The Woman in Apartment 313

When I moved into the Pinehurst Apartments, I expected paper-thin walls, late-night stomping from upstairs neighbors, and the occasional loud argument.

What I didn’t expect was Apartment 313.

The place was supposed to be empty. Every time I walked by, the door was sealed with a peeling 'Under Maintenance' sign. But on my second night, I heard her.

A soft, humming lullaby drifted from the crack beneath the door. It was a melody I couldn’t place—slow, haunting, hypnotic.

Curious, I leaned closer.

A woman’s voice whispered, “He’s watching you.”

I stumbled back, heart thundering.

I told myself it was a prank. Some bored tenant is messing with the new girl.

But every night, the lullaby returned.

And every night, the voice grew bolder.

"He’s watching you."

"He’s behind you."

Sometimes, I’d hear sobbing.

Sometimes... scratching.

I complained to the manager. She rolled her eyes, telling me, “There’s nobody in 313. The apartment’s been vacant since the last tenant—uh, never mind.”

That “never mind” stuck with me.

So, I started recording the sounds.

Night after night, I placed my phone by the door, capturing hours of humming, whispering, and crying.

Except… when I played them back, the recordings were silent.

Nothing.

Just static.

One night, I gathered the courage to knock.

The humming stopped immediately.

The door creaked open an inch, though I swear I didn’t touch it.

Inside... darkness.

Then, a pale hand shot through the crack, slamming the door shut with a force that shook the hallway.

I screamed.

The police came.

They checked the apartment.

Empty.

No signs of anyone living there. Dust on the floor. No furniture. Nothing.

The manager suggested I "get some rest."

But the humming continued.

It followed me, even when I stayed at a hotel.

I tried to ignore it.

Until last night.

When I found a note slipped under my apartment door, written in delicate, shaking handwriting:

"Stop pretending you can’t see me. You moved into my building. Now I’m moving into yours."

I turned.

And there she was.

Not in the mirror.

Not in my dreams.

In the corner of my living room.

Smiling.

Waiting.

And the worst part?

I think she’s been here the whole time.