Voices From Apartment 6B

Voices From Apartment 6B

The old brick building on East 14th had stood quiet for decades, a relic surrounded by newer glass towers. Tenants came and went, but one apartment remained stubbornly empty: 6B. Rumors said no one had lived there for years — since the night the last tenant vanished without a trace.

The whispers started softly.

At first, it was a faint murmur, like the breeze rustling through cracked windows. Then, tenants in apartments next to 6B began hearing voices—soft, unintelligible, but unmistakably human. At midnight, the walls would hum with hushed conversations, sighs, sometimes a muffled cry.

Emily lived in 6A, the apartment right beside the cursed unit. At first, she told herself it was just the building settling, old pipes rattling. But the nights grew restless.

One evening, as she read in bed, the whispers rose, clearer now. Words tangled in a language she couldn’t place, urgent and pleading. The voices twisted through the vents and walls, wrapping her like a cold fog.

She pressed her ear against the shared wall. Her heart hammered as she heard a desperate, female voice whisper, “Help me…”

Emily pulled back, shaking. She told the landlord, but he only shrugged. “6B’s been empty for years. Nothing there but dust.”

But Emily wasn’t convinced.

Over the following weeks, other tenants spoke of the voices. Mr. Jacobs in 7B heard laughter—soft, cruel, and echoing late into the night. The Peterson family in 5C heard a child’s sobbing that stopped the moment they opened their door.

No one dared approach 6B. The door was locked tight, paint peeling and rusted hinges creaking. No one had a key, and nobody wanted one.

Emily, drawn by fear and curiosity, began to investigate.

One rainy night, she knocked on the door of 6B. No answer. The whispering grew louder, almost like a chorus now—fragments of words, chilling and mournful.

Suddenly, the door’s old knob turned slowly.

Emily stumbled back.

A man she’d never seen before stood there, pale and thin, with hollow eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.

“I hear the voices,” Emily whispered.

He nodded. “We all do.”

He introduced himself as Thomas—the last tenant of 6B. His story spilled out like spilled ink: years ago, he’d lived there with his wife and daughter. One night, his daughter disappeared without a trace. After that, the whispers began. The police found no clues. Thomas moved away, but the voices followed him in his dreams.

“I came back to find answers,” he said.

Emily’s skin crawled as the whispering swelled around them, now urgent, demanding.

They decided to enter 6B together.

Inside, the apartment was frozen in time: dusty furniture, cracked photographs, a child’s toy left on the floor. The air was thick, stale with memories.

As they moved deeper, the voices coalesced into clear words: “Find me… Please… Don’t forget…”

Emily’s heart pounded. She noticed a trapdoor beneath a faded rug. They pried it open to reveal a narrow staircase spiraling down into darkness.

The whispers beckoned.

With only their phones’ flashlight, they descended.

The basement was cramped, cold, and damp. The walls pulsed faintly with whispers.

At the bottom, a small room: a dusty crib, a worn teddy bear, and scratches on the walls—letters scratched frantically.

Emily read aloud:

“Help… trapped… please…”

Suddenly, the temperature dropped. The crib rocked gently. A faint figure of a small girl appeared—translucent, with sorrowful eyes.

“Find me,” she whispered.

Thomas’s eyes filled with tears. “She’s been trapped here… since that night.”

Emily reached out. The figure dissolved like mist.

The voices crescendoed into a wail, then faded into silence.

The next morning, the landlord found the door to 6B wide open.

Emily and Thomas were gone.

Only the teddy bear remained, resting in the crib.

Weeks later, tenants reported the whispers ceased. The building felt lighter, less oppressive.

But sometimes, when the wind blew just right, neighbors near 6B swear they hear soft laughter—innocent, fleeting—and the sound of tiny footsteps fading away.