Chapter 1
The night was too quiet. Too quiet for a city that never really slept. I lay on my bed, staring at the cracked ceiling, listening to the hum of the old radiator.
Then I heard it.
A scream. Sharp. Terrified. And somehow… distant, like it came from another world.
I froze. My heart hammered. I should have ignored it, gone back to scrolling my phone. But curiosity has always been my curse.
I slipped on my sneakers and crept to the window. Across the street, Mr. Harlan's apartment glowed faintly. He was shouting—no, begging. "Stop! Please!"
Then, silence.
Something twisted in my gut. I knew instinctively that this wasn't just another drunk argument or a prank.
I grabbed my jacket, my phone in my pocket, and took the stairs two at a time. Every step groaned like it was warning me to turn back.
The hallway was empty, smelling faintly of bleach and old carpet. I reached Mr. Harlan's door. It was slightly ajar.
I pushed it.
Darkness swallowed the room. My eyes adjusted. The faint smell of iron hit me first. Then I saw the trail—red, slick, leading toward the bedroom.
And a hand. Pale, lifeless, hanging off the edge of the bed.
My stomach turned. My phone trembled in my hand. And then I saw it—a note pinned to the wall, jagged letters scrawled in ink:
"I see everything… even you."
A shiver ran down my spine. I wanted to leave, to run back upstairs and lock my door. But something held me there. Fear, maybe. Or curiosity.
One thought screamed in my head:
I am the last witness.
And I wasn't sure I wanted to be.
End.