The Last Call from Apartment 7B

I wasn’t even supposed to be home that night.

The plan was simple: grab dinner with friends, catch a movie, maybe crash at Maya’s place like I usually did on Thursdays. But around noon, something in my gut told me to cancel. I don’t know why. It wasn’t a bad feeling exactly—just… off.

Looking back now, I wish I had ignored it.

It was just after 9:30 p.m. I was curled up on the couch, half-watching the TV, half-lost in old text messages, when a faint ringing cut through the quiet. Not my phone—it had a deeper tone. I paused and listened. It was coming from somewhere in the hallway. More precisely… right behind the door of apartment 7B.

I live in 7C. I have only seen the boy in 7B who is once or twice after going inside. He is older than me-maybe the middle-chori, tall, always wears those thick glasses. Keeps itself. We have exchanged some nodes in the lift, but never had a real conversation. I did not even know his name.

But now, his phone was ringing - and it did not stop.

I was standing with my door, listening. Ten rings. fifteen. still no answer.

I don't know what I to do, but I stepped into the hallway and went to his door. I knocked out- before, then a little loud. No answer.

Then the phone became silent.

When I went back to my apartment, I froze.

There was a soft sound there, as someone was crying. I pressed my ear against the door. silence. Then suddenly, a voice. Muffled but clear: "Please ... someone helps."

My stomach fell.

I knocked again, this time hard. "Hello? Are you fine?" no response.

I went back, the heart became fast, and called 911.

Two officers showed about fifteen minutes later. I explained everything. He knocked on the door. Nothing. Radio was done for permission to enter one of them. A few minutes later, they unlocked it and stepped inside.

I was not ready for what I was not getting.

The apartment was completely empty.

No furniture, no pictures, no curtains. Just a thick layer of dust and fainting odor of rust - or perhaps something worse.

In the corner, a broken landline phone lay on the floor, as if someone had thrown it.

The officer turned to me. "Are you sure you have heard someone?"

I nodded my head, still shaking. "Yes. A woman. She said help me."

He looked unrelated. "The man who lived here went out about three weeks ago. No contact information left. Nothing."

It should be a strange story to tell in parties someday.

But later that night, around 2 o'clock, my phone resonated. unknown number.

I hesitated ... then replied.

The voice at the other end was a whisper - fear, scared.

"He is back," he said. "Do not trust them. Do not inside them."

Then he was hanging.

I sat on the bed, staring on the phone, the heart race. Whom did she talk about? What was the point of that?

The next day, I told Maya everything. He tried to be rational - it was probably a mischief, or someone was trying to scare me. But something about the voice ... it did not feel fake. It felt real.

That night, I stopped late, watching the hallway through my peepol.

At exactly 3:17 pm, the 7B door slowly closed.

I did not hear it open.

I ran to the hallway. The door was closed, as before. But this time, something was tapped on it.

A picture.

It looked old - screaming at the edges. In the picture, a woman was sitting on a couch that looked like the same apartment. His face froze in fear. Behind him, a man stood almost a combination in the shadow. His face was partially hidden, but thick glasses removed her.

This was that.

I did not tell anyone about the photo. It is hidden in my drawer.

But sometimes, late night, I wonder ... what if the phone call was not for help?

What if it was a warning?

And even worse - whatever was in that apartment ...

… Never left?