Chapter 1: Rent Due and Unseen Guests

When I went to collect the rent, I’d barely set foot inside the elevator when the overload light started blinking, the old metal box groaning in protest.

I let out a bitter laugh as I stared at the glowing red numbers. “Of course. Figures,” I muttered. This elevator was ancient, the kind with a buzzing warning light and a sticky panel that jammed if you pressed too hard. But seriously, I was the only one in there. No way I was that heavy. Maybe it was haunted by all the groceries people had lugged in over the years—or maybe it just hated Mondays as much as I did…

I couldn’t help muttering under my breath—this elevator had to be on the fritz. I was the only one in here!

I gave the panel a little slap, like that would help. Yeah, like that ever worked. The whole thing vibrated under my hand and groaned, the sound rattling up through my shoes, but it didn’t budge. I rocked back on my heels, looking up at the flickering fluorescent bulb overhead, half expecting it to sputter out any second. “Just get me to the fourth floor, that’s all I’m asking,” I grumbled, watching the numbers crawl by. Was that too much to ask?

As I walked into the apartment, my earbuds started picking up a bunch of random Bluetooth devices. My phone buzzed in my pocket, the screen lighting up with a parade of odd names.

It was like walking through a tech convention—my phone pinged with every step. For a second, I thought about how nosy you’d have to be to care. Someone had a speaker named “Mom’s Beats,” another device called “DOGCAM.” I rolled my eyes. Apartment buildings always pulsed with weird digital energy, everyone’s secrets floating through the airwaves—if you were nosy enough to listen in.

Adjusting my earbuds, I sighed and called the tenant.

I cranked up the volume, pacing past the old welcome mat Ben had left out front. The apartment still carried the faint scent of takeout and lemon cleaner, a combination that never quite settled in my nose. I waited for the call to connect, tapping my foot against the tile, my nerves starting to fray. I hated waiting.

There was a racket on his end.

Chips shuffled, people laughed, the TV shouted something about a touchdown, and somewhere in the background, country music twanged away. Ben always had a full house. Literally, and in every other way.

"Mr. Walker, I’ve got the rent ready. I’m home right now."

He sounded out of breath, like he’d just sprinted from the kitchen to the phone. I could picture him in those old basketball shorts, probably with a beer in hand, grinning at whoever was over.

I frowned, just about to ask him something, when the signal cut out—sharp and sudden.

Just static, then nothing. I pulled the phone away, staring at the screen as if it could explain itself. The apartment around me was dead silent. No footsteps. No voices. Not even the hum of the fridge. Weird.

I looked around, confused. The place was empty.

Sunlight slanted through the blinds, casting stripes across the bare floor. No shoes by the door, no jackets on the hooks. Just my own reflection in the window, looking more puzzled by the second. Great. Now I was spooking myself.

Where the hell was Ben?

I checked the corners, half-expecting Ben to pop out with a joke. But there was nothing—just the faint echo of my own footsteps on the hardwood. The place felt emptier than a Sunday morning diner.

"Sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service!"

The robotic voice grated on my nerves. I frowned, double-checked the number, and tried again, feeling a little foolish. My fingers drummed against the phone case, waiting for something—anything—to make sense. I stared at the screen, willing it to give me a clue.

I dialed Ben again.

This time, I braced myself. The phone rang. My heart did a weird little jump. Maybe it was all just a glitch.

But this time, someone picked up.

Ben’s big, easygoing voice came through:

"Three dots."

Classic Ben. He always started calls with some weird code or inside joke, just to mess with me.

I couldn’t help but smile, even with how weird the night was getting.

"Hey, Mr. Walker, what’s up?"

I tried to keep it casual, even though my nerves were jangling. My voice echoed a little in the empty room—like the walls themselves were listening in.

"Isn’t it rent day?"

Ben sounded like he was flipping through his calendar, but I knew he had the date memorized. He was never late, not once in three years. I paused, the silence stretching.

"It’s ready, I’m at home. Come on over."

His words rattled around my head. I stared at the apartment, the silence pressing in. Was he messing with me?

I looked around the empty apartment, frowning.

I checked the kitchen, the bathroom, even peeked into the closet. Nothing but dust bunnies and the faint whiff of old pizza. It didn’t make sense.

"I’m already at your place."

I let the words hang in the air, waiting for Ben to crack up and admit it was a prank. But the line stayed quiet, heavy. My breath caught.

Ben paused on the other end.

There was a shuffling sound, like he was covering the phone with his hand. Muffled voices in the background. Then a sigh.

"You messing with me, Mr. Walker?"

He sounded half amused, half wary, as if he wasn’t sure if I was joking or if he should be worried. I felt my pulse pick up.

"I’m playing poker right now. There’s no way you’re here."

I could almost picture him, surrounded by buddies, cards in hand, chips stacked high. Ben was the life of the party—never missing a Friday night game.

"It’s the middle of the night, man, don’t freak me out."

I glanced at the clock—it was only six thirty in the evening.

The numbers glowed a stubborn orange. Maybe Ben had lost track of time, or maybe he was just trying to get a rise out of me. Still, my skin prickled, unease curling in my gut.

I scowled.

A tightness settled in my chest. This wasn’t like Ben. Sure, he joked, but never about rent—and never with this weird energy. I felt a flicker of irritation, mixing with something colder.

"Ben, if you’re short on rent, we can wait a couple days. But joking like this isn’t funny."

