The Boy in Apartment 7A

They say old buildings remember things.The creak of a floorboard, the chill in the air—these small signs tell stories that time has buried deep beneath cracked walls. Apartment 7A was one such place. The neighbors whispered of its curse. The landlord called it unlucky. But Elise Wren? She didn’t believe in ghosts or superstitions. At least, not the kind that rattled chains and flickered lights. But there was something about 7A that didn’t sit right. From the moment she crossed the threshold, a strange sense of familiarity clung to the room. The darkness felt too heavy, too personal, as if the walls had witnessed something more than just time passing. And then there was the mirror—an antique, tarnished with age, but still reflective. Still watching. It was in the mirror that she saw him. The boy. Barefoot, pale, eyes full of sadness. His image flickered before her, as if he was trapped, his silent gaze pulling her deeper into the mystery of the apartment. She couldn’t explain it. The voice that called her name from behind the wall, the strange presence that lingered, as though the boy had been waiting for her to arrive. And she knew, then, that she wasn’t alone.