Behind The Walls

CHAPTER TWO — THE WARNING

Mira spent the rest of the evening pretending she wasn’t bothered by the note, but the truth sat heavy in her chest. Every time she looked at her door, she imagined someone crouched outside earlier, sliding the warning under like a secret message in a horror movie. She tried to tell herself it was a mistake. Maybe meant for someone else. Maybe an old note that blew out from under another door.

But nothing helped.

By nightfall, the building grew even quieter. The kind of quiet that felt unnatural, as if every sound had been swallowed by the walls. She lay on her mattress—still on the floor because she hadn’t assembled her bed yet—and stared at the ceiling, watching shadows shift whenever the headlights from passing cars flashed through her window.

Around 12:30 a.m., a soft creak came from outside her door. Mira held her breath. Another creak followed, heavier this time, like a cautious footstep. She sat up slowly, listening.

Silence.

Then a faint scrape.

She reached for her phone and used the flashlight, pointing it toward the door as if the tiny beam could protect her. Her finger hovered over the screen, ready to call someone—she didn’t even know who—when the sound stopped completely.

Minutes passed. Nothing.

Finally, she exhaled and lay back down. “You’re imagining things,” she muttered, though her pulse refused to calm.

But then something else happened. A soft knock. Not loud. Not urgent.

Just three gentle taps.

She froze.

Another set of taps followed, this time slightly slower.

Mira sat up again, every nerve tingling. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She just waited. After a long moment, she crawled to the door and pressed her ear against it.

Silence.

“Who’s there?” she whispered.

No answer.

The old staircase creaked faintly, as if someone were descending slowly. Each step softer than the last until the sound faded entirely.

Mira swallowed, backed away, and grabbed the only “weapon” she had—a metal broom handle she’d used earlier. She carried it around the apartment before finally forcing herself to lie back down. Sleep came in short, broken pieces.

When morning arrived, she felt like she hadn’t slept at all.

The hallway looked normal when she stepped out to check. No footprints, nothing unusual. But Mr. Alden’s door—4B—was wide open. Not cracked. Wide.

“Hello?” she called.

No reply.

She pushed the door gently. Inside, the apartment was surprisingly neat. Everything in place. A cup on the table. A sweater draped over the chair. A half-read newspaper.

But no sign of Mr. Alden.

She stepped back into the hallway and noticed Mrs. Lewis from 4A coming up the stairs—a middle-aged woman with a stiff posture and a sharp, tired face. Mira hadn’t met her yet.

“Um—sorry,” Mira said, pointing at the open door. “Do you know where Mr. Alden went?”

Mrs. Lewis didn’t even slow down. “He left.”

“Left? When?”

“Last night,” she said flatly. “Packed up and left. Just like that.”

Mira frowned. “In the middle of the night?”

Mrs. Lewis shrugged, unlocking her door. “People leave this place all the time. Nothing new.”

“But his things are still inside.”

The woman paused for a split second—long enough for Mira to catch a flicker of something in her expression. Worry? Fear? Annoyance?

“Mind your business,” Mrs. Lewis said, and shut her door firmly.

Mira stepped back, stunned. That wasn’t normal. No older man just “left” in the dead of night without his belongings.

She turned toward Mr. Alden’s room again and saw something she hadn’t noticed before—a faint scratch mark on the wall next to the doorframe. Just one. Long, thin, and fresh.

Her stomach tightened.

Back inside her own apartment, Mira paced in circles. The note. The knocks. The vanishing neighbour. The strange warning. None of it made sense, but together it felt like a puzzle she didn’t want to solve.

She reached for the note again and stared at the handwriting—messy, rushed, almost shaky.

LEAVE WHILE YOU CAN.

Her hands trembled a little.

“What is wrong with this place?” she whispered.

Then, as if answering her question, the tapping in the walls started again—slow, steady, and deliberate. This time louder than yesterday.

Tick… tick… tick…

Mira stepped back, heart racing. She didn’t know what was inside those walls. But whatever it was, it knew she was still here.

And it wasn’t done with her yet.