The Last Tenant

The landlord told me the last tenant moved out three weeks ago. He said it with the kind of smile that doesn't reach the eyes. The kind that answers a question you haven't asked yet.I didn't ask why the rent was so low. I should have.The apartment was on the fourth floor of a building that smelled like old wood and something else I couldn't name. Something sweet. Something that reminded me of fruit left out too long. I told myself it was the walls. Old buildings breathe, my mother used to say. They hold onto things.I moved in on a Saturday. By Sunday night I knew something was wrong.

It started with the mirror in the hallway.Not the reflection. The reflection was fine. It was me, tired and ordinary. It was the sound. A low tap, like a knuckle against glass. Once when I walked past. Twice when I stopped. Three times when I leaned close and whispered hello.I laughed at myself. Went to bed.At 3:14 AM I woke to the sound of someone walking the length of the hallway. Slow, deliberate footsteps. The kind that aren't trying to be quiet. The kind that want you to hear them.I lay still. Counted. Seven steps, the exact length of my hallway. Then silence. Then seven steps back.I told myself old buildings settle. Pipes expand. Neighbors pace at night. I told myself every rational thing I knew until morning came and the sunlight made all of it feel embarrassing.

Then I found the writing.It was behind the bathroom cabinet. I had pulled it from the wall to hang it straighter. The words were scratched directly into the plaster in letters so small I needed my phone flashlight to read them. One sentence repeated over and over, maybe two hundred times, filling every inch of the hidden wall like a prayer or a confession.It only leaves when you stop looking for it.My hands were shaking when I pushed the cabinet back.I called the landlord. He didn't answer. I called again. Voicemail. I left a message asking about the last tenant, asking why they really left, asking what was wrong with the apartment.He texted back four hours later.Nothing is wrong with the apartment. The last tenant had an overactive imagination. Please do not remove anything from the walls.

I stared at that last line for a long time. Please do not remove anything from the walls. Not sorry for the inconvenience. Not I will come take a look. Just don't touch the walls.I started to wonder what else was written behind things I hadn't moved yet.I should have left that night. Instead I did something stupid. I started looking.Behind the kitchen clock, nothing. Behind the living room painting, a water stain in the shape of a hand. Fingers spread wide. Palm pressed flat as if pushing through from the other side.I told myself it was just a stain.I moved the bedroom dresser at midnight. Behind it, scratched into the baseboard in the same tiny handwriting, one line.I told you to stop looking.

The footsteps started again. Seven steps down the hall. Pause. Seven steps back. But this time they didn't stop at the end. This time they stopped outside my bedroom door.The handle didn't move. The door didn't open. There was just the weight of something on the other side. A pressure. A density. The feeling of being watched through wood.I didn't breathe for four minutes. I counted.Then it walked away and didn't come back.I moved out the next morning. Left half my things. The landlord kept my deposit. I didn't fight it.Three months later curiosity did what it always does to people like me. It won. I drove past the building and looked up at the fourth floor window. My old window.

The light was on. Someone stood at the glass looking down. I couldn't make out a face. Just a shape. Still. Patient. I drove away fast. Told myself it was the new tenant. But I had spoken to the landlord's secretary the week before, just once, just to ask. The apartment had been empty since I left. No one had moved in. I have not looked back since.

Author: Shadow Kernel