The Man in Apartment 3B

The rain had not stopped for two days. The old building on Park Avenue groaned with every gust of wind. Sarah Keller, a 27-year-old teacher, had just moved into Apartment 3A last week. She liked the peace, the creaking floorboards, and even the flickering hallway light. It felt like the kind of place where nothing ever happened.

But that changed the night she met the man in Apartment 3B.

She first saw him in the hallway, carrying a box and wearing a black coat that looked a bit too formal for the weather. He had a pale, clean-shaven face, and when he smiled, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“New here?” he asked, voice soft.

“Yes,” Sarah replied. “Just moved in.”

He nodded. “If you ever need anything, I’m just next door.”

Sarah forced a polite smile and went back inside.

That night, she heard soft humming through the walls. A slow, tuneless melody. It made her uneasy, but she told herself it was just old walls and loneliness playing tricks.

The next morning, she passed the building’s maintenance man, Mr. Jefferson, in the lobby. She mentioned the neighbor in 3B.

Mr. Jefferson looked puzzled. “3B’s been empty for months. Since Mrs. Doyle passed.”

Sarah laughed nervously. “No, there’s a man there now. I saw him. Talked to him.”

“I’ve got the master list. No one’s rented that place yet.”

She didn’t press further. Maybe he was just a guest or a squatter. But when she returned home that evening, she noticed something strange. The door to 3B was shut, but there was no name on the mailbox. No mat, no decoration, no sign of anyone living there.

That night, the humming started again. Louder this time. Sarah pressed her ear to the wall. She could hear it clearly—a man’s voice, humming the same tune over and over again. Then silence. Then... knocking.

But not at her door.

From her peephole, she saw nothing but the dim hallway. She waited. Ten seconds. Then a soft whisper:

“Open the door.”

She stepped back, heart racing. The whisper didn’t come again. She didn’t sleep.

The next morning, she knocked on 3B’s door. No answer. She turned the knob.

Locked.

She went down to Mr. Jefferson again. “Can you open 3B for me? Just to check?”

He hesitated, but the worry in her voice convinced him.

When he opened the door, a wave of cold air greeted them. The apartment was empty. Dust on the floor. Covered furniture. Cobwebs. No sign anyone had lived there in months.

Sarah felt her throat go dry. “But... I saw him. I talked to him.”

Mr. Jefferson frowned. “You sure you’re okay, ma’am?”

She didn’t answer.

That night, she left the hallway light on and tried to sleep with the TV playing. Around midnight, her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.

“You shouldn’t have opened the door.”

Her hands trembled. She called the police.

When they arrived, they searched the building. No sign of anyone in 3B. No fingerprints. No recent entries.

But when Sarah returned to her apartment after the officers left, she found a pine cone on her pillow.

There were no pine trees anywhere near the building.

Sarah froze.

The pine cone lay neatly on her pillow. Small. Fresh. Fragrant.

Her windows were locked. Her door had a chain on it. The only people who had entered were the police.

She didn’t sleep that night. And she didn’t go to work the next day.

Instead, she sat on her couch, phone in hand, watching the hallway through the peephole.

Hours passed. The silence was crushing.

Then, just after 2:00 a.m., she heard it again.

Humming.

Low, slow, coming from the wall next to her bed. The tune was the same as before. Sad. Ancient. The sound of something not meant to be remembered.

Sarah grabbed her flashlight and stepped into the hallway.

Apartment 3B’s door was... open.

She inched closer. Her heart thumped in her throat. “Hello?” she whispered.

No answer.

She pushed the door gently, and it creaked inward. The air inside was colder than before. Her flashlight flickered.

The room was still empty. Same dusty floor. Same covered furniture.

Except—

In the center of the room stood a chair.

And on that chair was a small wooden music box, open and playing that same tune.

Beside it, a piece of yellowed paper.

Sarah stepped forward, picked it up.

Scrawled in shaky handwriting were the words:

“You came back. Now you belong here too.”

She backed away—but the door slammed shut behind her.

She ran to it—locked. No handle from the inside. Her flashlight died. Complete darkness.

She screamed. No one heard.

🕳️ Three Days Later

Mr. Jefferson, the building’s maintenance man, was called again. A tenant had complained about the smell from 3A.

When he opened the door, he found the apartment empty.

No sign of Sarah.

Only a pine cone on her pillow.

And a faint sound...

Of humming...

Coming from Apartment 3B.