Three months ago, someone strange moved into the apartment next to mine. I’ve lived in this apartment for about a year, and I always thought it was a safe and comfortable place to live. It’s the kind of place where parents let their kids play outside after school and neighbors are always willing to lend a hand.
I’ve always lived a boring life. Ever since getting out of school and moving out on my own, it’s always the same day in and day out. I wake up to the dreadful screeches of my alarm clock, already exhausted. I go through the mundane morning routine of brewing coffee when I’m still half asleep, and doing the bare minimum to look presentable and keep up with personal hygiene. I go from my dull, boring apartment room to an even more dull and boring office job where I spend 90% of the time playing solitaire or something on my computer. I go home feeling drained, and God forbid I have to run any errands before I can go home and lay on the couch to watch mind-numbing tv shows while eating whatever leftovers I have in the fridge. Day after day, the cycle just repeats.
There’s no denying how much of a recluse I am, I almost embrace it, so having apartment 106 at the end of the hall with no one occupying the one next door was ideal to me. Without voices or music or other sounds being heard through the thin walls, I felt like I was tucked away in my own quiet corner, which is comforting to an introvert like myself.
One day after another boring shift, I noticed someone new had moved into the apartment next to mine, apartment 105. I saw him as I turned the corner to my hallway, he slipped a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, and walked straight into 105.
I hadn’t seen any moving trucks or anyone loading boxes as I headed out to work, but when I came home, I discovered I had a new neighbor, already unpacking. It was like no one was there and now they were, seemingly coming from nowhere. Other than that, nothing was strange at first, other than the fact of having someone I could bump into. I only saw him a handful of times since he moved in and when I would, he seemed cold and lifeless, like someone in a dream.
The people in my complex are fairly friendly and will say hi when they see me and typically exchange pleasantries with each other, but it seemed no one even bothered to interact with him. They treated him like he wasn’t even there, which was different from the generic welcome they gave me when I moved in. I guess it was mutual, as he seemed shut in and wouldn’t even look at people passing by. Treat others how you’d like to be treated I suppose.
The oddities started only five days after he swiftly arrived. For the first five days I only heard the sounds of shuffling, and I assumed he was moving around furniture and was just getting settled in the apartment, nothing out of the ordinary.
The fifth day was when the music started. I was washing dishes when I heard the familiar tune reverberating through the walls for the first time. I froze standing in front of my sink, my eyes became glossed over as the reality of me all grown up in my apartment melted away into fuzzy memories of my childhood. I saw my mother, dancing by herself in the living room, waltzing in and out of the soft golden sunlight that spilled through the windows like a spotlight. The nostalgia consumed me and made me feel sick.
My hands began to tremble, and the loud crashing of the bowl that slipped out of my hands and hit the sink startled me enough to jolt me back to the present.
The song I heard being muffled through the walls was a song my mother would play a lot when I was a child, “It’s been a long, long time,” by Kitty Kallen. The song was bittersweet, reminding me of the short time I spent with her, but also reminding me that she’s gone now.
The music would start playing at the same time everyday, right when I would settle in after work. I kinda liked it at first, as it had brought up fond and warm memories I had hidden away from myself and didn’t resurface until I heard the song again. It felt warm to remember her, to come to terms with loss and grief.
Everyday, I heard it faintly play through the walls multiple times over, and the warm effect it had on me began to fade. As the last rays of sunlight disappeared and darkness overtook as night approached, the music would still play. It would only play three times at night. I thought it was odd, playing the same song at the same times over and over, but I wouldn’t be surprised if people considered me to be a fairly odd man, so guess I have no room to speak. It wasn’t loud enough to keep me from sleeping, and I’m not the type to confront him about it.
It was when the music became eerily distorted was when I started getting scared. It was another dull boring night after another long day at work. I got home, pulled my clothes off and threw them in the same pile in the corner I always do. I plop onto the couch and turn on the tv, and like clockwork the music starts. This time, those sentimental and wistful memories didn’t flash behind my eyelids.
This time, it had the same flat effect on me as everything else did in my bland monotonous surroundings. I reached for the remote and increased my volume to where I could barely hear the song. Now that the song was buried under the dramatic voices blaring through the tv speakers, I allowed myself to zone out and become consumed by whatever senseless drama was being fed to me on this “reality” tv show.
