"The Previous Tenant Never Really Left"

1. The Dream Apartment

When I signed the lease for Unit 3C, the broker never mentioned why the last tenant broke contract. The loft had exposed brick, huge windows, and most importantly - it was $800 below market rate.

The super, an old Polish man named Josef, crossed himself when he saw which keys I carried. "You hear anything... unusual... you call me immediately," he said, pressing a rusted St. Christopher medal into my palm.

That first night, I discovered why the previous tenant left behind a perfectly good leather armchair. At 3:33 AM, it started rocking. By itself. Facing the bedroom door.

2. The Rules Appear

By week two, I'd developed rituals:

Never leave cabinet doors open

Always knock before entering the bathroom

Keep the armchair facing the wall

The whispers started during my third shower. Not through the door - from inside the showerhead. A woman's voice, gargling through the water:

"You're sitting in his seat"

I found the first note that evening, written in condensation on my bedroom mirror:

"1. Don't acknowledge him

2. He hates the color red

3. Never ask his name"

3. The Investigation

City records showed seventeen tenants in Unit 3C since 1987. Average stay: 4 months. The longest? 11 days.

Mrs. Wu in 3B wouldn't meet my eyes. "That unit... it collects people," she muttered before shutting her door.

That night, I set up my laptop to record. The footage showed me sleeping peacefully until 3:15 AM, when the camera tilted up to focus on the ceiling corner. Something pale and long-limbed was crouched there, watching me.

The next morning, my left arm bore five fingertip bruises in a perfect grip mark.

4. The Confrontation

Josef finally confessed over whiskey: "1986, young artist hanged himself from those pipes. We found him... but his shadow stayed."

He pointed to the armchair. "That was his favorite. Sometimes he still sits there."

That night, I came home to find every cabinet open. The armchair faced the center of the room. On the seat - a noose made from my missing scarves.

I poured vodka into two glasses. Set one before the chair.

"Let's talk," I said.

The temperature dropped. The other glass slid toward the chair's edge. A deep voice, like stones grinding:

"You're braver than the others"

5. The Compromise

We have an understanding now:

I keep the chair

He keeps to the corners

Every Friday, I leave out bourbon

Last week, I came home to find all my knives arranged in a perfect circle. In the center, a note:

"The couple below us plans to steal your bike"

Some ghosts just want company.