Behind The Walls

CHAPTER EIGHT — THE FOOTAGE

Mira didn’t go straight home. She couldn’t. Her mind raced too fast, twisting into every dark possibility. She sat on the bus with her hood up, staring out the window, barely noticing the blur of passing streets. Her fingers tapped anxiously on her knee as the mysterious messages replayed in her head.

Someone knew what happened to Lena.

Someone had been watching her.

Someone was inside her hallway.

But one thought rose above all the others:

Check the hallway camera.

Mira bit her lip hard, holding back a shiver. Checking the camera meant asking the building manager. And she couldn’t come up with a single excuse that wouldn’t make her sound paranoid.

When the bus finally stopped in front of her street, she stepped off slowly, scanning every direction before walking toward the apartment building. The cold wind stung her face, but she barely felt it. Her heart thudded in her chest like footsteps behind her.

The lobby was silent—too silent. The receptionist still wasn’t there, and that made her uneasy. Paperwork lay scattered across the desk, as if someone had left in a hurry.

Mira approached the door to the manager’s office and knocked.

No answer.

She knocked again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

Her fingers curled into fists. She didn’t want to go upstairs yet. Not until she tried one more thing.

She turned the doorknob.

Unlocked.

“Okay… that’s not normal,” she whispered.

The office was dim, lit only by a flickering fluorescent light. Old files were stacked on metal shelves, dust coating the surfaces. The air smelled like stale coffee and something faintly metallic—like rust.

Mira’s eyes landed on a cluttered desk with a laptop left open. She stepped closer. On the screen was the building’s security system dashboard.

Her heart jumped into her throat.

Cameras.

Hallways.

Exits.

Dates.

Times.

Someone had been watching the footage recently—the timeline bar was active, the last clip paused at 2:13 a.m. that morning.

Mira’s hands trembled as she reached out and clicked Play.

The hallway outside her apartment appeared on the screen. Quiet. Empty. The kind of stillness that made her skin crawl.

Then—movement.

A shadow shifted at the far end of the hallway.

Mira leaned in.

A man stepped into view.

Bare feet.

Wet footprints forming with each step.

Clothes damp, clinging to his body as if he’d walked through rain—or something worse.

His head lifted slowly toward the camera.

Mira’s breath caught.

His face was pale and expressionless, with dark wet hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes looked unfocused, almost dazed, but there was something unsettling in the blankness—like he wasn’t fully there.

He walked down the hallway, dragging his hand along the wall, leaving a smear of moisture behind. When he reached Mira’s door, he stopped.

Her stomach twisted painfully.

The man leaned forward… and pressed his ear against her door.

He listened.

He listened for a full thirty seconds, unmoving.

Then he reached for her doorknob.

Mira felt her heart slam in her chest.

He tried it once.

Twice.

Three times.

The sound—just the idea of it—made her limbs go cold.

Finally, he stepped back, staring at her door. Then, slowly, he lifted his head and looked up at the camera.

Mira jerked away from the screen. The man’s stare, even on video, felt like it pierced straight through her.

She forced herself to look again.

He lifted his hand and pointed directly at the camera lens.

Then everything went dark.

The clip ended abruptly.

Mira’s pulse hammered. She scrubbed backward on the footage, thinking maybe the camera just malfunctioned. But the next timestamp didn’t appear until 5:47 a.m., nearly three and a half hours later.

“What happened in those missing hours?” she whispered.

Before she could think further, a floorboard creaked behind her.

Mira spun around.

The office doorway was empty. But she knew—she felt—someone else was in the building.

Her hands shook uncontrollably. She slammed the laptop shut, nearly tipping the chair over as she stumbled toward the exit. She hurried into the hallway, checking both directions.

Nothing.

Still, she locked the office behind her, rushing to the elevator before remembering the barefoot footprints from earlier.

She swallowed hard.

Not the elevator.

Never the elevator again.

She forced herself toward the stairs. The stairwell door squealed as she opened it, echoing loudly. She hurried up the steps, her breath coming fast and shallow.

But halfway up, she stopped.

Someone else was breathing.

Not her.

Not echo.

A slow, heavy breathing from above her.

Mira froze. Her heartbeat throbbed in her ears. She lifted her head slowly, silently.

A shadow moved on the landing above.

Her body reacted before her brain did—she bolted back down the stairs, bursting out into the lobby. She didn’t look behind her. She didn’t want to know how close that shadow was.

She ran to the apartment entrance and pushed outside into the cold.

Her hands shook as she pulled out her phone.

She typed fast:

Who is he?

What does he want from me?

The unknown number replied instantly, as if waiting.

He’s not after you. Not yet.

But he knows you saw the footage. Leave the building. Now.

Mira backed away from the entrance, glancing at the windows, wondering if someone was watching from behind the glass.

She typed again:

What happened to Lena? Tell me the truth.

A longer pause.

Then:

She tried to expose him.

She didn’t leave on her own.

Mira’s breath hitched.

So Lena wasn’t missing.

Lena was taken.

Her phone buzzed once more:

And now you’re in the same danger.

Mira stared at her building—its windows like dark, silent eyes.

Danger had a name.

It had a shape.

It walked barefoot in the night.

And it had stood outside her door.

She turned and ran.

But she knew running wouldn't be enough.

The man in her hallway had already chosen her.