The Empty Hallway
The renovation wasn't easy.
The old apartment had more cracks than memories. The walls were a dull yellow, like someone had smoked five hundred cigarettes and cried in every room. The floor creaked like it had arthritis. And the plumbing? Let's just say they named one of the pipes Satan's Gutter.
But Cassie and Janey were determined.
Armed with mismatched paint buckets, secondhand rollers, and endless banter, they got to work.
"Do you think this blue says 'cozy sanctuary' or 'kindergarten disaster'?" Cassie asked, her ponytail bouncing as she stood back to admire the freshly painted wall.
"It says 'help me, I'm poor,'" Janey replied, smirking. She had a stripe of white paint across her nose and half a brush tucked behind her ear like a flower.
Cassie burst into laughter. "Well, then it's honest decor."
They scrubbed the kitchen tiles until their knuckles ached, patched holes with the precision of amateur surgeons, and even made curtains from old sheets and safety pins.
By the end of the third day, it didn't look like a murder scene anymore.
It looked like home but cheap, scrappy, flawed. But theirs nonetheless.
"I can't believe we made this place livable," Janey said, plopping onto the newly covered couch, legs sprawled over Cassie's lap.
Cassie leaned back with a satisfied sigh. "We did the impossible."
"Yeah. You're welcome."
"Oh, please. I'm the one who unclogged Satan's Gutter."
"I provided moral support."
"You provided popcorn while I screamed at a pipe."
"Exactly. Emotional labor."
They both burst out laughing.
That evening, as they brought in their last box of belongings and dreams, they saw him.
The neighbor.
He appeared like a whisper of smoke, tall and dressed in black, carrying nothing but a key. No sound, no footsteps, just the swish of his coat and the subtle pressure of air that changed with his presence.
Cassie froze with a rolled-up poster in her hand. Janey elbowed her.
"Quick, say hi. Neighborly stuff."
"Um, hi!" Cassie chirped.
He paused in front of his door.
Then, without looking at them, he turned the knob, walked in, and shut the door.
Hard.
"…Or not," Cassie muttered.
Janey scowled. "Wow. Is he mute or just allergic to manners?"
"Maybe he's shy?"
"Or dead."
Cassie turned, eyebrow raised. "Dead?"
Janey nodded gravely. "That's ghost energy right there. I've seen enough horror flicks to know this is how it starts. Mysterious loner neighbor who appears and disappears like fog. Watch...he'll have a cursed locket or some creepy obsession with crows."
Cassie laughed, dragging her friend back to their apartment. "You're incorrigible."
Janey tossed her hair. "I'm realistic. Mark my words, he's either a vampire, a cult leader, or a tax accountant."
"I think I'd prefer the vampire."
"Same. At least they sparkle."
The first night in the new apartment didn't go as planned.
Cassie had imagined herself sprawled out on her new mattress, maybe doodling or watching something ridiculous with Janey until sleep claimed them. Instead, she found herself sitting upright at two in the morning, clutching her blanket like it might actually protect her.
Janey had a night shift at the hospital. Part of the never-ending chaos of being a nurse. She apologized profusely as she packed up her scrubs and thermos.
"Are you sure you'll be okay alone?" she asked, looking guilty.
Cassie waved her off. "I'll be fine. I've got wine, sketchbooks, and a playlist titled 'Cursed But Cute.'"
Janey kissed her cheek dramatically. "Call me if anything tries to murder you."
"Sure thing."
As soon as the door closed behind her friend, the silence settled in like fog.
Cassie locked the door, double-checked the windows, and lit a candle. It flickered with a comforting glow, casting shadows across their humble little home.
She tried to sketch. Tried to lose herself in charcoal lines and curves. But something kept pulling her attention.
Whispers.
Soft. Faint. Like wind brushing against a dying leaf.
She turned toward the hallway. Nothing.
She turned back. Scratch.
Her pencil broke.
Cassie shivered.
She rubbed her arms. "Old buildings creak. It's nothing. It's..."
A knock.
She yelped, heart slamming into her throat.
The knock wasn't at the door.
It was on the wall.
Three, deliberate knocks.
Cassie's legs locked. She stared at the wall separating their apartment from the neighbor's.
More whispers. This time, clearer.
"Don't open it."
She clapped her hands over her ears. "Nope. No. I'm not doing this."
She turned on every light. She played music. She texted Janey, but her friend was busy and couldn't answer right away.
"Just stay awake," Cassie muttered. "You'll be fine. Don't fall asleep."
But sleep came anyway.
In her dream, she stood at the top of an endless staircase.
Below, darkness. Above, moonlight.
A figure stood at the bottom. Tall. Cloaked. Silent.
She took a step down. Then another. The air thickened with each breath.
The figure raised a hand.
"Why are you here?" he asked, voice like thunder swallowed by velvet.
"I...I don't know."
"You shouldn't be here."
She turned to flee. The stairs vanished. She fell.
Endlessly
And landed in a river of bones.
Hands reached for her. Mouths opened in silent screams. The whispers became wails.
"Cassie…"
"Run."
"Come back."
She woke with a scream, drenched in sweat.
Her sheets were tangled. Her candle had long burned out. The apartment was ice cold.
Cassie gasped, clutching her chest, heart threatening to give out.
The whispers echoed one last time.
And then silence.
Janey returned the next morning to find Cassie huddled on the couch, wrapped in three blankets, eyes wide and bloodshot.
"Jesus. What happened to you?"
Cassie didn't answer at first. Just stared at the wall that connected to their neighbor's.
"He knows," she whispered.
Janey frowned. "Who?"
Cassie swallowed hard. "The guy next door."
Janey laughed, setting down her bag. "The ghost guy?"
Cassie didn't laugh.
Janey's smile faded.
"Okay, what happened?"
Cassie shook her head slowly. "I don't know. But something's not right."
She looked at her hands.
They were shaking.