Don’t Answer the Intercom

Story:

I moved into my new apartment building three weeks ago. The rent was low, the neighborhood was quiet, and the place had “character,” as the landlord said.

It also had something else: a broken intercom system.

Or so I thought.

The first time it buzzed was at 2:38 a.m.

BZZZT.

I woke up, heart pounding. I crept to the small monitor next to the door. Static. No face. No voice. I assumed it was a glitch. Old buildings do weird things.

But the next night, it buzzed again.

BZZZT. BZZZT.

This time I answered.

“Hello?”

No response.

Then, barely audible:

“Let me in.”

I froze.

“Who is this?”

No answer. Just soft breathing. Then: “You used to live here. Don’t you remember me?”

I hung up. Told myself someone was messing around. Maybe a neighbor The next day I asked the building manager.

“That line’s disconnected,” he said. “Nobody can call in through the intercom. It hasn't worked in years.”

I didn’t sleep that night.

BZZZT.

I ignored it.

BZZZT. BZZZT.

Finally, I unplugged the monitor. The buzzing stopped.

Until it didn’t.

The next night I heard the sound again—from inside my apartment.

It was coming from my kitchen.

I walked in. My microwave display flashed 2:38 a.m. And I heard her voice again, through the unplugged intercom panel now sitting on the kitchen counter.

“You can’t ignore me forever.”

I threw it out the next day. Left it in the alley behind the building.

But that night?

I got a call on my phone.

Unknown Caller.

I answered.

Static.

Then a whisper:

“You shouldn’t have left me outside.”

That was last week.

Now every night at 2:38 a.m., the buzzing starts again.

No intercom. No wires.

Just the sound—inside my head.

Thank you for reading!

shohel rana