The Man in the Vents

Elliot first heard the noise his second night in the apartment.

A faint scraping sound, like nails dragging along metal. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, willing himself to ignore it. The building was old, the vents probably full of dust and rust.

But then—a whisper.

Not words. Just the breathy cadence of something trying to speak.

Elliot sat up, his skin prickling. His eyes flicked to the air vent near the ceiling.

It was too dark to see inside, but something about the gaping black grate sent a shiver down his spine.

He grabbed his phone, turned on the flashlight, and aimed it at the vent.

Nothing.

He exhaled shakily. Just my imagination.

Pulling the blanket over his head, he tried to sleep.

But as he drifted off, he swore he heard it again.

A voice. From inside the vent.

“I see you.”

The Next Night

Elliot came home late. He had almost forgotten about the noises—until he stepped into his apartment and felt it.

The air was wrong.

Heavy. Stale. Like someone had been sitting in his apartment, breathing the air, waiting for him.

He turned on every light. Checked the locks. Looked under the bed, in the closet. Everything was exactly how he left it.

But as he passed by the vent, he smelled it.

Something rotting.

Elliot gagged, covering his nose. He grabbed a chair and climbed up, peering into the vent with his flashlight.

Deep inside, something moved.

His breath caught. He leaned closer—

Two fingers curled around the metal slats.

Long. Pale. Human.

Elliot fell off the chair.

He scrambled backward, staring up in horror.

The fingers slid away, disappearing into the blackness.

Silence.

Then—

The vent cover shifted.

Just slightly.

Like something on the other side was adjusting to get a better look at him.

He ran.

The Final Night

Elliot didn’t sleep. He sat in his living room, phone clutched in his hand, debating whether to call the police.

What would I even say? That a man was hiding in his vents? That something not quite human was watching him at night?

The apartment was silent. No scraping. No whispers.

And then—

The vent cover popped off.

A loud clang echoed through the apartment.

Elliot’s stomach turned to ice.

His phone slipped from his fingers as he turned, heart pounding.

From the exposed vent, something crawled out.

Not fast. Not sudden. Deliberate.

A pair of pale, emaciated hands gripped the edges, pulling a gaunt, grinning face into the dim light.

Its eyes were too wide. Its mouth stretched too far.

It didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

Just smiled.

Then, in a voice that wasn’t quite right, it whispered—

“You left your window unlocked.”