The Room Number 313

When I first moved near the university, I was desperate to find a place I could actually afford. Prices were insane, but then I saw an ad that seemed almost too good to be true: “Small room for rent, cheap price, available immediately.”

The building was old, its walls cracked and ceilings yellowed from years of neglect. The landlord was an elderly man with hollow eyes and a crooked smile. He handed me the key without much talk, only muttering:

“Room 313… don’t knock after midnight.”

I laughed nervously. It sounded like a bad joke, the kind of thing a creepy landlord might say to spook tenants. But as I would learn soon enough, he wasn’t joking.

The First Night

I settled in quickly, unpacked what little I had, and by midnight I was scrolling through my phone, half-asleep. Then came the sound: soft tapping on the wall next to my bed. At first, I ignored it, convincing myself it was the pipes or maybe rats. But the tapping grew louder, sharper—until it became a whisper.

“Leave… before it’s too late.”

I froze. The voice was faint but unmistakable. It came from inside the wall itself.

The Second Night

When I woke up the next morning, I discovered something that hadn’t been there before: a door. An old, wooden door had appeared on the far side of the room. Its surface was dark, chipped, and at the center, carved deeply into the wood, were the numbers: 313.

I was certain I had never seen it before. I hadn’t been drunk, I hadn’t been hallucinating—I knew the room had been bare when I moved in. And yet, there it was.

That night, the door began to creak open by itself. I didn’t dare move closer, but I could swear I saw a pale hand slide out from the gap at the bottom, brushing across the floor.

The Third Night

I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed proof that I wasn’t losing my mind. So, I set up my phone, recording the door while I tried to sleep.

At midnight, the door opened once again. This time, something stepped out—a tall woman with long black hair that hung over her face, her limbs impossibly thin and jagged, her bare feet dragging as she moved.

I sat up, heart pounding, but when I looked at my phone’s screen, the recording showed nothing. The door was still closed in the video, while in front of my eyes it stood wide open, and she was getting closer.

I ran.

The Landlord’s Words

The next day, I confronted the landlord, demanding answers. He only shook his head slowly and said:

“I told you not to knock after midnight. But you didn’t ask what happens when the door opens on its own.”

The Room Today

I moved out the very next morning. I don’t care if people call me crazy. I don’t care if no one believes me.

But I saw her.

And yet, weeks later, when I was browsing online listings out of curiosity, I found the same ad again. The same room, the same price, still available.

Room 313.

Are you brave enough to rent it?