I tried to keep my tone level, but I could hear the edge creeping in. The apartment felt smaller, the air thicker. I paced, waiting for his response, my fists clenching and unclenching.

Ben bristled.

He snapped right back. “Mr. Walker, that’s not cool. I’m not the kind to skip out on rent!”

He kept arguing, but the call dropped again.

His words faded out mid-sentence, replaced by another burst of static. I stared at the phone, frustration bubbling up. This was getting ridiculous. My jaw tightened.

Right after, I got a transfer notification—three grand from Ben.

My phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with the bank alert. I blinked, surprised. Ben was always prompt, but this was almost too fast, like he was desperate to prove something.

Now I was even more rattled.

The money was there, clear as day. No bounced checks, no excuses. So why the runaround? My mind raced, piecing together the odd little details, my stomach twisting.

He’s not behind on rent, so why the weird games?

I leaned against the kitchen counter, drumming my fingers. Maybe he was hiding something else. Maybe he just didn’t want to see me. Or maybe—something worse.

Could it be… something supernatural?

The thought made me snort, but it lingered. The way the elevator had acted up, the weird Bluetooth signals, Ben’s jumpy voice—it all added up to something off. I shook my head, trying to laugh it off, but goosebumps crawled up my arms, refusing to leave.

I hurried to the door to check.

I stepped into the hallway, peering left and right. The carpet was threadbare, patterned with decades of foot traffic. A neighbor’s door slammed somewhere down the hall, making me flinch. Everything looked normal, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

I wasn’t at the wrong apartment.

I double-checked the numbers, tracing the faded brass plaque with my thumb. 4B. Same as always. My keys fit the lock, smooth and familiar. No mistakes here.

I stuck the key in the lock and turned it a few times.

The mechanism clicked, solid and sure. I tried the door a couple more times, just to be certain. The apartment was definitely mine—or at least, the one Ben rented from me.

This was definitely the right place.

The faded blue paint, the old radiator by the window, the little scuff marks on the wall from moving furniture—it was all exactly as I remembered. My unease deepened, settling in my bones.

Just as I was thinking it over, a call came in from an unfamiliar number.

My phone buzzed, the area code unfamiliar. I hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button. Finally, curiosity won out and I answered.

I answered, and Ben’s voice came through, sounding panicked:

"Mr. Walker, you got the rent, right? I’m moving out. Just leave whatever’s in the apartment, I don’t want it."

His words tumbled out fast, like he was afraid I’d hang up. I could hear him breathing hard, maybe outside, maybe in his car. Something in his tone made my stomach drop. My palms started to sweat.

I was even more confused. What was going on?

I pressed the phone to my ear, trying to make sense of it. Why the sudden rush? Ben never left things unfinished, never bailed without warning. None of this added up.

"Weren’t you just playing poker? And you said you were here—how come I didn’t see you? What’s going on?"

My voice cracked a little, frustration mixing with worry. I tried to sound casual, but it came out sharp, like I was scolding a kid who wouldn’t fess up.

Ben was silent for a long time before speaking, his voice trembling:

"It’s nothing, Mr. Walker. I really was playing poker. Had a bit too much to drink earlier, just talking nonsense. Don’t mind me."

But from the way he sounded, it didn’t seem like he was just drunk.

His words shook, like he was holding back tears—or something else. I pictured him, pale and sweating, glancing over his shoulder. The silence stretched between us, heavy as wet concrete.

Suddenly, I got a bad feeling.

My mind raced. Was Ben in trouble? Had he gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd? Or worse—had something happened here, something he didn’t want to talk about?

Could Ben have done something illegal? Was he panicking because he thought I’d shown up with the cops?

The idea made my skin crawl. I thought about all the late-night visitors, the whispered phone calls, the sudden cash payments. Was I missing something obvious?

Before I could ask, he hung up.

The line went dead before I could get another word in. I stared at my phone, heart pounding. This was way beyond a late rent payment.

Then he texted me:

"Mr. Walker, just come by during the day to settle up. Don’t stay there at night. I’m telling you for your own good."

My heart skipped a beat.

The words glowed on the screen, cold and final. I read them over and over, trying to make sense of the warning. Was it a threat? A plea? Either way, it chilled me to the bone, sending a shiver through my chest.

Now I was almost sure—he must have done something shady. Maybe he was waiting for me to leave so he could come back and grab some stolen goods. What else could it be?

I paced the living room, weighing my options. If Ben was hiding something, maybe I could catch him in the act. My curiosity got the better of me. I decided to wait.

I figured, since I had nothing better to do, I’d just wait here and catch Ben in the act.

I searched the apartment but didn’t find anything suspicious.

I checked every cabinet, every drawer. Nothing but dust and old magazines. The bathroom was spotless, the closets empty. No sign of anything out of place. My frustration grew.

So I just flopped onto the couch and turned on the TV.

The cushions sagged under me, familiar and worn. I grabbed the remote, flipping through channels until I landed on an old sitcom. The laugh track felt forced, almost mocking.

To avoid tipping Ben off, I muted the volume.

The screen flickered silently, the characters mouthing jokes I couldn’t hear. It was oddly comforting, like background noise in a world that had gone too quiet.

Slowly, I drifted off on the sofa.

The room grew dim as the sun set, shadows stretching across the walls. My eyelids grew heavy, the day’s confusion finally catching up to me. I let myself sink into the cushions, sleep tugging me under.