The Voice in the Vent

This happened just a few months ago. And yeah, I still have nightmares.

My name’s Trevor. I live alone, in a small apartment on the top floor of a quiet building. Not the nicest place in the world, but it’s mine, and it was cheap.

Now I know why.

The First Night
The weird stuff started the first night I moved in.

I was unpacking when I heard something strange. Not loud—just soft, like someone whispering through a vent.

I paused.

It wasn’t the TV. I hadn’t set that up yet. It wasn’t coming from outside either.

The sound was coming from the wall vent near my bed.

I leaned closer.

And that’s when I heard it.

“Hello?”

Just one word. Quiet. Like a little kid’s voice. Friendly. But scared.

I froze.

“Uh… hello?” I whispered back, thinking maybe it was someone in the next apartment.

Silence.

Then, again:

“Can you help me?”

I Thought Someone Was Trapped
That night I couldn’t sleep.

What if a kid really was stuck in the walls? It sounds crazy, I know—but the voice had sounded real.

I talked to the landlord the next morning.

“Anyone live in the unit next to mine?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nope. Been empty for months. Why?”

“No reason,” I lied.

But that night, the voice came back.

“It’s dark in here.”
“I’m cold.”
“Can you let me out?”

I asked who they were. How they got in there.

No answer.

Then the voice said something that made my stomach drop:

“You’re the first one to answer.”

Talking Through the Vent
For the next few nights, I talked to it.

I know, I know—it sounds dumb. But it seemed lonely. Harmless. Like a little girl, maybe 6 or 7 years old.

She told me her name was Lena.

She said she’d been trapped for “a long time.”

I asked how she got stuck, but she wouldn’t say.

Sometimes she’d ask questions like:

“Do you have a mom?”
“What color are your eyes?”
“If you had to disappear, where would you hide?”

I thought it was just a scared kid trying to connect.

But then… things changed.

The Voice Changed
One night, around 2:30 a.m., I woke up to heavy breathing.

I sat up in bed, and the vent—just a few feet from my face—whispered:

“I’m not Lena.”

I froze.

The voice wasn’t soft anymore. It was lower, like it came from a throat that hadn’t been used in years.

Then it said something that made me get out of bed and leave the apartment immediately:

“She was the last one who answered. I wore her skin for a while.”

I Tried to Block It
I stayed at a friend’s place for a few days. When I came back, I covered the vent with duct tape and furniture.

For a while, it was quiet.

But then I started getting messages on my phone.

At 3:13 a.m., I got a text:

"You covered my mouth."

There was no number. Just “Unknown.”

I blocked it. Turned off my phone. Thought maybe I was just sleep-deprived.

But the next morning, when I opened my fridge, the message was written on the fogged-up inside of the door:

“Don’t ignore me.”

The Dreams
That week, I stopped sleeping.

Every time I closed my eyes, I’d see a long hallway—narrow, dark, with walls made of rusted metal vents.

At the end stood a figure, hunched and twitching.

Its face was made of vents and torn skin.

Its eyes were missing.

It would open its mouth and scream, but the sound was the same whisper I’d heard in my wall.

“Let me out.”

Breaking Point
One night, the fire alarm went off.

I ran to the hallway, thinking the building was on fire.

But everything was fine—except for my apartment.

The vent cover had been ripped off, screws scattered on the floor.

There were scratch marks along the wall, leading from the vent to the center of the room.

And in the middle of the room?

A note.

Written in my own handwriting.

“You said you’d help me.”

I Found Something in the Walls
That was it.

I broke open the wall.

I used a crowbar and flashlight, tearing into the vent system like a maniac. I expected dust, wires, maybe mice.

But what I found?

A tunnel, about the size of a small person, carved between the walls.

And deeper inside?

Children’s shoes. A torn pink backpack. Old toys. Teeth.

I don’t know how long it had been there. Years? Decades?

Whatever “Lena” was… it was not a child anymore.

The Final Night
I moved out that night.

Packed everything into my car and drove five hours without stopping.

But I couldn’t escape it.

Because that night, in the motel room, I heard it again.

From the vent above the bed.

“You let me out.”

The Voice in the Vent
Not everything trapped behind walls wants to be rescued.