The Light in Room 6B

Mara liked the quiet of the old brick apartment building. The rent was reasonable, the walls were thick enough to muffle the occasional late-night arguments, and the courtyard held the faint perfume of lilacs in spring. She’d lived here for twelve years, and in that time she’d memorized the rhythms of the place — who came home late, who forgot their keys, which windows stayed dark.

Except for Room 6B.

From the night she moved in, she’d noticed it: a faint golden light glowing through the curtain, only at night, only after midnight. It wasn’t the cool, steady beam of a lamp. No — it wavered, flickered, like candlelight or an oil lamp. It gave the impression of something old, something from before the building’s electricity had been wired.

She never saw anyone enter or leave. No footsteps in the hallway outside her door. No deliveries. No mail in the box. And yet, without fail, the light in Room 6B appeared at exactly 12:01 a.m., spilling across the courtyard, brushing faint gold against her bedroom wall, and vanishing just before dawn.

One rainy Thursday evening, curiosity got the better of her. She found Mr. Doyle, the building’s super, in the basement fiddling with the boiler.

“Mr. Doyle,” she said casually, “who lives in 6B?”

The wrench in his hand stopped turning. “Nobody lives in 6B.”

“That’s not true,” she pressed. “I’ve seen the light on at night.”

He wiped his hands on a rag, avoiding her eyes. “That apartment’s been empty for years. Since the fire.”

“What fire?”

Mr. Doyle sighed. “It was back before you moved in. Electrical fault, they said. A young woman died in there. Since then… well, some tenants say they’ve seen things. Heard knocking. Smelled smoke.” His tone shifted, low and warning. “Best keep your nose out of it.”

That night, Mara tried to ignore the glow. But the more she tried to sleep, the more it seemed to brighten. At 1:47 a.m., she gave in, padded barefoot down the hallway, and stood before the door to 6B.

The hallway was silent, save for the low hum of the building’s heating system. The light seeped out from beneath the door, spilling onto the floor like liquid gold. The doorknob was warm under her fingers, though she hadn’t touched it for more than a second.

A faint scent reached her nose — smoke. Not the acrid stench of fresh fire, but the faded, lingering smell of burned wood, as though the walls themselves remembered.

She knocked once.

The light blinked out.

Her breath caught. The hallway felt colder now. She took a step back, ready to flee, when the door creaked open.

Standing there was a young woman in a soot-stained dress. Her hair hung limp and damp, her skin as pale as porcelain, and her eyes were wide, unblinking.

“You’re the only one who leaves the light on,” the woman whispered.

Mara swallowed. “I—what do you mean?”

The woman’s gaze darted over Mara’s shoulder toward the end of the hallway, where shadows seemed to pool unnaturally thick.

“I can’t find my way home.”

Before Mara could answer, the temperature dropped another degree. Her own apartment lamp — the one she’d left on for comfort — flickered in the distance. Then it went out.

The woman in the doorway stepped forward. Her bare feet made no sound on the hallway carpet. The shadows at the far end of the hall seemed to shiver, curling inward like smoke toward a flame.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the woman said softly. “They’ll notice you.”

“Who will—” Mara began, but the words froze on her lips. The shadows at the end of the hall had taken shape. Tall. Human-shaped. Dozens of them. They didn’t walk so much as glide, the darkness beneath them writhing like black water.

“Go,” the woman urged. “Leave the light on. Always leave the light on.”

Her figure shimmered, like heat above asphalt, then vanished into the air. The door to 6B slammed shut, the sound echoing down the hallway.

Mara backed away, heart pounding. She ran to her apartment, fumbling with the lock until the door clicked open. She flicked on every light she had — the overheads, the desk lamp, even the string of Christmas lights she kept in a drawer.

In the glare, she could still smell the faint scent of smoke.

The light in Room 6B never appeared again.

But Mara never turned off her own. Not at night. Not ever.