That night, the boarding house had fallen into silence. The laughter and chatter of the residents had faded, swallowed by the thick, oppressive quiet of the early hours. One by one, the lights in the rooms flickered off, casting the hallway into dim shadows.
Almost everyone was asleep now. Everyone except Susan. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. 1:00 a.m.
Her eyes still felt wide awake, as if it were only early evening. The stillness around her made every little sound magnified—sounds she normally wouldn't notice.
Tick… tock… tick… tock…
Susan hated this situation—having to sleep in a new place. Ever since she was in school, she almost never did sleepovers at friends' houses. Not because her mom didn't allow it, but because she always struggled to adjust to unfamiliar environments.
Even during family trips when she was younger, the first night was always torture—for her and for her parents.
The rhythmic clicking of the table clock filled the silence, each second stretching unnaturally long.
"Kreeeeeeek."
A door creaked open from outside. The sound was slow, strained, like old wood resisting movement.
Someone just got home? It looks like this house allows its residents complete freedom—no curfew for coming home late.
Her body instinctively shifted as she tried to relax, but no matter how many times she turned, she couldn't get comfortable.
"Ughhh…" Susan let out an irritated groan, stomping her feet against the bed. There was no use forcing herself to sleep. The more she tried, the more impossible it became.
Fine… the last resort.
Moving sluggishly, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her eyes stared blankly at the door and window of her room. Though she had turned off her light earlier, her room wasn't completely dark—the faint glow from the hallway seeped in under the door, casting dull illumination on the walls.
With slow, deliberate steps, she walked toward the light switch and pressed it.
"click"
The fluorescent light flickered once before flooding the room with a harsh glow.
Susan sighed and turned toward the small bookshelf, crouching down as she searched for the book.
There it is.
Her fingers touched the spine and pulled it free. It was thick—almost as heavy as a dictionary. As she slid it out, the books beside it tilted and fell into the newly emptied space, their soft thud unnervingly loud in the silent room.
Just as she turned around … Her breath hitched.
In the dim hallway outside, a shadow stood motionless between her room and Lydia's.
Still. Unmoving.
The dim lighting from the common area cast just enough of a glow to outline the shape—tall and unmoving, positioned precisely between her door and Lydia's.
Susan's pulse quickened.
Lydia?
She hesitated for a moment, trying to shake off the unease creeping up her spine.
Of course. It's just Lydia coming back late.
It had to be her.
She liked to stay out late, apparently.
Stop it, Susan. You're being ridiculous. You're turning into Cynthia—poking into other people's business.
Shaking her head, she walked toward the bed and sat down, propping herself up against the wooden headboard. Her pillow served as a makeshift book rest as she flipped to the bookmarked page.
She had read a quarter of the book already, or so the marker suggested.
Not that she could recall anything about the story.
It was one of those books—dull, forgettable, impossible to get into.
But that's exactly why she liked it.
It was the perfect cure for sleepless nights.
As expected, within half an hour, her eyelids grew heavy. She yawned, her body finally surrendering to exhaustion.
Without hesitation, she closed the book, set it on the table, and stood up, moving toward the light switch.
"click"
The light switch clicked as Susan pressed it, flooding the room with dim, flickering light.
She turned—and gasped.
A shadowy figure loomed in front of her window.
Her breath hitched, her body stiffening as a surge of cold fear crept up her spine. The contrast between the darkness outside and the faint glow from the hallway made the silhouette even clearer—long hair, unmoving, just standing there.
Who… is that?
Then—movement.
The shadow drifted away, gliding toward the bathroom at the end of the hall.
Susan exhaled shakily.
Just a passerby…
She let out a relieved sigh, shaking her head at herself. Someone probably just woke up to use the bathroom.
Pushing aside the unease clinging to her thoughts, she climbed onto her bed, stretching out on her back. As her body began to relax, she instinctively shifted to her right, curling into her usual sleeping position—facing away from the door and window.
The tension in her muscles eased, her breathing slowed, and the pull of sleep began to take over.
Her mind drifted.
Her eyelids grew heavier.
The world around her faded into the weightless void of sleep.
But Susan didn't know.
Didn't see.
Didn't hear.
The figure that had passed by her window just moments ago… had returned.
This time, it didn't walk past.
This time, it stopped.
A stillness settled outside her window—an unnatural, suffocating pause. Slowly, deliberately, the figure turned.
It faced the window.
It stepped closer.
Closer.
Standing right outside.
Watching.
For what felt like an eternity, it lingered there, its hollow gaze locked onto Susan's sleeping form. A long, silent moment stretched between them—her blissfully unaware in her dream, and it, motionless, waiting.
Then—
A sound.
A melodic hum broke through the silence, rising into a whispery, eerie lullaby.
A tune that didn't belong in this world.
A sound that no one should ever hear in the dead of night.
And as the chilling melody floated through the air, the shadow turned and walked away.
But the air in the room remained heavy.
As if something had been left behind.
Something unseen.