Don’t Move In
777 Words
The first thing Amara noticed about Apartment 307 was the smell.
Dust.
Old paint.
And something faintly metallic beneath it.
She stood in the doorway, one hand wrapped tightly around the handle of her suitcase, staring into the small apartment.
It wasn’t beautiful.
The walls were an unpleasant shade of cream, the wooden floor creaked beneath her shoes, and one of the ceiling lights flickered every few seconds.
But it was cheap.
And right now, cheap was all Amara could afford.
She stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind her.
Click.
The sound echoed through the apartment.
For a moment, she simply stood there.
Silence.
Beautiful, terrifying silence.
No one knew she was here.
That was the whole point.
Amara placed her suitcase beside the worn-out sofa and slowly exhaled.
“Fresh start,” she whispered.
She wanted to believe it.
After everything that had happened, she needed somewhere she could disappear.
Somewhere she could forget.
Somewhere she could become someone else.
She walked toward the window and pulled the curtains open.
The city stretched beneath her, glowing beneath the evening sky.
Cars moved along the streets like tiny streams of light.
People laughed somewhere below.
Life continued.
Amara rested her forehead against the cold glass.
Maybe this would work.
Maybe she could finally leave the past behind.
Her phone vibrated.
She pulled it from her pocket.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
Her eyebrows knitted together.
She opened the message.
You shouldn’t have come back.
Amara stared at the screen.
Her heart skipped.
Come back?
She typed:
Who is this?
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally, a reply arrived.
You really don’t remember?
Amara’s stomach tightened.
She looked around the apartment.
Nothing.
Just silence.
She typed again.
Remember what?
This time, there was no immediate response.
Amara waited.
Thirty seconds.
A minute.
Nothing.
She tossed the phone onto the sofa.
“Probably some stupid prank.”
She tried to laugh.
It didn’t sound convincing.
Amara opened her suitcase and began unpacking.
Five minutes later, her phone vibrated again.
She froze.
Slowly, she picked it up.
Another message.
This time there was an attachment.
A photograph.
She tapped it.
At first, she didn’t understand what she was looking at.
It was an old photograph of a young woman standing outside an apartment building.
Amara zoomed in.
The building was familiar.
Her building.
She zoomed in again.
The apartment number was clearly visible.
307.
Her breathing became shallow.
Then she looked at the woman.
Her fingers went numb.
The woman had the same dark eyes.
The same nose.
The same lips.
Even the tiny scar above her left eyebrow.
Amara stared at the photograph.
“No…”
She zoomed in again.
It wasn’t possible.
She looked at her own reflection in the black screen of her phone.
Then back at the photograph.
They were identical.
Another message appeared.
Her name was Elena.
Amara’s throat went dry.
She typed with trembling fingers.
Who is Elena?
The reply came seconds later.
She lived in Apartment 307.
Amara stopped breathing.
She slowly turned toward the apartment around her.
The flickering light.
The old furniture.
The strange metallic smell.
Suddenly, none of it felt random.
Her phone vibrated again.
Elena disappeared three years ago.
Amara stared at the words.
Her mind raced.
Maybe this was some kind of mistake.
Maybe someone was playing with her.
Maybe—
Another message appeared.
And you were the last person she called.
Amara’s hands began shaking.
“No.”
She had never heard the name Elena before.
She had never lived here.
She had never—
A sound came from the hallway.
Click.
Amara looked up.
Her front door was still locked.
She checked it.
Locked.
She slowly stepped backward.
Then she heard it again.
Click.
This time, it came from inside the apartment.
Amara froze.
Her eyes moved toward the bedroom.
The door was slightly open.
She was certain she had left it closed.
Her phone vibrated.
She almost dropped it.
One final message appeared.
Don’t open the bedroom door.
Amara stared at the words.
Then came another.
She’s still in there.
Her blood ran cold.
For several seconds, she couldn’t move.
Then—
A floorboard creaked inside the bedroom.
Amara’s heart slammed against her chest.
Someone was in there.
She slowly reached for the nearest object she could find—a heavy glass vase.
Her hand trembled around it.
“Who’s there?”
Silence.
She took one step toward the bedroom.
Then another.
The door moved.
Slowly.
It opened by itself.
Amara raised the vase.
And then she heard a woman’s voice whisper from the darkness:
“You finally came back.”
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