It all began innocuously. I left for work one day and noticed a set of footprints going up the stairs past my floor. I was on the fifth floor - the second highest in my apartment building. The landlord lived above me in a penthouse apartment that took up the whole floor. At least, he used to - I hadn’t really seen him recently, and the up-til-then undisturbed layer of dust told me that no one had been up there in months. There wasn’t an elevator, nor any other stairs he could have been taking, so I’d been pretty sure he’d moved out.
I took a glance at the footprints and kept going. I didn’t really think about it again until a few days later. Another set of footprints appeared in the dust, going up again. The first footprints had been from a large pair of boots, but these looked like they’d come from heels. Furthermore, there were still no footprints going down the stairs - whoever had gone up the first time had to have still been there.
From then on, every few days, a new set of footprints would appear on the stairs, always going up. Each time, it was clearly from a different person, with different shoes and a different shoe size. This really bothered me. People were going upstairs, and they weren’t coming down.
I couldn’t help thinking about it all the time - at work, at home, and especially when I was trying to sleep. It was unlikely that there was enough food for all of them. And even if someone had been hoarding non-perishables there all this time, the upstairs apartment was just as quiet as it had been after the landlord had moved out. What could they be doing up there? Were they all dead, lying on top of my ceiling?
It was one of those sleepless nights when I finally heard one of them. Steady footsteps coming from the stairwell. I ran to my peephole. My apartment was right next to the stairs, I could barely see into it thanks to the fish-eye lens.I stayed there, pressed against the door as the footsteps got closer and closer. Eventually, they reached my floor, and I strained even harder to see them as the footsteps went past my floor. I didn’t see a single thing. I should have. I could see into the stairwell, if barely, so I should have seen an arm, a shoulder, something. Maybe it was too dark. I don’t know. I decided I was going to know what was going on that night, one way or another.
I put on my shoes and left my apartment. I didn’t bother locking my door. I felt like I had to do this quietly, and jangling my keys would just give me away. I crept up the first flight of stairs. The footsteps had gone quiet minutes ago. It was too dark in the stairwell for me to make out the new set of footprints - it was getting hard to anyway, with them all overlapping over each other. It struck me that I was adding my own footprints to the set, and that bothered me for reasons I can’t quite word.
I turned when I reached the landing. I couldn’t see much, but I could tell that there wasn’t anyone waiting for me in the stairwell. The door into the penthouse apartment was open, and moonlight streamed into the stairwell from a window. I couldn’t see any shadows of people. I could make out more of the apartment as I went up each stair. First, I saw the paintings on the wall, all abstract spills of paint. Then the expensive looking furniture. Still no one. As I walked up the last few steps, I could finally see the floor. At first it was too dark to tell what I was looking at. Even after my eyes adjusted, I still wasn’t sure what I saw was right. The footprints continued from the stairwell, went a few feet into the apartment, and at the end of each set of footprints was an empty pair of shoes. There were no other footprints, barefoot or not. It was as if people were just walking into the penthouse apartment and just disappearing save for their shoes.
I began to walk backwards down the stairs. I was afraid of what might happen if I turned my back to the apartment. Once my feet hit the landing, I ran back to my apartment and locked the door. My heart was beating fast and hard against my ribs. Something was horribly wrong upstairs. That much was clear. Shoes don’t just walk themselves, and people don’t just disappear. This felt worse than finding a bunch of dead bodies. At least that was explainable. I had no idea what was going on here.
Eventually I calmed down. No one was following me - I’d been checking through my peephole. I would deal with this in the morning. I went back to my bedroom, sat on my bed, and took off my shoes. Then I went under my covers and hid. I fell asleep like that, completely cocooned under my blanket.
This brings me to this morning and why I’m posting this. Maybe I’m going crazy. I swear my shoes were facing away from me when I went to sleep, but when I woke up this morning they were facing me instead. I’m just overreacting, right?