I dozed off, and was jolted awake by some overly enthusiastic infomercial making empty promises. Still slumped on the couch and my eyelids half open, I switched off the tv. I was just about to let myself drift off to sleep again, but something wouldn’t let me.
Something kept me up, waiting for me to become aware of it again. That’s when I realized that it didn’t stop. My eyes darted to the clock on the microwave, the time 11:32 illuminated in green.
This sent a chill through me, it always stopped after the third loop, but five hours after it started and the damned song was still playing. I sat up, eyes wide open but staring at nothing in particular. I listened to the music intently but it didn’t sound the same it always had.
It sounded like the record had been warped and scratched, like the record had been bent, producing a wobbly sound with more pronounced stutters. All my senses zeroed in on the sinister feeling of the distorted sounds, and that is when I heard it. A short burst of a petrifying scream cut off by the sound of a moist meaty thud followed by silence.
The world went quiet after that, the only sound being that dreadful deformed tune ringing in my ears. The sounds I heard that night must have put me in some sort of catatonic state, I couldn’t even recall going through with my nightly routine, I must have been on autopilot or something. I snapped out of it as I was laying in bed, not tossing and turning, but laying completely still staring up at the ceiling.
I contemplated calling the cops that night but I couldn’t work up the courage. I racked my brain of the possibilities of what I heard, or what I thought I heard. What if I was wrong? But also, what else could it have been? The thought of the gruesome events that could have occured just a couple feet away from me that night, only separated by a shared wall sent chills down my spine and left me paralyzed in fear, but I didn’t want to look like an idiot and have the man living next to me thinking I’m a nosy, paranoid, nuisance of a neighbor, so for the sake of sleep and my sanity, I convinced myself to brush it off. Maybe his tv speakers were better than mine and I had mistaken a movie for real life. Shit, I even thought it could have all been in my head.
I didn’t want to think about it too much and scare myself, so I didn’t.
Two weeks after that incident is when I saw him again. It was about 1 am and I had left my lighter in my car so I decided to go out and get it and while I was walking out to my car, far in the back corner of the lot I saw him dragging a large bag, it looked body sized leaving a red streak trailing the end of the black trash bag. I froze and strained my eyes to try and see better. Scared to move an inch, I held my breath as my eyes and brain scattered to make out the dark shapes and shadows I saw moving in the distance. The whole scene made me feel uneasy, the sounds of the bag dragging along the concrete and the faint squelching sound as he lunged and gave the bag another pull. My eyes were still glued on him, I stood there paralyzed in fear. I started to feel lightheaded and I lost my balance and stumbled backwards. He stopped, the bag slouched to the ground as his head slowly rotated toward me. Even in the thick darkness, it seemed as if his eyes pierced through it, pointing straight toward me. I turned around and started walking back to my apartment, feeling his eyes on the back of my head the entire time.
I got back to my apartment and locked the bolt and the chain and tried going to sleep, everytime I would close my eyes I could see his beady eyes staring back at me. There was no denying something was going on but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything about it. What if I got in trouble for taking so long? I just couldn’t do it. The fear was too great and I just wanted to forget about it, I didn’t want to be right.
The music started again after that night, the sound of the static overwhelming the music itself, the tempo much slower giving it a haunting sound. When it would start playing I just sat there and cried, waiting for it to be over. I heard a faint scratching noise on the wall bordering our rooms.
It was faint and I almost couldn’t discern where it was coming from. The light scratching turned into a louder scraping sound, the sound of a sharp metal edge. The scraping turned into tearing as I could hear the wallpaper start to tear. At that point I’m sitting there bawling and overwhelmed with fear and anxiety knowing I’m next.
I was happy to go to work the next morning, just happy to be away from him, somewhere he couldn’t hurt me.
I drove to work with an uneasy feeling, I felt like I was being watched. I almost crash my car when I see him staring at me with the same glare, wearing the same greasy wife beater and stained jeans. He was on the side of the road, just staring, like a predator stalking his prey.
I finished up work and walked out of work uneasy. I checked my corners before fully exposing myself from them and sprinted to my car. I drove back home more anxious than usual not knowing where he could’ve been. I finally made it back and parked as close to the hallway as I could, closing the distance between my room and the car.
