“The Apartment Across the Street”

“The Apartment Across the Street”

The Apartment Across the Street Every night, the light in the empty apartment flickers on at exactly 2:13 a.m.—and one woman is desperate to find out why. --- Emily wasn’t the type to notice small details. Most days, she was too busy balancing late-night deadlines and lukewarm coffee to pay attention to the world outside her window. But ever since she moved into her downtown apartment, one thing kept tugging at her attention—the building across the street. More specifically: Apartment 6B. During the day, it looked ordinary. A single window with dusty blinds. No plants, no curtains, no movement. The kind of apartment you’d assume was vacant. But at night—always at night—something strange happened. At exactly 2:13 a.m., the light inside 6B flickered on. Not before. Not after. Always 2:13. At first, Emily brushed it off. Maybe an insomniac neighbor, maybe a timer switch. But she soon realized the pattern was too perfect. The light would stay on for seven minutes—never a second longer—before flicking off again. No shadows. No movement. Just light. The more Emily noticed, the less she could sleep. She started staying up late, her eyes glued to the window. And every time, like clockwork, 2:13 arrived. The bulb glowed. The minutes ticked by. Then darkness. She began asking around casually. The barista downstairs, her mailman, even the security guard who worked nights in the lobby. Every time she mentioned 6B, she got the same blank look. “No one lives there,” the guard finally told her. “Place has been empty for years.” Emily felt a shiver crawl down her spine. --- A week later, curiosity got the better of her. She crossed the street and slipped into the other building, heart hammering in her chest. The hallway to 6B smelled faintly of dust and something metallic. She hesitated before the door, pressing her ear against it. Silence. Her rational side screamed at her to turn back. But her hand twisted the knob before her brain could stop her. To her surprise, the door creaked open. Inside, the apartment was bare. No furniture, no rugs, just wooden floors and peeling wallpaper. A faint draft whistled through the cracked window. And then she saw it—the single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. It was off. But Emily’s watch read 2:11 a.m. Her pulse quickened. Two minutes. She stood frozen in the middle of the empty room, staring at the bulb. 2:12. The air seemed to thicken around her. 2:13. The bulb flared to life. Emily gasped, stumbling back. The room glowed pale yellow, but the switch on the wall remained down. She spun around, searching for some hidden device, some trick. That was when she heard it. A faint hum, low and steady, like a voice just beyond hearing. She pressed her hands over her ears, but the sound seeped through her bones. The bulb flickered, shadows stretching unnaturally across the walls. Then, just as quickly as it started, the hum stopped. 2:20. The bulb went dark. Emily stood trembling in the silence, her breath fogging in the air. She bolted, slamming the door behind her, not daring to look