The Silent Apartment Above

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I moved. The apartment felt quiet. I liked that. It suited me.

The first week passed. The building was small. I never heard much noise. The neighbors were quiet. No one bothered me. Above me, no one lived.

Then, one night, I heard footsteps. Slow, deliberate. From above. I froze. The apartment above was empty.

I tried to ignore it. Old buildings creak. That’s all. But then, the next night, I heard it again. The footsteps. This time, clearer. Closer.

I told myself it was nothing. I had been stressed. I needed sleep. But then, I heard whispers. Faint. Like a murmur from above.

The next night, the whispers were louder. I couldn’t understand them. Strange words. They didn’t sound right. I felt uneasy.

Then, a note appeared. I found it under my door. It read: "I know you’re awake."

I froze. Who wrote it? How did they know I was awake? I felt my heart race.

The footsteps continued. Louder. Closer. I couldn’t ignore it. I checked the door to the apartment above. Locked. Dust on the handle. The apartment was supposed to be empty.

I called the landlord. "Is anyone living upstairs?" I asked. "No," he replied quickly. "It’s empty."

I hung up, uneasy. But the notes kept coming. The second note: "Why don’t you come visit?"

I didn’t want to. But something pulled me. I had to know.

That night, I went upstairs.

The door creaked. I stepped in. Dark. Silent. Too silent. I reached for the light switch, but stopped.

A voice. "I’ve been waiting."

I turned. I saw nothing. But the voice was real.

I looked into the mirror. I saw myself. But it wasn’t me. The reflection smiled. I didn’t.

The voice came closer. "It’s time to join me."

I couldn’t move. My legs wouldn’t obey.

The reflection grinned wider.

Then I understood. The apartment wasn’t empty. I wasn’t alone. I never was.

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