The Man in Apartment 7B

The Story Continues...

The hallway leading to apartment 7B always smelled of old carpet and damp paint. It was as if time stood still in that corner of the building. Hira had passed by it dozens of times, but she never dared to stop. There was something about that door — the rusted brass numbers, the uneven doormat, the faint sound of movement behind it — that made her uneasy.

She didn’t know his name.

She didn’t know what he looked like.

But she knew he was watching her.


The Incident with the Sticky Note

After finding the warning note that read, “Don’t look into 7B’s window again,” Hira felt trapped. Someone had been close enough to her door to slip it underneath — silently, stealthily. No camera had captured it. She checked the hall cams using her landlord’s shared app, but the footage from between 2:00 AM and 2:30 AM had been mysteriously erased.

“Glitch in the system,” the landlord said dismissively. “It happens.”

But Hira knew better.

She decided to test something.

That night, at 2:15 AM, she turned off every light in her apartment, stood at the edge of her window, and peeked through the blinds into 7B.

Nothing.

Just darkness.

Then — a flicker.

The curtain moved.

For a second, just a second, she saw it: a pale hand slowly pulling the curtain aside.

And behind it — a face.

But not just any face.

It was hers.


The Doubts Begin

The next day, Hira visited the property manager. She asked who lived in apartment 7B.

He hesitated.

“That unit’s been empty for months,” he finally said. “Hasn’t been rented since last summer. Previous tenant vanished.”

She felt cold. “Vanished?”

He nodded, lowering his voice. “Police called it ‘inconclusive disappearance.’ No signs of forced entry. No family to report her. Just gone.”

Hira's legs felt weak.

She asked for a name.

The manager scanned his files.

“Odd,” he murmured. “There’s no name listed here. Just a single word.”

He turned the screen toward her.

Written under “Previous Tenant” was: Hira.


The Locked Door

That night, she couldn’t sleep. Something about 7B called to her. It was madness, she knew, but she needed to see it — needed to confirm with her own eyes that it was empty.

At 3:09 AM, barefoot and shaking, she walked down the hall.

The corridor was dead silent.

She stood in front of 7B.

The doorknob was old, rusted, but not locked.

She turned it slowly.

Click.

The door creaked open.

The apartment inside was dark, musty, and freezing cold.

Hira stepped in.

The air felt thick. Heavy. Like she had walked into a sealed vault.

She turned on her phone flashlight and scanned the room.

Furniture draped in white sheets. Dust. Spiderwebs.

But then she noticed something odd.

Photos.

Dozens of them, covering an entire wall.

Every single photo was of her.

At the grocery store.

Taking the trash out.

Sleeping.

Some were taken from angles inside her own apartment.

She dropped her phone.


The Sound from the Closet

As she bent to pick up her phone, a soft creeeeak echoed through the apartment.

Her light turned toward a tall closet door in the corner.

It was opening.

Slowly.

No wind. No movement. No draft.

Just the creak of wood.

Inside — darkness.

Then, she heard it.

A low, rasping whisper.

Hira…

She turned and ran.


The Stranger at the Grocery Store

The next morning, Hira tried to pretend it was a hallucination. Stress. Maybe sleepwalking. Maybe she imagined it all.

She walked to the nearby grocery store to clear her head.

At the counter, the cashier looked up, startled. “Back so soon?”

Hira blinked. “What?”

“You were just here. Ten minutes ago. You bought the same things. Same lipstick. Same notebook.”

Hira’s mouth went dry. “I’ve been at home all day.”

The cashier frowned. “No, I’m sure it was you. You even said your name — Hira.”


The Recording

Panicking, Hira went back to her apartment. She set up her phone to record herself sleeping — just to be sure.

That night, she tossed and turned, but managed to sleep.

The next morning, she watched the footage.

At exactly 2:34 AM, the screen shimmered — almost as if the air inside the room shifted.

The bedroom door opened.

She didn’t move.

A figure stepped in.

The screen flickered.

The figure walked up to the bed.

And then… bent over to whisper something into her ear.

Suddenly — Hira sat up in bed.

But her eyes were closed.

She got up.

Walked to the camera.

Looked directly into the lens.

And smiled.

Then everything went black.


To Be Continued...

Next in Part 3: "Voicemails from the Past"
Hira’s old number is calling her… but she no longer owns it.