a little boy, a perfect prey for what's so ever is behind the door]
(Kai nods at there words)
"Let's find out, shall we?
But before that—dear readers—tell me:
If you heard someone knocking softly at midnight, whispering your name from the other side of the door…
Would you open it?
STREAM ENDS.