Noah didn't scream. He wanted to — every cell in his body told him to — but something about the way the walls were pulsing made him think the building might… enjoy it.
Instead, he whispered, "Nope. Nope. Nope," grabbed his jacket, and bolted for the door.
The hallway was empty again, though the air felt thick, like breathing through syrup. Every light bulb flickered in perfect sync, a morse code of insanity.
He pressed the elevator button.
It lit up, dinged, and opened — revealing a man already inside.
The man was wearing a business suit and holding a cup of coffee. His eyes were open but empty, like someone had left the lights on in an abandoned house.
"Going down?" the man asked.
Noah forced a smile. "As fast as possible."
The doors shut. The elevator began to move… sideways.
The floor trembled, lights blinked red, and the display above the door scrolled letters instead of numbers:
W-E-L-C-O-M-E B-A-C-K.
"Back?" Noah muttered. "I just moved in yesterday!"
The man in the suit chuckled, but the sound came out warped — like a laugh played backward. Then his head tilted a full ninety degrees to the side, and coffee poured from his mouth instead of the cup.
Noah slammed the "open" button. The doors hissed apart — and he stumbled into the lobby, except… it wasn't the same lobby.
The chandelier was missing. The receptionist's desk was upside down. The floor was covered in water, reflecting the ceiling like a mirror.
And there, standing barefoot in the puddle, was Mrs. Delgado again.
Her goldfish floated beside her — in midair.
"Noah," she said softly, "you can't leave. No one leaves until it sleeps."
"What sleeps?" Noah asked, backing away.
She smiled, eyes glowing faintly blue. "The building. It's dreaming now. You're part of it."
Behind her, the glass doors — his only exit — rippled like water, showing faint reflections of… himself. Dozens of him. Some awake. Some sleeping. One grinning.
The air hummed again.
He ran toward the door, leapt — and crashed straight through his own living room window.
He was back. Apartment 4C.
The TV turned on again.
Cartoon laughter filled the room.
A voice — the same distorted one — whispered from the speakers:
"Welcome home, Noah. We've missed you."
And somewhere in the ceiling, the knocking resumed —
steady, cheerful, and wide awake.