I just want to start ofv by saying I don’t have many regrets about living on the first floor. I live fairly deep in the suburbs, so most apartments were only two stories tall with several sitting on a large plot of land. Still, I love being able to walk right into my apartment instead of climbing stairs after a full day of work. My apartment complex is pretty quiet for the most part, and I haven’t had any issues until recently.
When I first moved in, there was a large family living above us– mom, dad, two children, and a baby. The kids were pretty rowdy and would run constantly from the moment they got home to the moment they went to bed. It was driving me insane, and after speaking to them calmly about the issue with no avail, I ended up having to report them.
After some time, I noticed the running had stopped. But a different issue surfaced where the baby would cry constantly. All day. All night. It was worse than the kids running. The parents did nothing to stop it, and I wasn’t sure if reporting that was the way to go. I realize some babies can be difficult to deal with, so I let it go after awhile.
One day the baby stopped crying too. Around this time, I almost never saw these neighbors. I knew they didn’t move out because their car sat in the lot, switching between different spaces. I finally saw them after some time while they were moving furniture. My heart jumped with joy seeing their belongings in a moving truck. Although they weren’t as noisy as before, the baby would cry every now and then, and the children would scream. Like a high pitched shrill that I equated to obnoxious kids being obnoxious kids.
The last day they were here left a chilling impression. I had just gotten home from work when I saw them cramming the remainder of their boxes into their minivan. The mother watched me closely as I exited the car. The kids came out shortly after, the energy having left their bodies weeks ago. Each member of that family had hollow, soulless expressions. Dark circles accentuated their sunken eyes from many sleepless nights, and the children were exceptionally quiet to a point that sent shivers down my spine. The baby was nowhere to be seen, which was odd. As I approached them to turn into my apartment, the mother locked eyes with mine. She gave me a chilling grin and mouthed the words “Good Luck”. I scurried into my apartment with a peculiar sense of dread.
The next couple of weeks were nice and peaceful without the constant disruptions from my upstairs neighbor. I was finally able to sleep at night, but that peace ended pretty abruptly. The property managers had no trouble filling the vacant apartment, and soon enough, someone else began to move in.
I had passed them briefly as they lugged a small loveseat upstairs with the help of some friends late at night. My new neighbors were an older woman and a younger one I presumed to be her daughter. The movement of furniture upstairs only contributed to the restless nights I was once again facing. I learned later that they worked night shift, and I had to deal with several nights of unpacking. I figured it was only for a few days, so I dealt with it.
Unfortunately I was becoming irritable, paranoid, and a little unstable from lack of sleep. Every little sound would cause me to shoot my eyes open. I was beginning to think living on the first floor was a mistake until they eventually settled into their routines. Soon enough, the sounds from upstairs were just the usual thump of walking feet.
But this is where things take a turn as they did with my last neighbors.
I was settled into my sofa, catching up on some shows when I heard something from upstairs. I paused what I was watching and listened intently. Deciding I just heard them walking, I pressed play. But I heard it again. It was a loud ka-thump, like something falling hard against the floor above me. I paused again to listen, my ears perked up towards the ceiling.
The thumps continued. It almost sounded as if someone was repeatedly slamming their fists against the floor and throwing furniture. Then the running. The consistent running from one end of the living room to the kitchen like a sick version of the pacer test. I held my palms to my ears to stop the flooding of thumping, slamming, and hard footsteps coming from upstairs. My only two choices were to go up there to complain or ignore it. Ignoring it was becoming difficult, so I chose the former.
I knocked on the door aggressively, and the older woman greeted me. Just as she opened the door, a door to another room slammed shut. I flinched at the sound of a door being closed so aggressively then turned my attention the frail old woman in front of me. She didn’t look too terribly old, but the hollow expression on her face made her seem as if she had aged a hundred years. Her eyes were soulless, much like my previous neighbor. I suddenly had a bad feeling about coming up there. I quickly blurted out for them to keep it down and hurried off before she could respond. Something in my gut told me I needed to get away from there as soon as possible.
That night as I lay in my bed, I heard sobbing coming from upstairs. Loud, somber cries echoed from the bedroom above into mine. I buried my head in my pillow to drown out the sound. It became harder to ignore it when she began pacing. She walked back and forth constantly as a sobbing mess from midnight to six in the morning. As soon as I began dozing off, my alarm rang in a split second. I grumbled out of bed, determined to do something about this woman. But she continued to pace from night to morning every other day for weeks, and I had no clue what to do to make it stop.
Not too long after, my new neighbors had emptied their apartment. Their junk covered the stairs, the yard, and the lot. The older woman and some men were tossing things out with urgency, shoving as many things into their small pick-up truck as possible. The daughter was nowhere in sight. I paused for a moment to watch this happening on my way home from work. I couldn’t believe they were moving out already after only a couple of months– meaning they had to break a very expensive lease. The older woman locked eyes with me as she dragged a rolled up rug down the stairs. Her eyes were filled with panic, and she snapped her head away from me in an instant. I walked into my apartment with confusion, wondering what was so wrong about that second floor apartment.
It became quiet again upstairs, and I relished in it with many restful nights. Then one night I started hearing something from upstairs again. I knew for a fact no one had moved in yet. In fact, handymen had been going in and out of the apartment constantly during the day to make repairs. Apparently the last neighbors had left the apartment in complete shambles, and much of the place had to be redone.
A scratching sound prevented me from being able to fall asleep one night. It was quiet at first but became louder and faster. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Over and over again. I figured it was rats, and made a mental note to complain to the office the following morning. The scratching would stop, then continue. It was always in the same spot right above my bed.
I lay in my bed, feeling the precious minutes I could use sleeping tick by. The scratching sounded closer before stopping. I opened my eyes in the dark, letting it adjust. My eyes fixed onto the large air vent near the ceiling across from me. That’s when I saw it. It wasn’t a rat. Something was staring at me through the grates of the vent. It was covered in shadow, but I could make out bloodshot eyes and spindly, sharp fingers reaching through the grates. I held my breath, staring at it for far too long before it disappeared into the vent. With its disappearance, the scratching resumed above my head. I lay in bed, my eyes fixed onto the ceiling.
It’s getting closer. It’ll come visit me soon.