The Apartment

I moved to the city. Despite its diminutive size, the flat belonged to Rachel and myself. I desired a new beginning and something to divert my attention from the past. A change of pace. A change of scenery. A new beginning.

When I met Rachel, she seemed... nice enough. Quiet. Reserved. Too polite, maybe. But there was a kindness in her eyes. She showed me around the apartment. We exchanged pleasantries. But something felt off about her. Something I couldn’t put my finger on.

She didn’t speak.

At first, I figured she was just shy. Some people are, right? I could deal with it. I’m not the most social person either. We shared the space. Left each other alone. It worked.

But the silence... it was starting to get to me. Days passed, and Rachel didn’t speak. Not a word. I’d try to talk to her—about the weather, a movie we could watch—but she just nodded or gestured. A smile. A glance. But no words.

She didn’t hear me, did she? No. She heard me. But she didn’t respond.

I told myself it didn’t matter. Maybe she didn’t feel the need to talk. Maybe it didn’t bother her. But after a while, the silence... it felt too heavy.

Rachel spent most of her time in her room. I noticed she never left. Not much, anyway. A trip to the store, work, and that’s it. I’d hear her moving around, but I couldn’t remember the last time she came out to eat or chat. I was alone. And it was starting to feel... wrong.

But it wasn’t just her silence. It was the stillness in the apartment. It felt off. Like it was empty, even when it wasn’t.

One night, I walked to the bathroom and passed the mirror in the hallway. I stopped. The crack was small, but it was there. A jagged line running across the glass. I hadn’t noticed it before. How had I missed it?

I stared at it. It wasn’t big—just a crack—but it made my stomach tighten. It didn’t feel like an accident. Not at all.

I tried to brush it off. Maybe I hadn’t noticed it earlier. Maybe it was just old. Yet, I couldn't get it off of me. I couldn't get it off my mind.

The next night, the whispers started.

At first, it was just a faint sound. A low hum. Almost like the air conditioner. But the longer I lay there, the louder it got. Not from the walls, not the pipes. Somewhere else. Somewhere I couldn’t place.

I sat up. I strained to listen. Was it Rachel? No. She was in her room. I knew that.

I tried to ignore it. I had to. Stress. Lack of sleep. It was nothing. Just the apartment settling.

But the whispers didn’t stop. The next night, they came again. Louder. Clearer. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t hear them.

I decided to ask Rachel the next morning. I didn’t know what to say. Maybe, “Do you hear anything strange at night?” But when I saw her in the kitchen, I hesitated. She stood with her back to me. Slowly pouring tea. She finished, turned, and glanced at me. But she didn’t meet my eyes. She quickly looked away.

That’s when I saw it again. The way she avoided the mirror in the hallway.

I couldn’t ignore it. “Rachel,” I said, “do you hear anything weird at night? Like... whispers?”

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t even look at me.

I couldn’t tell if she’d heard me. The silence between us... it felt like it was pushing me further away.

I couldn’t ignore it. The whispers. The cracks. The way Rachel avoided me, everything. Something was wrong. I needed answers.

I made the decision to confront her that evening. I was at a loss for words. Maybe, “Do you hear the whispers too?” Or, “Is something strange happening here?” I didn’t know. But I had to ask.

I knocked on her door. No answer. Knocked again, louder. Still nothing. It was strange. Rachel was usually in there. Always. I pushed the door open. Just a crack. Peered inside.

Rachel sat in the corner, staring at the wall. Her back to me. No movement. No sign she’d heard me.

“Rachel?” I whispered.

No response.

I stepped inside. The silence hit me. Heavy. Thick. I wanted to say something, anything, to break it. “Are you okay?” I asked.

Nothing.

I walked over. Gently placed my hand on her shoulder. “Rachel, please. Talk to me.”

Her head jerked toward me. Her eyes wide. Fear. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Her skin was pale. Her pupils were huge.

“Don’t speak,” she whispered. Her voice trembled.

I froze. “What? Why? What’s going on?”

She shook her head. Her lips quivered. She reached into her pocket and took out a crumpled piece of paper. Handed it to me. I unfolded it. My heart pounded in my chest.

It was short. Simple. But the words made my stomach drop.

It’s not safe to talk. It knows when we speak. It’s always listening.

I read it twice. Trying to understand. “What does that mean?” I asked.

Rachel’s voice cracked. “I’ve been quiet for so long. It’s the only way to keep it away.”

“Keep what away?”

“The... the thing in the apartment,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder. Like she expected something to be there. “The whispers. The cracks. It’s not just... old pipes or wind. It’s real.”

I couldn’t speak. “What do you mean?” I asked again, but I knew she wasn’t talking about anything ordinary. She was talking about something else. Something worse.

“I didn’t want you to know,” she continued. “But now... it’s already here. It’s too late.”

I backed away. My mind raced. “What are you talking about? Rachel, what are you trying to say?”

Her eyes flickered to the hallway. “It’s always listening. Every word, every sound. It’s in the walls. It’s in the mirrors. You can’t talk. You can’t make noise, or it will hear you. It will find you.”

The room felt colder. The air thicker. I felt trapped. My skin tingled. My heart raced.

“What does it want?” I asked. My voice barely a whisper.

Rachel’s eyes flickered toward the hallway. “It doesn’t want anything. It just wants us silent. It feeds off our fear. The more we speak... the stronger it gets.”

I didn’t know what to think. She seemed terrified. But how could I believe her? How could I? I wanted to feel safe again. I wanted to feel normal.

I turned to leave her room, but I heard it. The whispering. Louder now. From the walls. From the mirrors. It wasn’t in my head. It was real.

I spun around. My heart was racing. Rachel’s face had gone pale. “It knows we’re talking,” she said, her voice strained. “It’s too late.”

I felt it. The air changed. It seemed as though the room was closing in. I was having trouble breathing. "Now what do we do?"

Rachel didn’t answer. As the muttering increased in volume, she gazed at me with wide, fearful eyes. The room's shadows drew closer to us.

“Don’t make a sound,” she whispered. “Please. Don’t speak.”

But I couldn’t stop myself. “What do you mean by—”

Before I could finish, a loud crack split the air. A mirror in the hallway shattered. Shards scattered across the floor. I jumped back, startled. My heart hammered.

Rachel screamed. “It’s here. It’s here. Don’t speak!”

I froze. My mouth went dry. The room spun. The whispers grew louder. They weren’t in the walls anymore. They were in my head. Surrounding me.

I could feel it. Something was moving. Something was coming.

And it wasn’t stopping.