The Silent Neighbor

Author’s Note:

I wish I could call this a joke. But it isn’t. If you’re reading this, just know that I tried to ignore it for as long as I could. Maybe I should’ve left sooner, but I didn’t. I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me. But now... Now I know better.

If something happens to me, please tell someone. Tell them to check 3B.

I moved into my apartment last spring. It was cheap, and I needed a place to stay. It’s one of those old buildings—creaky floors, walls that feel too thin, windows that rattle with every gust of wind. Nothing to write home about. I didn’t expect anything special. I didn’t want anything special. I just needed a roof over my head, and it fit the bill.

At first, I didn’t even notice Daniel in 3B. He was a quiet neighbor, kept to himself, came and went like any other. I barely registered him—until the tapping started.

It began one night, soft at first, like a branch brushing against a window. It was the kind of noise you’d try to ignore, like the building settling. But it wasn’t random. It followed a pattern. Three taps. A pause. Two taps. Over and over again, at exactly the same time, between 2 and 3 a.m.

At first, I convinced myself I was just being paranoid. Old buildings make noises. That’s all it was. But then it kept going. Every night, without fail. Three taps, pause, two taps. It was relentless.

And then, it started getting louder.

I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t focus. I spent hours staring at the ceiling, listening to that tapping, as though it was pulling me into some kind of trance. There was something off about it. It wasn’t just the noise—it was the way it made my skin crawl, the way my breath hitched every time it started. Something inside me screamed that it wasn’t right.

One night, I snapped. I threw on my robe, marched across the hall, and knocked on Daniel’s door.

When he opened it, the tapping stopped, and I could’ve sworn I heard something shift in the air. It was like a heavy silence had descended between us.

Daniel stood in the doorway, looking at me with wide eyes—like he hadn’t expected anyone. His face was pale, almost sickly, like he hadn’t slept in days. He looked tired, exhausted in a way that felt wrong.

“Sorry to bother you,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “But the tapping... it’s been happening every night. Can you please stop?”

He blinked, like the words didn’t quite reach him at first. Then he swallowed hard. “You heard it?”

His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“Of course I heard it. It’s keeping me up,” I said, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach.

He stepped back, just slightly, as if unsure how to respond. His eyes darted to the side, and for a moment, I thought I saw something—something—shift behind him, just out of view.

“I’ll take care of it,” he whispered, almost too quickly.

The door shut, and the tapping stopped. Just like that.

But... it didn’t feel like it was over. It didn't feel over.

A few nights later, I woke to a new sound—this time, a low, guttural murmur. It was almost like a chant, but in a language I couldn’t understand. I thought it was coming from the walls at first, but no. It was coming from Daniel’s apartment. And it wasn’t just murmuring. It was mixed with the tapping.

Only this time, the tapping wasn’t the same. It wasn’t steady. It was erratic. Desperate.

I pressed my ear to the wall, heart hammering in my chest. The murmuring was louder now. It was almost a voice. And then, I heard him.

“Not yet. Please... not yet.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. I wanted to ignore it, but something inside me snapped. I sent him a text: Is everything okay? I waited for a response.

But there was nothing.

The next morning, as I rushed out to work, I noticed something strange. A dark, sticky smear on the floor outside 3B. I froze. It trailed down the hallway, like someone had dragged something heavy, something wet. It disappeared into the stairwell.

I didn’t want to think about it. Maybe it was just... spilled paint. Maybe. I tried to convince myself. But my gut told me otherwise. My gut told me it wasn’t paint.

That night, the tapping returned. Louder. More frantic. The murmur mixed with it now, like it was part of the same rhythm.

I couldn’t stay in my apartment anymore. I grabbed my phone, my slippers, and crept into the hallway. My body felt like it was moving of its own accord, as though I wasn’t entirely in control of what was happening.

I stopped in front of 3B. The door was shut, but the tapping was coming from inside. Louder now. Frantic. And the murmur was there too.

I pressed my ear against the door. The noise was unbearable.

Then, without warning, the door swung open. I jumped back, heart racing.

Daniel stood there, his face so pale it looked like he was about to collapse. His eyes were wide, feverish. Something in his gaze made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I’d never seen fear like that.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he rasped.

I was shaking. I couldn’t speak.

“I—I heard the noises. I thought something was wrong,” I finally managed, my voice breaking.

His lips curled into something between a grimace and a smile, but it wasn’t a smile at all. “Curiosity can be dangerous,” he said, his voice low, almost threatening.

Before I could respond, he stepped back into his apartment, and the door slammed shut.

That night, he didn’t leave. I didn’t hear anything from 3B—no footsteps, no sounds. It was like the apartment had been swallowed whole.

The silence was unbearable.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. I didn’t want to know what, but I had to know.

Armed with a flashlight, I waited until after midnight. The building was eerily quiet. I moved toward 3B, my hand trembling as I tried the doorknob. Locked.

I had no choice.

I pulled a bobby pin from my pocket. I didn’t know why I thought I could do this. I didn’t know why I kept going, kept pushing, but I did. The lock clicked open.

The apartment smelled off—metallic, like old blood. The flashlight flickered as I stepped inside. The walls were covered in symbols, drawn in something that didn’t look like paint. It was too dark for that.

Then the tapping started again. Louder now.

I moved toward the bedroom. The door creaked as I opened it.

Inside, the room was covered in more symbols. Candles were scattered in pools of dried wax, and in the center of the room, Daniel was crouched on the floor. His head twitched with every chant. His hands gripped his knees too tightly, his knuckles white.

“Daniel?” I whispered.

He froze, his head snapping to look at me. His eyes glowed in the dim candlelight, and his face... It wasn’t him anymore.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he said, but it wasn’t just his voice. There was something else there. Something else.

He stood up, and I saw how wrong he was. His limbs were too long. His body moved in jerks, like a puppet being controlled by something else. His face twisted into something that wasn’t human anymore.

“They’ll want you now,” he hissed.

I ran.

The sound of footsteps behind me echoed down the hall, but there was something wrong with them. Too many footsteps. Too many voices.

I made it back to my apartment, slammed the door, and locked it. But it didn’t feel safe anymore.

The next day, I called the police. I told them everything. The tapping. The chanting. The blood. They came. They searched 3B.

They found nothing.

And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t over. That something... was still watching.

Last night, I found a note under my door. The same handwriting as before.

“They’re coming for you.”

I don’t know who they are. I don’t want to know. But I know they’re here now. And they’re listening.

Author’s Update (1 Week Later):

I’m leaving. I don’t care about the lease.

But last night, I woke up to wet footprints in my apartment. From my bedroom to the front door. I live alone.

There was another note today. This one wasn’t written by hand. It was typed. Perfectly aligned.

“You can’t run.”

I’m leaving tonight. But it won’t matter. They’re already here.

If you don’t hear from me again, remember this: They’re always listening.