The Voice in Apartment 3B
August 15, 2025
Elliot moved into the building because it was cheap, not because it was nice.
The hallway smelled faintly of mildew, and the elevator had been “under repair” since 2006.
His new place—3A—was across from 3B, which had a dented door and no name on the mailbox.
Mrs. Alvarez, the super, gave him one piece of advice when she handed over his keys:
“If you hear someone in 3B talking to you at night, don’t answer.”
For the first week, nothing happened.
Then, one night around 1 a.m., Elliot woke to faint tapping.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
It was coming from across the hall.
He tried to ignore it, but then came a voice.
Low. Smooth. Right through the wood.
“Hey. You’re new here.”
Elliot sat up in bed, heart thudding. “Yeah?” he said before he could stop himself.
The voice chuckled. “Good. I’ve been waiting.”
The next morning, he asked Mrs. Alvarez, “Who lives in 3B?”
She shook her head. “Nobody you need to meet.”
The following night, the voice returned.
“You’re awake,” it said.
“Yeah…” Elliot replied.
“Do you want to see something?”
Elliot got up, crossed the hall, and stood by the dented door. “What?”
“Put your eye to the keyhole.”
Through the tiny circle, he saw… darkness. Then, slowly, a pale shape emerged. An eye. Not human—too wide, with no iris, just a flat black circle.
Elliot jerked back.
The voice on the other side whispered, “You’re taller than the last one.”
On the third night, the voice sounded… closer.
“You should let me in. I can make the walls stop breathing.”
Elliot pressed his ear to the door. There was a faint sound—like wet plaster shifting.
“I’m fine,” he muttered.
The voice laughed. “No one ever is.”
He called the landlord the next day. “There’s someone in 3B. They keep talking to me.”
The landlord was quiet for a long moment. Then: “That apartment’s been empty for thirteen years. We keep it locked.”
Elliot checked—the knob didn’t turn. But when he leaned close, he could hear breathing.
The fourth night, the voice was louder.
“I’m lonely,” it said.
“I’m not,” Elliot answered.
“You will be.”
By the fifth night, he’d decided to ignore it completely. He wore headphones, played white noise, kept to himself.
But at 1:12 a.m., the power went out.
In the silence, the voice came again—only now it was behind him.
“You’re in 3B.”
He spun around.
He was standing in darkness, the air heavy and damp.
The walls were too close, pulsing faintly like they were breathing.
The door was gone.
From somewhere in the dark, the voice whispered, “Your turn.”
When the lights came back on, Mrs. Alvarez was standing in the hallway outside 3A.
The door to 3B was shut.
A faint tapping came from the other side.