Lynn barely slept after Cyrus left. Even with every lamp blazing and the heater humming, shadows seemed to stretch farther than they should, pooling unnaturally in corners as if hiding something patient. Something aware.
By morning, exhaustion weighed on her like wet sand. She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror—pale skin, tired eyes, a faint red bruise still marking her wrist where Eli had touched her.
Touched her.
A ghost.
She splashed cold water on her face. The shock steadied her breathing, but not her thoughts. Cyrus had known Eli—knew him enough to look haunted when he said the name. There were questions she needed answers to, and he had only given her a fraction of the truth.
But right now, she was alone.
She checked her phone—no new messages. No explanation from Cyrus. The silence left her uncomfortable in ways she couldn't describe.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
She jumped, heart catching in her throat.
Not again.
Not this early.
But this knock was different—gentle, hesitant. Human.
She approached the door slowly, peeking through the peephole.
A woman stood there—mid-forties perhaps, hair tied back loosely, eyes sharp with concern rather than danger. Lynn had glimpsed her once or twice in the hallway but had never spoken to her.
After last night, talking to anyone felt risky, but ignoring her felt worse. Lynn opened the door a cautious few inches.
"Um… hello?"
The woman smiled politely. "Hello, dear. I'm Mrs. Hale. I live two doors down." Her gaze drifted to the hallway as though checking for something. "I hope you don't mind me stopping by."
"Oh—no, not at all," Lynn said, though her fingers remained curled around the door edge.
Mrs. Hale lowered her voice. "I heard… noises coming from your apartment last night."
Lynn stiffened. "Noises?"
"Yes. Well—more like… disturbances." Mrs. Hale's expression tightened. "You've been here only a few days, and already strange things are happening."
Lynn's stomach twisted. "You knew something would happen?"
Mrs. Hale studied her carefully before answering. "Dear, no one stays in this building long without noticing… things."
Lynn swallowed. "Like footsteps in the hallway?"
Mrs. Hale nodded.
"Whispers?" Lynn pressed.
Another nod.
"And a name…" Lynn hesitated. "Eli?"
Mrs. Hale's breath hitched very slightly.
Then she opened Lynn's door further without asking and stepped in.
Lynn's body tensed at the intrusion, but the woman didn't seem malicious—only urgent, like someone trying to keep a cigarette spark from becoming a wildfire.
Mrs. Hale closed the door behind her, speaking softly.
"You said his name."
Lynn exhaled shakily. "I found it written outside my door."
Mrs. Hale's expression darkened. "Then you need to be very careful. Eli isn't… like the others."
Lynn blinked. "Others?"
Mrs. Hale sighed and moved toward the small kitchen table, sitting without invitation but with a weary certainty that suggested she'd done this before—with someone else. Maybe many someone elses.
"Sweetheart," she said, "this building has a history. You already know that much. But Eli's story… it's the one people whisper about even now, years later."
Lynn sat across from her, pulse pounding. "Cyrus said he died here."
Mrs. Hale scoffed lightly. "Cyrus. Of course." She shook her head. "That boy knows more than anyone, but he only tells what he thinks you can handle."
"Then tell me what he won't," Lynn pressed. "Please."
Mrs. Hale folded her hands and looked at Lynn with an expression that felt almost motherly. "Eli lived in this building when he was very young. Barely in his twenties. A quiet one. Sweet, shy, very talented—an artist, I believe."
Lynn's chest tightened. An artist. Like her.
"He kept to himself mostly," Mrs. Hale continued. "Except for one person. Cyrus."
Lynn leaned forward. "They were close?"
"Closer than brothers," Mrs. Hale said simply. "Cyrus was a few years older. They bonded quickly—inseparable, always together. Some people used to say they understood each other in ways no one else did."
Lynn didn't know why, but a strange warmth stirred in her chest at the thought of Cyrus being able to truly connect with someone. He often felt so distant.
"What happened to Eli?" she asked softly.
Mrs. Hale's eyes softened with something like pity.
"He was troubled," she said. "Very sensitive. He saw beauty in everything, but he also saw… darkness. The kind of things most people ignore." She paused. "Then there was the accident."
A chill washed over Lynn.
"What kind of accident?"
