The Boy In Apartment 17

The Hidden Room

The next morning, Claire wouldn’t let Naomi leave for school.

“You’re staying with me today.”

“I have classes.”

“You’re not going.”

“Mom”

“No.”

Naomi had never heard her mom sound so scared. But honestly, the fear just made her more stubborn.

Claire started making a call to her boss, distracted, and Naomi slipped quietly into the hallway.

She wasn’t about to poke around Apartment 17 not yet. First, she needed to figure out what Ethan had uncovered about this place.

She headed downstairs. Mr. Bell sat at the front desk, looking as tired as ever.

“Good morning,” he greeted her.

Naomi hesitated. “Did you know Ethan Vale?”

He eyed her, sharp and suspicious. “Why are you asking that?”

“My mom knew him,” she said.

Something shifted in his face. “You should stop asking questions.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that.”

“That’s because everyone knows what happens when you don’t.”

Naomi leaned in, lowering her voice. “What happened to Ethan?”

Mr. Bell’s eyes darted toward the lobby doors. Then he spoke even softer, “Ethan wasn’t the first person to disappear from this building.”

Naomi’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”

Without another word, Mr. Bell stood and motioned for her to follow. He led her into a cramped hallway behind the desk.

They stopped at a battered wooden door. Mr. Bell unlocked it, and they stepped into a cluttered storage room piled high with boxes and dusty old files.

“Building records,” he explained.

Naomi glanced around, lost. “What am I looking for?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Naomi frowned. “Then why bring me here?”

He looked her up and down, almost apologetic. “Because Ethan used to come here.”

He made his way to a wall in the back, struggling to move a stack of heavy boxes. Hidden behind them was another door.

Naomi stared at it. “Where does that go?”

Mr. Bell didn’t answer. He just unlocked the door, revealing a steep staircase swallowed in darkness.

Naomi flicked on her phone flashlight. Together, they headed down.

At the bottom, they entered a cramped little room. There was an old desk, a single chair, and rows of photographs pinned to the wall.

She stepped closer. Residents stared back at her from the pictures. Some photos looked ancient, yellowed with time. Others were new, maybe even from the last week. Naomi recognized a few faces from the building.

Then she spotted herself. There she was, standing outside the school just two days ago.

Her pulse hammered in her ears. “Who took these?”

Mr. Bell’s face twisted with worry. “I don’t know.”

Naomi turned on him. “You’re lying.”

Before he could say anything, a noise echoed from upstairs a door slamming shut.

Mr. Bell went pale. “Someone’s here.” He grabbed her arm. “We have to go.”

They rushed up the stairs, but when they reached the storage room, the door wouldn’t budge. Mr. Bell rattled the handle. Nothing.

Then a voice spoke from the other side. “You shouldn’t have brought her here.”

Naomi’s blood went cold. She knew that voice. It was the same one she’d heard inside Apartment 17.