THE GIRL WHO REMEMBERED TOO MUCH

The city was already awake when Emberly Hale opened her eyes, the distant sounds of traffic bleeding through the thin walls of her apartment like restless ghosts. Honking horns, the metallic screech of a bus halting at the intersection, a siren cutting through the dawn—she had grown used to the noise years ago, but lately it felt… different. Sharper. Closer. Hungrier. She lay still beneath her blanket, staring at the gray ceiling, trying to ignore the faint tapping sound that had been waking her for the past week. It always came just before sunrise, soft at first, like fingertips brushing old wallpaper, then growing more deliberate. She listened now, holding her breath. Tap… tap… Tap. There it was. Her chest tightened. The neighbors didn’t wake this early. Mrs. Donnelly on her left slept with the TV on and didn’t stir until noon. The couple on her right left for work at eight sharp. The man who lived below her—if he even still lived there—barely made a sound at all. But the tapping… the tapping didn’t come from any of their apartments. It came from inside the walls. Something shifted in Emberly’s stomach, the same familiar knot forming. Anxiety, yes. But something deeper too. Something older. She forced herself to sit up, rubbing her face with trembling hands. “Not today…” she whispered to herself. “Please, not today.” But the tapping continued as if answering her. Tap… tap… tap. Emberly swung her legs off the bed and crossed the room to the window. The city stretched out below her—towering buildings, neon signs flickering even in daylight, steam rising from sewer grates like the underbelly of the world was exhaling. She used to love the view. Now it only made her feel like she was being watched. A message buzzed onto her phone, snapping her from her thoughts. Dr. Lira (7:02 AM): Remember your appointment today. We need to talk about the hallucinations again. Emberly’s stomach dropped. Hallucinations. That word tasted like metal in her mouth. She typed a reply but erased it three times. Finally, she wrote: Emberly (7:05 AM): They aren’t hallucinations. She set the phone down before Dr. Lira could respond. For the past three months, Emberly had been hearing things. Seeing things. Feeling things. At first it had been small—fleeting shadows passing behind her, whispers she couldn’t quite catch, objects slightly moved when she looked away. She tried ignoring it, blaming long work hours and stress. But her body knew something was wrong long before her mind admitted it. And then, one night, she saw him. A figure standing at the end of her hallway, half-shadow, half-light. She couldn’t see his face, but she felt his eyes on her—cold, observant, patient. She blinked, and he was gone. She told Dr. Lira. Dr. Lira prescribed new medication. And Emberly pretended things were getting better. But they weren’t. Not even close. --- She dressed slowly, careful not to open the closet too far. She hated the dark gaps between her clothes. She hated how sometimes she felt eyes staring out from between the shirts. The tapping had stopped now, replaced by the hum of city life. She grabbed her jacket and stepped into the hallway. The building smelled the same as always—dust, old carpet, something damp and metallic lingering in the corners. Apartment 407’s door was open again, music spilling out. The tenant was never sober enough to close it. At the elevator, Emberly pressed the button and wrapped her arms around herself. The humming noise again. Low. Vibrating. Almost like someone whispering her name beneath their breath. She pressed her back against the wall, scanning the hallway. It was empty. Then the humming stopped. The elevator dinged open, and she stepped Street level was worse. Everyone moved too quickly, their faces blurred with exhaustion and impatience. Car exhaust burned her lungs, and the constant sirens carved into her skull like knives. Emberly pulled her hood up. People stared too much lately. Or maybe she just felt stared at. Her steps carried her through the city’s usual chaos. A man shouting into a phone. Workers rushing their coffee orders. A pair of teenagers laughing too loudly. A woman with smeared makeup crying at a bus stop. The city was alive, messy, breathing. But Emberly felt disconnected from all of it—like she was walking underwater while the world above moved too fast. She reached the crosswalk and waited for the signal. That’s when she noticed him. A man standing across the street. Not moving. Not speaking. Just… staring. His face obscured by a hood, hands deep in his pockets. Her pulse spiked. Was he looking at her? The crowd shifted around her, blurring her line of sight, and for a moment she lost him. When the bodies parted again—he was gone. She stepped back, heart hammering. “Get it together,” she whispered. But the unease gnawed at her ribs. Dr. Lira’s office sat on the eleventh floor of a sleek steel building. Emberly hated how bright the lobby was. Too clean. Too white. Like a hospital pretending to be something else. The receptionist, Paige, offered a tired smile. “You’re early today, Ember.” Emberly nodded but said nothing. Inside the office, Dr. Lira leaned forward in her chair. “How have the symptoms been?” Emberly hesitated. She knew exactly what Dr. Lira wanted her to say. But she was tired of lying. “I heard it again this morning,” she said quietly. “The tapping in the walls.” Dr. Lira wrote something down. “And the figure?” “Still there,” Emberly whispered. “Not every night. But… I feel him watching.” “Emberly.” Dr. Lira’s voice was gentle. “You experienced trauma. It can manifest as—” “It’s not trauma.” Emberly’s voice trembled. “This is different.” “You’ve said you feel unsafe in your apartment lately. Have there been break-ins? Any signs of someone entering?” “No… but…” Emberly’s throat closed. “Things move. Lights flicker. I hear breathing. I know how it sounds, but I’m not making this up.” Dr. Lira set her pen down and folded her hands. “Hallucinations are real experiences. Your brain interprets them as truth. That doesn’t make you weak.” Emberly shook her head. “You don’t understand.” “Then help me understand,” Dr. Lira said softly. Emberly swallowed. Her heart pounded as if her chest were too small to hold it. “When I saw him… he didn’t feel like a hallucination,” she whispered. “He felt real. And familiar.” “Familiar how?” Emberly’s lips parted, but no words came out. How could she explain the strange déjà vu that haunted her? The feeling that she knew the figure somehow—that the darkness in her apartment wasn’t new, but returning? She couldn’t. Not without sounding insane. “I don’t know,” she finally muttered. “I just… know I’ve seen him before.” Dr. Lira’s expression shifted—gentle, sympathetic, but firm. “Emberly, I think we need to increase your dosage.” Emberly’s insides twisted. She wanted to scream. To cry. To make Dr. Lira understand. But she didn’t. She nodded. Because what else could she do? Outside, rain had begun to fall. Cold drops slapped against the pavement as Emberly stepped into the street. The city blurred into streaks of gray. She hugged her arms tighter. Halfway down the block, her phone buzzed. Unknown Number: You’re not imagining it. She froze. Her breath hitched. Another message came instantly. You shouldn’t have told her about me. Emberly’s blood went ice-cold. Her fingers trembled violently as she typed: Who is this? The reply came instantly. You already know. Her heart thundered in her ears. She looked around. People rushed past her. Cars splashed gutters of water. No one paid attention to her. But someone was watching. Her phone buzzed once more. I’m outside your apartment. Don’t keep me waiting. Emberly’s knees weakened. She felt the city tilt. And in that moment, she knew one thing with terrifying certainty: Whatever haunted her life— whatever lurked in her walls and shadows— was not just inside her head. It was real. And it had found her.