The Silent Visitor
September 16, 2024
Emma had lived alone in her small, one-bedroom apartment for nearly three years. It was cozy, quiet, and perfect for someone who enjoyed solitude. But the nights had become strange lately. It started with subtle things—objects moving from where she had left them, lights flickering, and a faint sense of being watched.
At first, she blamed it on stress. “I’m working too much,” she muttered one evening after finding her keys on the kitchen counter instead of the table where she had definitely left them.
But the feeling of being watched never went away.
One evening, as she was brushing her teeth, she caught a glimpse of movement in the bathroom mirror—a shadow, just behind her, slipping out of sight. Her heart raced as she spun around, but the bathroom was empty. She shook it off, convincing herself it was just her mind playing tricks.
That night, as she lay in bed, Emma heard something. It was faint, almost imperceptible—a soft rustling sound, like someone shifting their weight. She held her breath and listened, but there was nothing.
“Just the building settling,” she whispered to herself. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to relax, but the sound came again. Louder this time.
She sat up, her pulse quickening.
“Hello?” she called out, half expecting no answer. But there was no reply—just silence. She lay back down, pulling the covers up to her chin.
Hours passed, and the apartment remained quiet. She drifted into an uneasy sleep, until—
Click.
The sound of her bedroom door opening jolted her awake. Her heart pounded in her chest. Slowly, she turned her head toward the door. It was ajar, just a crack, though she always closed it at night.
Her breath caught in her throat as she stared into the darkness beyond the doorway, trying to make sense of what had happened. She listened, straining to hear any movement in the stillness of her apartment.
“Is someone there?” she whispered, barely able to get the words out. There was no response. The silence pressed in around her, heavy and suffocating.
Summoning her courage, Emma slid out of bed and crept toward the door, her bare feet cold against the wooden floor. She nudged the door open slowly, peering out into the hallway. Nothing. The apartment was just as she had left it.
But something felt wrong. The air was colder, and the faint smell of damp earth filled the room. She shivered, goosebumps prickling her skin.
Then she noticed it.
At the end of the hallway, near the front door, stood a figure. Motionless. It was barely visible in the dark, just a shadow—a silhouette. Emma’s breath hitched as she stared at it, frozen.
“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice trembling.
The figure didn’t move. It stood perfectly still, as though waiting.
Emma stepped backward, her legs shaking, eyes never leaving the figure. “Leave,” she whispered, fear constricting her throat. “Get out.”
And then, it moved. Not toward her, but backward, retreating into the shadowy corner by the door. Slowly, silently, it faded from view, swallowed by the darkness until it disappeared entirely.
The apartment was still again.
Emma stood there, heart racing, the silence echoing in her ears. But as she turned to close her bedroom door, she heard a whisper, so close it felt like it was right behind her:
“I never left.”