Chapter Five: The Man in Apartment 3B
338 Words
I never used to care about my neighbors. We smiled when we passed each other, nodded when we shared the elevator, and returned to our quiet lives. That was before the notes. Before the voice. Before the fear wrapped itself around my neck like a silk scarf—soft, tight, and impossible to remove.
Now I noticed everything.
Like how Apartment 3B—two doors down from mine—had its lights on at all hours. Or how the door always seemed slightly ajar. Or how, even though I had lived on this floor for nearly a year, I had never once seen who lived there.
And yet… I felt watched. Every time I left my apartment. Every time I walked past that door.
Today, I stopped.
My heart beat so hard it echoed in my ears as I stared at the brass numbers on the door. 3B. I didn’t plan to knock. I just wanted to listen. To confirm the gnawing feeling in my gut that whoever was inside… knew too much about me.
I leaned closer. Nothing.
Then—footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. Measured. Just on the other side of the door.
I froze.
“Hello?” I said, barely above a whisper.
No answer. Just a shift, like someone adjusting their weight.
I stepped back. Something wasn’t right. I didn’t see it, but I felt it—eyes watching me through the peephole. Breathing behind the wood.
That night, I went through my mail again. I never paid much attention to the tenants list that the building manager sent out each month, but I pulled it out now, scanning it with shaking fingers.
3B — No name. No record. Just the unit number.
I called the manager. “Who lives in 3B?” I asked.
A pause.
“We haven’t rented out that apartment in almost six months,” she said. “It’s vacant.”
The air left my lungs.
Vacant.
But someone had been there.
Still was.
Watching. Listening. Moving.
And maybe…
Living for me.
- Writer
