I haven’t always lived in an apartment, but I have to confess it seemed like a positive change at first. Each new neighbor brought their own story, their own quirks; most were easy to deal with and respected the rules. Gradually, I managed to establish that typical cordial friendship with most of them, borrowing and lending a cup of sugar when needed. In this pleasant scenario, we welcomed a new neighbor, Mr. Andrews, on the fifth floor. I live on the sixth, directly above him, so I decided to be kind and welcome him. I descended the stairs and knocked on the wooden door displaying a golden “53.”
The door opened gently, revealing an elderly man wearing a shirt and a wool vest, with a warm smile on his face. He seemed genuinely happy to see me.
“Hello! You must be my new upstairs neighbor, right? I heard your footsteps on the stairs,” he said, extending his hand in greeting. “I’m Mr. Andrews, nice to meet you!”
“Yes, that’s me. My name is James,” I replied, shaking his hand. “I just wanted to welcome you to the building. If you need anything, just let me know.”
Mr. Andrews thanked me with a nod and an even wider smile. “Thank you very much, James. Please feel free to visit me anytime.”
That initial interaction only reinforced my first impression of him. The new neighbor seemed like a lovely person, and as soon as I left, other neighbors came to greet him, and apparently, they welcomed him warmly. However, things got a little strange when the sun set. It was, I don’t know, around 10 p.m. I was fluffing my pillow, getting ready to lie down when I started to hear a soft melody in the air. At first, I thought it was just background music from a radio or a party, but the sound was more “alive,” like it was being played on an instrument.
Curious, I went to the window and looked down, trying to locate the source of the melody. The lights in Mr. Andrews’ apartment were on, casting onto the sidewalk. Through this, I could see his solitary shadow sitting, fingers dancing over keys of what I logically assumed to be a piano. “This is strange, does he not know what time it is?” I thought to myself. “Well, maybe it’s a hobby he didn’t have time to practice during the day because of the neighbors’ performances; I hope he doesn’t stay up too late.”
I decided to ignore it and try to sleep. Surprisingly, although I thought it would be difficult given the noise, the melody ended up lulling me into a pleasant trance, leading me into a well-rested sleep as the notes echoed through the hallways. The melody became a constant presence in the following nights. As the days passed, I grew accustomed to the comforting sound and even found myself eagerly anticipating Mr. Andrews’ nightly serenade.
However, one night, the music started as usual, but as I was about to fall asleep, it turned into a cacophony, a threatening tune that jolted me awake. I got out of bed, listening to the distorted and dissonant sounds echoing while covering my ears. It went on like that for about 15 minutes until it returned to the pleasant rhythm before. That’s when it began. The next day, I went to return a tool I had borrowed from my neighbor on the same floor, Philip. I arrived at his door and knocked. I waited, and nothing. I called out a few times, but there was no response.
I went downstairs and asked the doorman if he had seen Philip leave that morning, but he said no. I started to worry because Phil was the homebody type; he didn’t go out much. Three days passed before the police came and officially registered his disappearance.
Unease began to spread throughout the building. Residents exchanged nervous glances in the hallways, whispered to each other about what might have happened; some mentioned debts he had, others a possible affair he might have run away with, some even talked about murder… I couldn’t stop thinking about it myself, but it wasn’t until the fifth night after his disappearance that I began to connect the dots.
I was taking longer than usual to fall asleep, even with the melodic song from my nightly pianist. Lately, he played a more melancholic tune; I suppose he also worried about Philip and expressed it in his music. When I finally closed my eyes, it happened again: The melody started to distort, to turn into something sinister, as if it were a warning, a dark omen of what was to come. My heart raced as I heard the dissonant sounds echoing through the corridors, penetrating my mind like sharp claws. I tried to ignore it, but the feeling of unease only grew until it finally ceased. Not just the noise, but even the music. A deep silence settled in, not even the sound of car wheels rolling on the asphalt could be heard. The silence was deafening, heavy, as if the building itself was holding its breath.
For no apparent reason, a moment of fear dawned upon me. I felt a chill down my spine, as if I were in danger, being watched. I don’t remember exactly when, but amidst this jumble of emotions, I ended up falling asleep, a confused, dreamless sleep. The next morning came with a heavy and tense atmosphere in the building. The murmurs of cars were there on the street, but the building itself remained silent, no noise of doors, footsteps, or anything of the sort. I left home, seeing the lights off, descending with the strange feeling of loneliness, an discomfort almost like a “liminal space.” The hairs on my neck stood up with each flight of stairs; I think the scariest thing about this kind of emptiness is imagining that something or someone might appear, breaking this solitude partially, still taking advantage of it since there would be no one to help you.
I arrived at the entrance and saw Jack, the doorman, sitting reading a newspaper.
“Hey, it’s good to see there’s another living soul here,” I commented sarcastically. He seemed startled when he saw me.
“James? What’s going on? Is it a surprise party or something?”
“I don’t know either. You’re the first person I’ve encountered; it’s deserted up there.”
