Chapter 4: Sirens in the Night

I was so scared my legs went weak, almost collapsed.

The only thing keeping me upright was my grip on the doorknob, my breath catching in my throat. I kept as still as possible, hoping my racing heart wasn’t loud enough for him to hear through the wood.

But I knew—I couldn’t make a sound, or I’d be found out.

Who knows what he did to 402, who knows what he’d do to me.

But then I suddenly remembered—the peephole on this door is one-way.

So even if I put my eye to it, and he was staring from outside, he couldn’t see me.

Thinking of that, I relaxed a little.

But I still didn’t know what was really going on.

So I steeled myself and looked through the peephole again.

But something weird happened—

Through the peephole, I saw nothing. The hallway was empty.

The 404 guy had vanished.

Was he really that fast?

The hair on the back of my neck prickled. I didn’t even hear him leave—no footsteps, no creak of the old boards, just gone.

Even though everything seemed normal again, something still felt horribly wrong.

But I was so scared, I couldn’t react.

I grabbed my phone and saw 504 had sent several more messages:

[Exactly, I think that last message wasn’t sent by 402, but by the guy from 404.]

[But there’s no way to prove it—it’s the middle of the night, what do we do?]

[How about I try calling 402?]

I replied quickly: [Don’t call him! You haven’t called yet, right?]

Honestly, at that moment, I was mostly worried about myself.

If his phone was really in the 404 guy’s hands, and 504 called, wouldn’t we be exposed?

Especially after what just happened—I was sure the 404 guy had noticed something, and that’s why he came to my door.

But I hadn’t said anything in the group, hadn’t made a sound, so I’d barely avoided trouble.

And if we were found out, I was the closest one—who knows what would happen to me.

I hadn’t lived here long—I didn’t know how sturdy this door really was.

The deadbolt was new, but the frame looked original, maybe 1950s. My mind raced through all the crime podcasts I’d ever listened to—how quickly could someone break through if they really wanted to?

Luckily, 504 replied:

[Didn’t call—what’s up? Wouldn’t calling him directly confirm if he sent the last message?]

[He’s definitely not asleep, but if I can’t confirm that last message was from him, I can’t sleep.]

I let out a quiet breath.

As long as he didn’t call and tip him off, that was good.

By then, I was already planning to call the cops.

Do I sound crazy if I call 911 over a missing emoji? Or do I sound crazy if I don’t?

My finger hovered over 911, just in case. My mind was running through what I’d even say to the dispatcher—‘Hi, I think something happened to my neighbor because he stopped using emojis in his texts?’

But to keep 504 from making things worse, I decided to tell him what just happened to me…