The loud, slow footsteps upstairs started again at 1:17 a.m.
Heavy. Uneven. And now something dragging — like furniture being scraped across the floor — echoed through my bedroom.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling each vibration pulse through the wall next to my head. My jaw tightened. This had been going on every night for weeks. The landlord didn’t care. Wouldn’t help.

“Stupid bitch,” I muttered.

I thought about the neighbor. “He’s quiet during the day,” I told myself. “Maybe it’ll get better.”

Bullshit.

I finally snapped, threw on a hoodie, and stomped upstairs. I wasn’t going to be polite anymore. I pounded on the door hard enough that my knuckles stung.

A shuffle came from inside.

Then the door opened, and my upstairs neighbor stood there smiling faintly.
“Hey, man. Sorry about the noise.”

His voice was shaky — almost scared. Too soft, too practiced, like he’d rehearsed how to sound friendly.

I gave a half smirk. “What the fuck man? Every night for weeks now this is happening.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. His eyes didn’t really focus on me. “I’ll try to keep it down.”

For a second, I saw movement behind him. Something shifting in the dim hallway. A smear of pale, contorted limbs sliding across the shadows like a glitch in reality.

My stomach dropped.

When I blinked, it was gone.

“Thanks,” I muttered, stepping back.

He closed the door gently — almost tenderly — and the latch clicked. I stood there a bit longer, listening. Silence. No dragging. No thuds. Nothing. A cold draft brushed across my face.

“Fuckin’ prick,” I thought.
And what the hell was that flash I saw behind him?

Maybe I imagined it.
Maybe I was just tired.

I went back downstairs.

⸻

Later — 2:47 a.m.

A sound pulled me out of sleep.

Not loud. Soft.
But wrong.

A slow… dragging, like someone pulling a heavy bag across a rough floor. Then a pause. Then a single, deliberate step. Heavy. Too careful. Like something testing each spot before putting weight down.

I held my breath.

Another step.
Long pause.
Another dragging scrape.

These weren’t the same noises as before. They had rhythm. Intention. Like whatever was moving wasn’t walking… but creeping.

A cold ripple crawled down my spine.

I gripped the blankets. “It’s just that idiot,” I whispered. “Just the neighbor.”

But humans don’t move like that.

The dragging grew louder. My ceiling fan rattled with each vibration.

Something about the cadence made my heart race — slow, heavy, halting. Like a creature trying to imitate footsteps but not understanding how they worked.

Anger pushed through the fear.

“This is ridiculous.”

I got out of bed, threw on shoes, and stormed up the stairs. Each step felt heavier than the last. The pit in my stomach dropped lower and lower.

I pounded on his door.

The entire door vibrated.

Inside, everything went still.

The silence was worse.

“HELLO?” My voice cracked.

Something answered.

Not a voice — a sound.
A scraping skitter, fast and sharp, scrambling across wood until it stopped right behind the door.

My heartbeat slammed in my ears.

I stepped backward.

Then came the breathing. Slow. Raspy. Like lungs filled with dust. I felt an eye watching me through the peephole.

“Hello?” I said again, softer.

The breathing paused.

Something pressed against the other side of the door — the wood creaked as the frame strained.

I swallowed. “I know you’re in there. Can you just—”

A whisper — barely there — seeped through the door.

“…hello…”

My skin crawled.

The voice sounded like someone trying to speak through a torn throat. Wavering. Stretched. A child repeating a word they’d only heard once.

I leaned in before realizing it.

And then—

BANG.

The door slammed outward so hard the air burst against my face.
A long, guttural moan rolled out — animalistic, but almost… confused.

Every hair on my body rose.

I didn’t think.
I ran.

Down the stairs. Around the corner. Into my apartment. Slammed and locked the door.

My chest heaved. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“What the hell was that?” I whispered.

I collapsed onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. Silence stretched on, thick and suffocating.

Then—

Thud.

Right above me.

My breath froze.

Another thud. A drag. A slow, deliberate step.
Directly above where I sat.

It knew where I was.

The footsteps stopped.

The ceiling compressed slightly, as if something enormous stood there. I waited, motionless, for any sign it had moved.

Nothing.

Just… waiting.

Then the dragging resumed, moving away. Relief washed over me.

Until I realized where it was heading.

The balcony.

My eyes widened.

I stood slowly, listening as the upstairs patio door creaked open.

The night air went still.

My own patio door sat across the room, glass reflecting nothing but darkness.

Maybe it left. Maybe it—

A tiny tap sounded above.
I looked up.

Two black, glassy orbs stared down.

Eyes.
Reflective, unblinking, darting erratically — studying me like prey.

I couldn’t breathe.

As my eyes adjusted, faint details appeared:

Long, dripping strands of black hair…
Skin stretched too tightly across the face…
Deep, hollow sockets…
A head tilted at a painful, impossible angle.

Its eyes flicked left.
Then snapped back to me.

I froze.

The thing shifted closer down into my balcony, its long hair spilling downward like a curtain.

Watching me.

There’s something wrong with my upstairs neighbor