Liam didn't leave his room the whole day.
Not for food. Not even when his phone buzzed with missed calls from his mother. His eyes stayed locked on the hallway, and his ears stayed tuned to the silence—searching for whispers that never came.
Not yet.
At 2:57 a.m., the air turned cold again. Not from the AC. This cold came from below. From the floor.
Creeeeak…
The floorboard beneath his bed shifted. Just slightly.
He froze.
Slowly, he leaned over the edge and peeked under the bed.
Nothing.
But then—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Not on the door this time.
From under the floor.
He dropped to the ground, palms flat. And there it was: a faint sound, like scratching. Like fingernails dragging against the wood. He pressed his ear closer.
Liam… open… the floor…
He jumped back, heart pounding.
There was no trapdoor. No basement. Just solid planks.
Or so he thought.
He grabbed a flashlight and scanned every inch of the floor. Near the wall, he saw it: a thin, almost invisible crack in the wood. A square outline.
A hidden hatch.
With trembling hands, he pried it open with a screwdriver.
Darkness.
Dust.
And in the center… something wrapped in cloth.
He reached in and pulled it out. Heavy. Wet.
He unwrapped it.
A blood-stained shirt. A name tag still attached.
"Ethan J. – Unit 403"
Liam stumbled back. Ethan? The last tenant?
Before he could think, the light in his room flickered. Then died.
And in the darkness, just inches from his ear, he heard a whisper:
"That was mine…"
The floor remembers. The walls breathe. And Liam just touched something he was never meant to find.
Now, the shadows want it back.