“That’s strange. It’s been like that since I arrived this morning… Did you check the other apartments?”
“No, I haven’t checked…” I said, trailing off at the end.
“I don’t want to be alarmist, but I remember reading a news article once about a dangerous gas leak in a building, and people died! I know you sleep with your window open, but I think most people here close theirs.” He seemed a bit alarmed.
“That’s… worrisome,” I replied, trying to remain calm. “Do you want to check the others?”
Jack agreed, and we hurried up the stairs, each on a different floor, knocking on every door and calling out to the residents. But there was no response. The hallways were silent and empty. When I was on the fourth floor, however, I heard a creaking door in response to one of Jack’s knocks, and a sweet familiar voice.
“Hello Jack,” Mr. Andrews’ words echoed through the empty rooms.
“Mr. Andrews! Good morning, sir! Are you okay?”
“Yes, everything’s fine, thank you,” Mr. Andrews replied in his usual friendly voice. “And how are you?”
Jack seemed relieved to hear the voice of the new neighbor. “I’m fine, sir. I’m just worried about the disappearance of the other residents. Have you seen anyone strange or heard anything unusual during the night? Any strange smell or anything like that? Maybe a gas leak…”
“Ah… I… haven’t familiarized myself with the system here yet. Could you help me check?”
“Of course, let’s go.”
I heard the door close, and a sense of foreboding washed over me. I began to quietly ascend the stairs, and as I stepped onto the floor, I heard a melody starting to play. I ran to the door, about to knock, but I stopped, crouched down, and decided to look through the keyhole.
The scene on the other side was strange. This time, the window was closed, the room dark, illuminated only by a yellow lamp. Jack was sitting, having tea on the sofa while Andrews, his back to him, played the piano calmly. The melody was hypnotizing, and I couldn’t stop looking. Jack didn’t even sip his tea; he was petrified, as if he were reveling in the music. The melody raced, accelerating the tempo more and more; the old man’s fingers danced at a surprising speed, hammering the keys with skill until, as before, it erupted into a cacophony of heavy blows on the keys. My body spasmed, and then I saw it, emerging from behind the sofa, a large dark mass slowly materializing. It seemed to twist and undulate as the music reached its distorted climax. Large things resembling black tentacles emerged from its “core.”
My heart raced as I realized the appendages were moving towards Jack, who remained motionless on the sofa, completely unaware of the danger approaching. I knew I needed to do something, but my muscles were tense, my body petrified by the horrifying sight before my eyes. That thing then grabbed him, coiling around his face. I could see him screaming, but it was muffled by the heavy strikes of Andrew’s hand on the piano keys. Soon, more began to coil around him, around his arms and legs, starting to squeeze, exerting a force that caused his bones to snap, bent at impossible and incredibly painful angles just to look at. I choked, my mouth trembling uncontrollably; I couldn’t speak, run, or even breathe in the face of that horror.
Finally, those horrible arms retreated back to wherever they came from, each one taking with it the part of the body it held. Jack’s body shattered into a dense and generous torrent of blood on the carpet, his limbs being drawn into the dark mass. When I thought it was enough, a huge tongue emerged from there, passing over the red-stained surface. It trembled, almost in ecstasy as it cleaned the surface, before retracting again and disappearing completely.
Mr. Andrew hadn’t moved until then; he continued to play, and suddenly stopped his noise, letting silence reclaim its lost territory. I almost vomited; I needed to get out of there immediately. I descended the staircase to the entrance, but, to my bad luck and despair, the door was locked. The doorman’s key didn’t work, nor did mine. I took desperate measures and started kicking, throwing my weight, and trying to break through that structure, but it was in vain; it seemed like a wall. My noise, however, served to attract unwanted attention.
I heard the creaking noise of a wooden door, one that I know had a golden 53 on its frame, and slow, leisurely steps, in the corridor, then on the stairs, getting closer and closer. With little choice, I entered the elevator, pressing the fifth button more times than necessary. The noise was now close, right above me, and as the doors were closing, I could vaguely see the silhouette of that damned pianist emerging. I grew impatient as the numbers went up on the display. Had he seen me? Well, he certainly had seen the elevator, but did he know it was me? Did he know which floor I was coming to?
The elevator doors finally opened on the fifth floor, and I rushed out, looking at the staircase to make sure Mr. Andrews hadn’t followed. The corridor was empty and silent, no sound of footsteps. With quick steps, I headed to my apartment, locking the door softly behind me. I grabbed my phone to call, but it’s out of service; it seems like the line was cut, and to make matters worse, there’s no cell signal. I sent messages to some friends online, but they always fail to send. About 5 minutes ago, I heard footsteps in the hallway, echoing, getting closer, until they stopped. I just got up to peek, and I could see through the peephole the figure standing still of Andrews at my door; he has a violin in his hands this time, and seems ready to play something.
I hope I can send this post;I hope this works; I just want to ask for help to try to understand what the hell this is.