The Stranger in Apartment 4B

Story:

When I first moved into this apartment building, people warned me about the fourth floor.

Old tenants whispered about "weird noises" from apartment 4B. But I didn’t care. It was cheap, and the landlord didn’t ask questions.

The building had a musty smell, and the elevator was always broken. But my apartment was decent. Quiet. Too quiet, actually.

I first noticed her two weeks after moving in.

A soft knock. Then another. Always two knocks.

I opened the door to find a woman standing there—long brown hair, pale face, wrapped in a cardigan far too thin for the weather. She smiled politely.

“Hi. I just moved into 4B. Thought I’d say hello.”

I returned the smile. “Oh. I didn’t know someone moved in.”

“Yeah, I keep to myself. I’m Olivia.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

She nodded and left. No small talk. Just walked away.

Over the next few days, I’d hear the same two knocks. Sometimes at 10 p.m., sometimes after midnight.

Always her.

She’d bring small things—leftover cookies, a candle, once even a scarf. I didn’t need any of it, but it felt rude to refuse.

Then things got weird.

One night, I heard the knocks again. But when I opened the door, she wasn’t there. Just a note on the floor.

“You should really lock your door at night.”

I started locking the deadbolt. Then triple-checking it.

A few days later, I ran into the building manager. I mentioned Olivia.

“Who?”

“The girl in 4B. She’s…quiet, kinda creepy.”

He stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “No one lives in 4B. That apartment’s been sealed for months.”

I felt my blood turn cold.

“But she said—”

“Trust me. No one’s there. You must’ve misunderstood.”

I didn’t sleep that night. Or the one after.

I tried to brush it off. Maybe I mixed up the unit number.

Then last night, at 2:13 a.m., the knock came again.

Two knocks.

I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.

Then I heard it:

The sound of my front door unlocking.

Only I had the key. I had changed the lock.

I grabbed the baseball bat from under my bed and crept to the hallway.

The door was wide open.

Olivia was standing in my living room.

Her face was different—blank, expressionless. Like a doll someone forgot to finish painting.

“You didn’t eat the cookies,” she said.

I raised the bat. “Get out.”

She smiled.

“I lived here before you. And before the one before you. And before the one before them. I always come back.”

She stepped forward. I swung the bat. She vanished.

Not disappeared. Vanished. Like she had never been there.

I checked the hallway. Empty.

I haven’t left my apartment since.

No one believes me.

But I still hear the two knocks.

And now, she doesn’t wait for me to open the door anymore.

Thank you for reading!

shohel rana