【I have a haunted house】Chapter 15: The Landlord

Exhaustion, numbness, and frailty—these were Nick's first impressions of Wang Qi.

As they passed each other, Nick returned the missing persons notice he had just picked up from the floor. The man muttered a soft "Thank you," his voice raspy and unclear.

"You're welcome. It's nothing," Nick replied with a faint smile, following the limping man up to the second floor.

The second floor, in stark contrast to the first, was even more damp and gloomy. Cobwebs clung to the corners, and the walls were marred with scratches, as if gouged by a sharp instrument.

The man led Nick to the far end of the corridor and stopped. He opened the door to the room at the deepest point of the hallway, pulling out a long string of keys. "Fifty bucks for a night. You can choose any room on this floor."

"Fifty is a bit too much, don't you think?" Nick asked.

"This is the only apartment for miles," the man replied. His eyes darted behind him, as though he were looking at something beyond Nick's view. "Fifty's cheap, considering that."

"Well..." Nick hesitated, "But why only the second floor? Can't I stay on the first or third floors?"

"Why do you have so many questions?" the man snapped, his voice curt. He snatched the fifty bucks from Nick's hand, shoving a key into his palm. "The key has the room number on it. Go find it yourself."

With that, he disappeared into the room, and just as the door clicked shut, Nick heard a strange, muffled sound—a low, almost choking noise, as if someone had food stuck in their throat.

Nick felt a strange unease wash over him. He placed a hand on the door handle, halting. "Wait."

"What now?" the man’s tone was irritated, unmistakably annoyed.

Nick peered through the crack in the door. The room was small, with only the limping man standing by the door and an elderly man sitting in a wheelchair, facing away. The sound had clearly come from him.

"I'm a bit thirsty. Do you sell water or drinks?" Nick asked.

"No," came the blunt reply.

"Let's keep things civil. Why so much anger?" Nick muttered.

The door slammed shut with a thud, and Nick stood there for a moment, his curiosity piqued by the oddity of the situation.

"In a normal apartment building, the reception is usually at the entrance, but here, it's hidden at the end of the second-floor corridor." He glanced at the key in his hand, thoughts swirling. "Why can't the first or third floors be inhabited? And who is the old man living with the landlord?"

The key was labeled "208," coincidentally, the room next to the limping man's.

"Forget it, I’ll stay for the night and figure things out later." After two hours of traveling, Nick was starting to feel the weight of exhaustion.

He opened the door, and a faint smell of mildew hit him. The room seemed to have been abandoned for some time, with dust accumulating on the furniture. The sheets were damp to the touch, uncomfortable against his skin.

"Can this bed even be slept in?" Nick thought, barely setting down his bag before hearing a sharp crack from the neighboring room. It sounded like a bowl had shattered.

He closed the door and pressed himself against the wall to listen. Moments later, the angry voice of the limping man reached him, his words laced with what sounded like a local dialect—an odd mixture that didn’t seem native to the area.

The old man continued his soft, unintelligible murmuring, while the man next door cursed for several minutes before there was an unexpected shift—suddenly, the volume of the television blared loudly.

"What’s going on? What is he doing? Why would he turn the volume up?" Nick continued listening for a few more minutes, but the deafening noise made it impossible to hear anything further. Frustrated, he decided to let it go. "Never mind. I’ll focus on my own business. Tonight’s going to be a sleepless one, anyway."

Nick tossed his backpack onto the vanity, pulling out a small fruit knife and hiding it in his pocket. "The complaints on the second-hand housing website mentioned bloodstains behind the wallpaper and an overpowering stench every night. People suspect this place might be a haunted house. But when I searched for any crime-related information about Ping An Apartments, I couldn’t find a single murder linked to this building."

Nick knew that the Black Phone had chosen this place for a trial task, which meant there had to be some dark secrets hidden within the walls of Ping An Apartments.

He tucked the knife away and pulled out a multi-tool hammer, inspecting every corner of the room. But it was still an ordinary guest room, despite its disturbing state—old, dusty, and disheveled.

"The landlord only let me choose a room on the second floor, so there shouldn't be any problems with the rooms here... otherwise, they wouldn’t be available for rent." Nick pondered, "If I want to find something, I’ll have to check the first or third floors." With the trial beginning at 11 p.m., he still had over three hours before the task started. Not wanting to waste any more time, he placed the hammer back and crept toward the door.

Just as he began to open the door, he froze.

Sweat beaded on his palms, a chill rushing up his spine.

The limping man was standing right outside the door—how long had he been there?

The two were startled, neither expecting the other to open the door.

"Landlord, what are you doing here?" Nick asked, his voice tinged with suspicion, his unease growing.

"You said you were thirsty," the man explained, holding out a thermos, his expression slightly stiff. "I brought this for you."

"Thanks," Nick replied without confronting the strange behavior, casually accepting the thermos. "Is there anything else?"

"No. Get some rest." The limping man glanced into the room, muttering under his breath, "There’s no light in the hallway. It gets very dark at night. You’d better not wander around."

With that, he turned and walked away, disappearing back into his own room. Nick finally exhaled, the tension leaving his body.

"This landlord is ugly, short-tempered, and bad at conversation. He’s got a slight disability but is physically strong enough to easily overpower that middle-aged man earlier." Nick wasn’t skilled at reasoning, but based on the many crime movies he had watched, he couldn’t help but imagine the worst. "Born with a limp, bullied as a child—he could have developed a deep sense of inferiority. If that kind of emotion reaches a breaking point, it could twist into a destructive desire to hurt others... Damn, thinking about it, he seems to have all the traits of a serial killer!"

Nick set the thermos down, his mind racing. "If the landlord is really a serial killer, does that mean I’ll be spending the night next door to a murderer?"

A shiver ran down his spine as he imagined the horrifying possibility. That twisted pervert could be standing outside his door all night long. Worse still, as the landlord, he likely had a spare key to every room.