The Silent Visitor

It had been a long day for Sarah. After moving into her new apartment on the top floor of an old building, she felt both excited and a little overwhelmed by the silence that now enveloped her. The city was bustling outside, but inside, it was still. Too still. She hadn’t seen or heard from anyone since her arrival earlier in the day. The landlord had handed her the keys, mentioned a few rules, and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway.

The apartment itself was charming but dated, with creaking wooden floors and the faint smell of dust that came with age. Sarah set down her suitcase and immediately began to unpack, trying to make herself feel at home. But the oppressive quiet seemed to seep into her bones, unsettling her in ways she couldn’t explain.

As night fell, the cold began to settle in. The apartment felt oddly empty, despite the boxes she still had to sort through. She made a quick dinner and sat at the small dining table, glancing around the room. The apartment was quiet—so quiet, in fact, that she could hear the rhythmic sound of her own heartbeat, a constant reminder that she was alone.

Or so she thought.

Around midnight, just as she was about to go to bed, she heard it. A soft, slow knock on the door.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Sarah froze, her spoon halfway to her mouth. Her eyes darted toward the door. Who could that be at this hour? The landlord had already left, and she hadn’t seen anyone in the building.

Another knock. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Her pulse quickened, and she stood up, her feet moving on their own accord toward the door. It felt wrong. It felt unnatural. She swallowed hard, her breath shallow as she reached for the doorknob.

“Who is it?” she called, trying to keep her voice steady.

No answer. Just the faint sound of something shifting on the other side.

Taking a deep breath, Sarah slowly opened the door.

The hallway was empty.

The lights in the corridor flickered slightly, casting long shadows across the floor. No one was there. Sarah’s heart hammered in her chest, and she quickly stepped back into her apartment, closing the door with a soft click. She leaned against the door, trying to convince herself it was just her imagination. Maybe a neighbor, or the wind, she thought. Maybe.

But then she heard it again.

This time, the knock was louder, more insistent. Tap. Tap. Tap. It echoed through the apartment, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

“No,” Sarah whispered to herself. “This isn’t happening.”

She walked cautiously toward the door again, but when she reached for the knob, a strange feeling washed over her. It wasn’t just fear anymore—it was something deeper, something primal. A cold, tingling sensation crept up her spine, and she suddenly felt very, very watched.

The door to her apartment creaked open slightly, even though she hadn’t touched it.

A gust of wind swept through the small space, sending her hair flying around her face. The temperature dropped in an instant, and Sarah shivered uncontrollably. She stepped back, her hands trembling, and felt her breath catch in her throat.

Then came the voice.

A low whisper, as if someone were speaking just behind her ear.

“Let me in.”

The words were soft, cold, and full of an emptiness that made her skin crawl.

She spun around, expecting to see someone standing there, but the apartment remained empty, the air thick with an eerie stillness.

“Let me in,” the voice repeated, clearer now. And it was no longer just behind her. It was all around her, filling the room.

“Who are you?” Sarah managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

The response was immediate.

“You know who I am.”

Her heart stopped. The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She had never heard it in person—at least, not until tonight. It sounded like something she should have recognized. Something from her past.

And then it hit her.

The voice was the same as her mother’s.

Her mother, who had died ten years ago.

Tears sprang to Sarah’s eyes, and she backed away from the door, her legs weak beneath her. She didn’t know what was happening, but she could feel the presence in the apartment, the weight of it pressing down on her chest.

The voice came again, but this time it wasn’t a whisper.

“Let me in, Sarah. I’ve been waiting.”

Before she could react, the door to the apartment flew open with a deafening crash. The wind picked up again, howling through the room as the lights flickered violently. In the doorway stood a figure—a shadowy shape, its features hidden in the darkness.

“Mom?” Sarah gasped, her voice trembling. The figure seemed to grow taller, its presence engulfing the room.

The shadow moved toward her, its steps heavy and deliberate. “You left me,” it whispered, its voice now a guttural rasp. “You left me all alone.”

Sarah could barely breathe. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. The shadow reached out, its long, bony fingers grazing her cheek. Cold. So cold. Like death itself.

Suddenly, everything stopped.

The figure was gone.

The wind ceased. The lights returned to their normal flicker. The apartment was still.

And the voice? It was silent.

But Sarah knew, deep down, that the visitor had not left. The door slammed shut, and she heard the whisper one last time.

“I’ll be back.”

And this time, she wasn’t sure if she could ever leave.