The Sound Beneath the Tiles

I don't know exactly when it started. Maybe a month ago. Maybe earlier, but I just didn't pay attention. In old buildings, something is always creaking, cracking, echoing. When you're alone, you learn to ignore those sounds. Or at least, you pretend to know what causes them.

But this wasn't the same.

The first time I heard it, I was brushing my teeth. A faint, almost imperceptible sound. Like someone walking in slippers on laminate flooring, somewhere beneath me. My bathroom is at the end of the apartment, just above the basement. Neighbors below? None. That apartment has been empty since last summer. They even took the name off the mailbox.

I figured maybe someone went into the basement, and the noise was traveling through the pipes. Makes sense, right? But when I checked the next day, the basement door was locked. Thick chain. Two padlocks. And still, that night... the same sound again.

After that, I started hearing it more often. It wasn’t just footsteps anymore. There was whispering. Like someone talking—very quietly, sometimes with pauses. Once, I clearly heard a sneeze. A regular human sneeze—but from inside the pipes. Or under the tiles. Or somewhere nothing should be.

I didn’t want to panic. I began recording sounds with my phone, leaving it in the bathroom overnight. I reviewed hours of audio. Mostly nothing. But here and there—a scrape. Quick. Like someone dragging a fingernail across ceramic.

Then came the recording that broke me.

It was a quiet Wednesday night. I left my phone on the floor, recording while I slept. The next morning... breathing. Deep, heavy breathing. Like someone lying right next to the microphone. And then—my voice.

"Who are you?"

But I never said that. Never. I was in bed. I didn’t get up. And I don’t talk in my sleep—at least not that I know of. It was my voice, but... it wasn’t me. Not consciously.

I started turning off the lights earlier. I took shorter showers. Every time I stood barefoot on the tiles, I felt like something was listening from below. I don’t look in the mirror while brushing my teeth anymore. I no longer open the bathroom window. I spend more and more time in the living room. I sleep on the couch.

I haven’t told my friends. Who would believe me? "Hey, I think someone’s breathing through my drain"—yeah, great conversation starter.

But the worst part came recently.

A few days ago, when I decided to end it all, I turned off the lights, locked the door, and sat on the bathroom floor. Phone in hand, I recorded one last time. Just ten minutes. No sounds. No speaking. Just silence.

When I listened to the recording, my heart stopped.

First five minutes—nothing. Then a faint hum. Breathing. And then, a voice. My voice.

"You know you’re not alone."

I didn’t say that. I didn’t. And I no longer know if this is real or a dream, delusion or exhaustion. I've spent too many nights awake, listening. Sometimes I think I don't even sleep anymore.

And now... now I’m writing this.

Because maybe, maybe this is all just the result of too much silence. Maybe I made it all up. Maybe I’m just writing a story for some site where people read these things and I earn a few clicks. Maybe I won’t even remember this tomorrow.

Maybe.

But if you ever hear someone whispering in your bathroom...

...don’t turn around right away.

Sometimes, it’s better not to know who whispers back.

P.S. If you think this is all made up...

Interesting that right now, as you read this, you can hear something. Something you've heard before but ignored. Maybe a soft hum. Maybe the echo of footsteps, far in the background. Maybe you thought it was the neighbor. Or the wind. Or the old fridge.

Just... are you sure you were alone when you started reading?

Because someone’s been quiet for a long time. And listening to how you read aloud—though you think you’re silent.

Don’t turn around. Not yet.