The Boy In Apartment 17

The rain hadn’t let up since the afternoon. When Naomi pressed her forehead to the passenger window, she couldn’t see the city anymore just sheets of water and those streetlights stretched out into golden smears. Cars glided by, tires hissing over puddles. Her mother drove, quiet. Naomi checked the clock. 10:48 p.m. “Are we there yet?” Her mom, Claire, kept her focus on the road. “Almost.” “You’ve said that three times.” “I know.” Naomi sighed, leaned back, looked outside again. They’d been on the road nearly an hour. Ravenwood City was supposed to be their new beginning. Naomi really wanted to believe that, but it felt impossible. Three weeks ago, her parents split up. After that, nothing stayed the same. Her dad found a place on the other side of the city. Her mom started a new job. Naomi got pulled out of her school, away from her friends away from everything. And now, they were pulling up to some apartment she’d never even heard of. When the car stopped, Naomi looked up. The building loomed—six floors of dark brick, rain streaking the windows. A flickering sign over the door said: RAVENWOOD HEIGHTS Some of the letters were gone. “Charming,” she said under her breath. Her mother tried to smile. “It’ll feel better once we’re settled in.” Naomi wasn’t so sure. They hauled their bags inside. The lobby had this old, dusty smell, with a fancy brass chandelier that only half-worked. An old man sat behind the reception desk and looked up as they walked in. “Carter?” “Yeah,” Claire said. “Apartment 16.” His face changed for just a second, Naomi saw it but he just nodded. “Sixteen,” he repeated. Her mother nodded. He reached under the desk and handed over a key. “Welcome to Ravenwood Heights.” Naomi glanced at the elevators. There were two. The one on the left had a handwritten sign: OUT OF ORDER. Her mother noticed. “Is the elevator broken?” “Temporarily,” the man said. “How long?” He shrugged. “Long enough.” Not really an answer. They took the stairs up to the fourth floor. Apartment 16 wasn’t big, but it wasn’t bad. Two small bedrooms, a skinny little kitchen, and a living room that looked down at the street. Naomi dumped her bag beside the sofa. “I call the room with the window.” Her mom actually laughed. “You haven’t seen the other one.” Naomi grinned. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve decided.” For the first time that night, her mother smiled really smiled. “Fine.” Naomi wandered off to her room and opened her curtains. Across the courtyard, more apartments. Most of the windows were dark. But one drew her in. Apartment 17. She didn’t know how she could tell. Maybe just because the numbers were painted by the doors: 15. 16. 17. She stared at the window. Pitch black. Nothing to see. She let the curtain fall. Much later, she lurched awake. Not a sound, not a dream just wide awake for no reason. Her phone said 11:17 p.m. A glow leaked through the curtains. Naomi pushed them aside. Across the courtyard, just one light was on. Apartment 17. She held her breath. Then she remembered the old man’s words. Apartment 17 was empty. Naomi stared at the window. A few seconds passed maybe more. Then, inside, the curtains moved. Someone stood there. Naomi didn’t move. The figure vanished. The light blinked out. And all at once, everything was dark again.