Every Night at 10 PM, the Footsteps Above Me Get Closer…

Every night at ten o'clock, Jonathan would turn off the TV on time, turn off all the lights, and lie quietly in bed. He lived on the top floor of an old apartment, the sixth floor, with no elevator. The house was left by his grandmother, old but quiet, and he always cherished this loneliness that belonged to him.

But a week ago, footsteps came from the ceiling, slow and heavy, as if someone was pacing inch by inch above his head.

His first reaction was that he had heard it wrong, but the sound rang at the same time every day and never stopped.

"There is no one upstairs." Landlord Adele told him clearly, "There are only six floors in this building, and you are on the top floor. Above is the roof, which is locked."

That night, Jonathan sat on the bed, holding his mobile phone in his hand. The footsteps came as expected, even closer, as if a layer of paper was pressing against his scalp. He turned on the recording on his mobile phone and held his breath.

"Click-click-click-"

The sound was clearly audible in the recording.

But the next morning, there was only a blank in the recording on the phone, no footsteps, no noise, even his own breathing disappeared.

He began to feel anxious and didn't want to be alone anymore. The silence at night became more threatening, and every sound was like someone was spying on his vulnerability.

On Friday night, he mustered up the courage to go upstairs. He brought a flashlight and a screwdriver, intending to pry open the lock on the roof. The wind whistled down from the stairs, the stairs were dark, and the light flickered.

The door was locked, but there was a rusty key in the lock. It seemed that someone had just used it and didn't have time to pull it out.

He pushed the door open, and the roof was empty. There was only a chair in the middle, facing the city lights, standing alone. Under the chair, there was a small round box, as if it was left for someone.

Jonathan walked up and opened the box. Inside was a tape and a note:

"Please close your eyes when listening."

He went back into the house and inserted the tape into the old-fashioned cassette player. The tape creaked and played a voice - low, gentle, but familiar.

"You are finally here."

He turned his head sharply, and the room was still empty. The recording continued:

"What you heard was not the sound of my walking, but every step I struggled when I was trapped upstairs. You walked into the echo I left behind, and I was finally able to... walk into you."

Snap.

The power suddenly tripped. The whole room fell into darkness.

Upstairs, footsteps were heard again.

But this time, it was not a person.

If you hear a voice that does not belong to you, don't rush to find out the truth.

Some answers are not worth knowing.

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