Mrs. Hale hesitated, searching for gentler words. "Eli struggled with his mind. With nightmares, voices—he'd begun hearing things long before anyone believed him. He said the building whispered to him." She looked around Lynn's apartment with a grimace. "Maybe he wasn't wrong."
Lynn's heartbeat thudded painfully.
"One night," Mrs. Hale continued, "Cyrus found Eli at the end of the hallway—your hallway. He'd scratched drawings into the wall. Dozens of them. Shadows, figures, words… things no one understood."
"What drawings?" Lynn asked.
Mrs. Hale shook her head. "They painted over them years ago."
"But what did they look like?"
Mrs. Hale gave her a sad, knowing look.
"Shadows without faces."
Lynn's breath caught.
The same thing she'd drawn.
"What happened to him?" she whispered.
Mrs. Hale lowered her voice. "He… fell. Down the stairwell."
Lynn stared. "Fell?"
"That's what some say." Mrs. Hale's gaze sharpened. "But others believe he didn't fall. They believe something pushed him. Or called him. Or he tried to follow something none of us could see."
Lynn shivered violently.
"The worst part," Mrs. Hale said, leaning closer, "is that after Eli died, people kept seeing him. In reflections. In the corners of their eyes. In the hallway when it got too dark."
Lynn's hands tingled.
"You've seen him, haven't you?" Mrs. Hale asked gently.
Lynn nodded slowly, unable to form words.
Mrs. Hale squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry. Truly. I've tried to warn every new tenant, but they always think they're imagining things. Until…" She didn't finish the sentence.
Lynn felt her breath shake. "Why me? Why does he want me?"
Mrs. Hale studied her expression with care. "Ghosts, dear, are drawn to wounds. To the cracks in people. Eli was lonely. And maybe he senses something in you—something familiar."
Lynn's eyes dropped to her wrist. The faint red mark pulsed like a bruise from a memory that wasn't hers.
Mrs. Hale continued, "Eli wasn't violent when he was alive. He was gentle. But the dead…" She exhaled slowly. "Sometimes they forget how to be human."
Lynn shook her head, overwhelmed. "Cyrus didn't tell me any of this."
"He wouldn't," Mrs. Hale said. "He blames himself for Eli's death."
Lynn's eyes widened. "Why would he blame himself?"
"Because he was the last one to see Eli alive."
Silence slammed into the room.
Mrs. Hale rose slowly, straightening her cardigan as if preparing to reenter a world where things made sense. She walked to the door, then paused with her hand on the handle.
"Lynn," she said softly, "if you see him again… don't talk to him."
"Why?"
Mrs. Hale looked at her with something that bordered on fear.
"Because Eli doesn't remember what he is now. To him, it still feels like he's alive. And the more he remembers you—the more he focuses on you—the stronger he becomes."
Lynn's throat tightened. "Stronger?"
Mrs. Hale gave a single, grim nod.
"And once a ghost becomes strong enough to touch the living…" She glanced meaningfully at Lynn's wrist. "They start wanting more."
A chill rippled through Lynn's spine, cold enough to hurt.
Mrs. Hale opened the door.
"One more thing," she said quietly. "If you see Cyrus today… ask him why he never left this building even after Eli died."
Lynn blinked. "He still lives here?"
Mrs. Hale's smile was sad. "Oh yes, dear. He never left." She looked down the hallway, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Some people can't move on from their ghosts."
And with that, she stepped into the dim corridor and walked away.
Lynn stood frozen long after she was gone, her heart a confused knot of fear, pity, and something deeper she didn't want to name.
Cyrus lived here.
Still.
Close.
Watching over something he didn't want to explain.
Or someone.
A sudden creak echoed from above, snapping her out of her thoughts.
The ceiling.
The same spot Eli had walked across the night before.
Her skin prickled.
She backed away slowly, staring upward.
Another step.
Heavier this time.
Closer.
"Lynn…"
The whisper drifted from above, soft yet unmistakable.
Her pulse spiked.
She looked toward the door—but it slammed shut on its own, the lock clicking into place.
Trapped.
The light in her living room flickered once, twice, and then—
A shadow pooled across the ceiling like ink seeped into plaster.
It shifted.
Stretched.
Reached.
"Remember me…"
Lynn's scream stuck in her throat.
Because this time, the voice wasn't sad or lost.
It was… possessive.
Hungry.
And it knew her name.