I moved into my new apartment last week. It’s an old building with creaky floors and drafty windows, but I didn’t mind. It’s in a good location and the rent was affordable. Plus, I’m used to living alone, so I welcomed the solitude.
The first few nights were uneventful, aside from the occasional bump in the night. But last night, things took a turn for the worse.
I woke up around 2 AM to the sound of someone crying. At first, I thought it was coming from outside, but as I sat up in bed, I realized it was coming from the other side of my bedroom wall.
It was a soft, muffled sobbing, like someone trying to stifle their tears. I felt a pang of sympathy for whoever was on the other side of that wall, but at the same time, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
I tried to go back to sleep, but the crying persisted. It was getting louder, more frantic. I couldn’t ignore it anymore, so I got out of bed and pressed my ear against the wall.
That’s when I heard the scratching.
It was a slow, deliberate sound, like someone dragging their fingernails across the plaster. It was coming from the same spot where the crying was, and it sent shivers down my spine.
I don’t know why, but I suddenly had the urge to knock on the wall. Maybe I wanted to let whoever was on the other side know that they weren’t alone. Or maybe I just wanted to confirm that there was actually someone there.
I knocked once. The crying stopped.
I knocked again, harder this time. The scratching stopped.
Silence.
For a moment, I thought maybe they had fallen asleep or left the room. But then I heard a faint whisper. It was so quiet, I could barely make out the words.
“Help me.”
I froze. My heart was pounding in my chest. I didn’t know what to do. I considered calling the police, but I didn’t even know what apartment the crying was coming from.
Then, I heard the scratching again. It was faster now, more frantic. And then, something started to peel away from the wall. It was like the plaster was coming off in chunks, revealing a hole in the shape of a hand.
I felt sick to my stomach. I knew I had to get out of there, but my legs wouldn’t move. I was paralyzed with fear.
And then, a hand emerged from the hole. It was pale and thin, with long, dirty nails. It reached out towards me, as if pleading for help.
That’s when I realized something.
The hand was my own.
I don’t remember much after that. I must have passed out from the shock. When I woke up, it was morning. My bedroom wall was intact, and there was no sign of any hole or plaster dust.
I don’t know what happened last night. Maybe it was a nightmare. Or maybe it was something more sinister.
All I know is that I’m afraid to go to sleep tonight.