The next morning, after I'd finally wrapped up moving in— boxes unpacked, coffee maker plugged in, my record player placed just right, my evidence board placed at the corner of my apartment—I stepped out into the hallway, locking the door behind me. It was quiet but not too quiet. I heard soft whispers from afar and a whirring machine working.
I gazed distractedly down the hall then, I turned around to head out.
That's when I saw him.
A tall man in black slacks and a turtleneck, silver cross hanging from his neck like a badge. He had on the kindest face I had ever known. He looked exactly like the kind of man who'd seen too much and prayed too hard.
"Morning," he said with a warm nod. "You must be the new tenant—Sinclair, right?"
"Depends who's asking."
He chuckled. "Fair. I'm Father John. I volunteer here— chaplain, unofficial guide, occasional handyman when the plumbing acts like the devil. And also the complex manager."
I raised an eyebrow. "Multi-talented."
"Come," he gestured down the corridor. "Let me show you around if you wish. This place is old and weird, and if you don't learn its rhythm, it'll eat you alive."
"Encouraging," I said dryly, but I followed.
As we walked past the stained windows and warped wallpaper, he began his little monologue.
"This complex used to be a orphanage home," he said. "Built on land that was once a marsh. Now? It's all stone and secrets. You'll notice the tides. Up and down. Morning dry, night flooded. Doesn't matter if it rains or not." "But this is inland," I said. "Miles from the coast."
"Exactly," he replied, not elaborating.
We turned the corner and nearly bumped into two men— identical gray coats, hard faces, tattoos peppering their faces and muscular arms.
"Sinclair, meet the Keepers of the Estate," Father John said, voice hinting caution.
One of them—taller, meaner-looking—stepped a little too close, brushing my shoulder intentionally.
"Watch it," I said, voice low, steady.
He smirked. "You've got a mouth."
"And you've got a hand. Touch me again and I'll snap it off."
My stare locked with his—flat, cold. A glare I'd often perfected during my internship. Memories of those dark years flashed through me for a brief moment.
The guy hesitated. I saw the twitch in his jaw. Then he stepped back.
"Smart," I said, then turned to Father John. "Lead the way." We moved on.
He chuckled once we were out of earshot. "You handled that better than most."
"I don't like being touched."
"Noted."
Eventually, we reached a large wooden door with a brass plate: Library. He pushed it open.
"Open twenty-four-seven," he said. "Best-kept secret in the building. No staff, just… here. Sometimes, a book appears that
wasn't there before."
I looked around. Floor-to-ceiling shelves, dust motes in streaks of sunlight, and a silence so deep it felt illegal.
"Come back anytime," he added. "You seem like the kind of man who likes answers."
"Answers are fine," I muttered. "I just want the truth."
That evening, after unpacking the last box and eating a sad excuse for a dinner, I returned to the library. The place was empty, as expected. It always felt like it should be.
I walked the shelves with my fingers brushing the spines until one caught my eye: "Salt & Silence: Tales from the Flooded Hall".
Curious, I pulled it down and flipped through. It was a novel about a strange apartment complex. One where the tide rose every night and fell every morning. The characters were trapped, haunted by voices that came with the water.
Too on-the-nose to be coincidence.
I closed it slowly and stood.
That's when I heard it—rain. Soft and gradual, like a build up. They were soft as if afraid to let it down.
I walked to one of the windows and peered through.
The street below? Gone.
Replaced by black water, glistening under the flickering streetlamp, rising fast.
I didn't think.
I stepped out.
Down the stairs, out the front door, barefoot, stepping onto the threshold.
I stared out at the water, my heart sinking as I realized just how high the tide had risen. The shoreline was gone, replaced by a churning pond that stretched right up to the entrance of the complex. I felt a shiver run down my spine as I gazed out at the dark, swirling waters. Father John had been right. The tide had gone up.
The rain had seized falling and was now drizzling lazily, tiny drops draining my jet black hair.
I studied the tide settling around me like a blanket. They seemed to stretch down forever. My eyes darted to my car, parked in what now looked like a reckless decision. The water was lapping at its wheels, threatening to swallow it whole. Fuck
My phone buzzed in my black pants pocket. I fished it out and rolled my eyes at the caller ID.
"You are really gonna dig your heels till the bitter end, aren't you?" Oliver's voice tinged with a mix of annoyance and concern as he spoke over the phone.
I breathed. "It is what it is."
"Tell me the truth, are you trying to impress Melody?"
"I'm impressing nobody, Oliver." "Then, why exactly are you doing this?" I gazed at the pond before me.
"The tide is up." I murmured.
"What?"
"There is something absolutely wrong with this place."
There was an adjustment from the other line. "What place?"
A pause. Another shuffle. "I say, are you at the place we identified earlier?"
The sky thundered noisily, darkness sipping in.
"What do you think?"
"Well, I think you are stupid! Have you lost your mind, young man?"
"It is the only way, Oliver."
"The only way is to get the fuck out of that place!" Thunder crackled over his bellowed worry.
Despite the hard scent of the rain, the scent of iceberg rose hit my nostrils again. I swirled around. The entrance to the complex was left ajar unlike how I had shut it close when I stepped out.
"Mark my words, when this whole thing blows up in your face, don't come crying to me."
"Saveit, Oliver," Isaid, mytonesharperthanIintended. "Your past doesn't exactly fill me with faith. You've been skating on thin ice more times than I can count. What makes you think I'm desperate for your two cents?" The line went quiet, Oliver's responded with a sigh, a mixture of frustration and resignation.
"This isn't about me, alright? I'm not the only one who thinks you're heading straight into a deep pit with this case."
"Even if there were fifty others bleating in my ear, my mind's made up," I stated firmly, my tone leaving no room for doubt.
"Besides," I proceeded, a hint of stubbornness creeping into my tone, as I regarded my Audi almost swallowed whole by the tide. "it's too late for cold feet now. I moved in last night."
A long pause stretched from Oliver on the other end. "Last night? You're really rushing into this, aren't you?"
"I want to get settled and start digging deeper tomorrow, Oliver." I explained, hoping I get to convince him to accept my decision with this.
Oliver's tone shifted, becoming low and serious. "Just watch your back, yeah? Something about this feels… off."
"Always do," came my quick reply as I looked down at my drained t-shirt.
The sky above rumbled noisily, the rain increasing its intense pattering.
"Right, mate, I've got to dash," I said into the phone, urgency laced in my voice as I glanced at the darkened sky.
"Alright, call me if you need anything, buddy," Oliver replied, his voice calm but hinted at concern.
The line went dead, and with it came a chill running down my spine. The sky darkened, as if night was drawing in early, devouring the last rays of sunlight. A rush of wind swept through the trees surrounding the complex, their leaves whispering and the branches creaking like a warning sign for an impending danger.
There was a small creak of the complex's entrance door behind mebutIdidn'tturnaround. Then, thaticebergrosescentcame again, this time stronger.
Someone was behind me.