The Last Tenant

A Place I Could Afford
I wasn't supposed to live there.
Not in that part of town. Not in that building.
But you know how life is—losing a job, breaking up, sleeping on couches. When you’re tired enough, you’ll live anywhere that offers a key and four walls.

The building was called Bellview Heights, though there was nothing high or beautiful about it. It stood like a forgotten concrete block at the edge of the city—gray, silent, and weathered by time. The apartment manager, an older man named Mr. Heller, gave me a warm smile but cold eyes.

“It’s quiet,” he said. “People like quiet, right?”

I nodded. The rent was shockingly low. A one-bedroom, furnished, no deposit, no references. I didn’t question it. I should have.

He handed me the keys with a grip a little too tight and said, “Apartment 6B. You’ll be the only one on that floor.”

The First Night
The place wasn’t bad. The furniture was basic, clean enough. The windows faced a dead tree and a rusted fence. Still, it felt like something had happened there—not visible, but present, like a smell you can’t name but know isn’t right.

That night, I heard it for the first time.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

It came from beneath the floor. Slow, deliberate. Not rats. Not pipes. Something… methodical. Like fingernails.

I tried to ignore it. Pulled the blanket tighter. Told myself it was nothing.

Then came the whisper.

Faint. Right by my ear.

“You're not the first.”

The Locked Door
The next day, I asked Heller about the noise.

“You're on the top floor,” he said too quickly. “No one above or below. Probably just the building settling.”

When I pressed him, he changed the subject.

Back in 6B, I noticed something strange. A door in the hallway closet—small, metal, bolted shut. I hadn’t seen it the day before.

It wasn’t a utility hatch. It was just… a door. Barely two feet high. With a single latch and something smeared near the base—looked like dried paint. Or rust.

I didn’t open it.
That night, the whispers came again.

“Don’t trust the floor.”
“They live underneath.”
“They’re listening.”

Neighbors Who Never Blink
I met a neighbor on the third day—an old woman in 4A. She wore a blue dress and stared at me without blinking.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” she said.

“Why?”

“They don’t like new ones.”

“Who?”

She leaned closer. Her breath smelled like soil.

“The tenants beneath.”

She closed the door before I could say anything else.

I checked the building directory in the lobby.

There were no tenants listed on 5th or 7th.
No 6th floor at all.

And yet, there I was. Living in 6B.

Down Below

That night, I dreamed of the closet door opening.

Inside was a staircase. It twisted downward into black. I heard breathing—not mine. Not human.

When I woke up, the scratching was louder. Closer.

I got out of bed.

The closet door was open.

And the little metal hatch? Unbolted.

A breeze, cold and dry, drifted from the darkness inside.

Something whispered my name.

What's Under the Floor

I bought salt. I don’t know why. Something from an old story my grandmother told me.

I poured a thick line around the hatch.

That night, the scratching stopped. But now, it came from the walls.

Voices began whispering all night long.

“Let us out.”
“We were like you.”
“He fed us to them.”

The last one stuck with me.

He? Who?

Mr. Heller’s Truth
I confronted Heller.

“What happened to the last tenant of 6B?”

His face darkened. “That floor doesn’t exist.”

“I live there.”

“You shouldn’t.”

He handed me a crumpled photo. Five people. Smiling in front of the building. One had her eyes scratched out.

“They all lived in 6B,” he said. “None of them left through the front door.”

He told me about the space beneath the building. Old construction tunnels. Rooms sealed off. Whispering vents that engineers refused to go near.

“They hear thoughts,” he said. “And when the apartment’s empty too long… they get hungry.”

Gone Too Deep
I tried to leave.

My car wouldn’t start.

My phone screen turned black. No signal. No GPS. Just one notification:

“STAY.”

When I returned to the apartment, I found the salt line broken.

The hatch was open.

Stairs led down into a place that wasn’t on any blueprint.

I don’t know why I went in. Maybe I was curious. Maybe the voices were right—they get into your head. Either way, I descended.

The stairs twisted like they were built by something that didn’t understand human geometry.

The air got heavier. And the whispering… clearer.

Beneath
The room at the bottom was lit by a single red bulb. The walls were lined with mirrors—but none of them showed my reflection.

Instead, I saw the other tenants. All of them. Pale. Watching. Mouths moving silently.

One stepped forward.

She wore the same clothes I had seen in the photo. Eyes gone.

“He fed us. You’re next.”

I ran.

The stairs didn’t end.

I kept climbing for what felt like hours.

When I reached the top… I was back in 6B.

Only… different.

You’ll Understand Soon
Everything’s clean now. Too clean.

The apartment is brighter. Whispers gone. No more scratching.

But when I look in the mirror, my reflection lags.

My eyes move too slow. My smile comes too late.

And the apartment?

Still listed. Still cheap. Always available.

Mr. Heller gave me a new job. He said, “It’s your turn to take care of 6B.”

So I wait.

For the next tenant.

And when they move in, I’ll tell them…

“It’s quiet here. People like quiet, right?”

The Last Tenant
Some apartments aren’t haunted—they’re hungry.