I felt tense and hyper aware as I stepped out of my car and looked back to the spot I had seen him last night. A sense of relief came over me seeing he wasn’t there, but that feeling soon turned to a crippling terror as my focus shifted to my car.
I saw him sitting in the back seat of my car with a grin spanning from ear to ear. The disturbing sight of him made me jump, and I tripped over my own feet, stumbling to the ground but keeping my eyes on the top of his head, its all I could see from the ground as I pushed my body closer and closer to the hallway, hearing my clothes tear and rip as it hooked onto the concrete.
I made it to the hallway and could barely get back onto my feet, praying he wasn’t going to charge me. I broke into a sprint, still trying to keep my balance. I made it to my door and started feeling for my keys, I checked each and every pocket and dont feel the sharp ridges of them. My heart was racing faster than it ever has, my keys must have fallen out of my pocket or something when I fell to the ground. I turned my head and the reflection of my keys caught my eye as I glared down the hall.
Without thinking, I sprint to the end of the hall and grab them, once the car was in my view I noticed he wasn’t there anymore. I didn’t waste any time getting back to my room barreling down the hall, I unlocked the door, got in my room, then shut and locked the door.
The moment the last lock latches, he’s started pounding on my door, the noise echoing thru my small apartment, sending shivers thru my entire body.
At this moment I know I can’t wait any longer, I didn’t care if I was wrong about it, I needed to call the cops. I reached in my pocket and struggled to get it out while he was banging at my door. Once my phone was in my hand and I went to turn it off my face went pale and my hands began to shake, my phone was dead.
Without hesitation knowing time wasn’t on my side I rushed to my room and put it on the charger, the second i plugged it in the banging stops and the music started. It was louder than ever filling my ears with the haunting slow tune barely recognizable from the song I once loved. The melody of the song starts looping, as it loops faster, it got louder, turning into a droning noise as I hear a faint scream that grows in volume, piercing my ears and tickling my brain. I sat there shaking and crying. I felt the faint buzz of my phone coming back to life, I turned it on and started dialing 911.
As soon as the dialing stopped and the operator picked up I heard their voice asking me questions, but in my panicked state, I could not listen or comprehend their words. In the midst of all this chaos I felt so overstimulated that my mind seemed empty but so full and scattered at the same time, making it impossible for me to form any coherent thoughts, let alone sentences.
A spew of frantic word vomit streamed out of my mouth and I didn’t care if what I said was comprehensible, I just remember screaming and pleading for help. Begging for someone to come and save me, to make it all stop, take him away. The operator’s staticky voice suddenly got drowned out as the banging resumed, seemingly coming from every wall and the music became almost deafening.
My hands began to tremble and my phone fell to the floor and slid across the room, making whatever the operator is saying completely inaudible now. I collapsed on to the ground, curling into a ball and pulling my knees tight to my chest, trying to make myself as small as possible.
My thoughts were drowned out by the haunting music that swarmed my head until it felt like my skull was going to explode from the inside out. My nails dug into my scalp as I gave up screaming for help and silently cried.
Everything stopped, then the banging on the door resumed but it wasn’t the same as before, a wave of relief rushed over me when I heard.
“Police! Open the door!”
I gathered myself and ran to the door, frantically telling them what had just happened. I pointed to the room and told them “He’s in there.” they nodded and told me to stay put. An officer sat with me calming me down while they banged on his door.
“Police! Open up! We need to speak with you!” they yelled through the door as they bang on it.
I eagerly waited to hear a response.
Silence.
“We know you’re in there. This is the police. Open the door and come out peacefully.”
Silence.
“We’ve tried calling out to you, but there’s been no response. For your safety and the safety of others, we are now preparing to enter the premises. Stand back and keep your hands visible.” they said before they busted down the door.
They swarmed the room with their guns drawn, I waited with an officer outside of the room.
They came out of the room and reported that no one was inside. I glance inside myself and see that there is no furniture, no signs of anyone living there. The police contacted the landlord to get the name of the resident, nothing came back and they told me the apartment has been vacant for months.
That happened a week ago, I decided to tell this story because the music started playing again and I don’t know what to do.