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Who Lives In Apartment 48


By Tiffanie DotsonPublished 3 years ago 5 min read

Chapter 1: Moving into Apartment 48

I've often wondered since moving into apartment 48 how the former resident's had lived here. When I moved in, dirt coated everything in the room. Black, thick graveyard dirt, to be exact. My only thought of course, is that they were gardeners or were grave diggers. However, that didn't explain how the dirt got on the walls, ceiling and all the lightbulbs. I've spent hours cleaning this place, only to go to work and come back to find the dirt has returned seemingly out of nowhere. I never gave much thought to this, I just rationalized it as I'd been missing spots when cleaning that I didn't notice before.

But now, after these past few months I've come to realize, the dirt isn't the only thing that is returning to this apartment. I feel as if I'm going crazy, even writing this down seems as if I've lost my mind. But, I swear to you, something isn't right with apartment 48.

My neighbors keep coming over knocking on my door, asking me if I'm alright and to please stop screaming for help. But, I've not screamed or yelled once since I've been here. It's just me and my cat, Noodles; a ball of energy and fluffy fur. So, I don't have anyone other people here. I tell my neighbors this, but they're not satisfied. When I walk downstairs to get my mail, finally leaving this dreary apartment. Their eyes follow me. I can feel my skin getting hot and flushing red down both arms, from every stare I get. They whisper things and shake their heads disapproving of me. I'm not sure what to do. I grab my mail and run as fast as I can back up to my apartment, back to the dirt and dread. The cycle continues of cleaning and mopping, along with the hours of scrubbing until all of the dirt is gone.

I wanted to document my experiences here in this journal.

I want to write them down. I want them to be remembered. If for nothing else, to serve as a record of my time here and in hopes to prove to myself that I'm not going crazy. To be honest, I'm not sure of anything anymore.

Noodles has been acting strange also, I'll record his experiences here too.

In case something happens to me, please if you're the next resident and you find this journal. Please find out what happened to me. I know its a selfish thing, to ask but I'm terrified of this apartment. All I can do is try to protect myself and leave this journal for you. In hopes that maybe, you'll find the answer to whatever is going on in this place. I'm investigating too, any evidence I find I'll leave here for you as well.

Chapter 2 : The Week After Move In

The past week has not been a fun one. In fact, its been terrifying. There hasn't been a moment I haven't wanted to pack up and run right back out that door, get into my car and leave. But, I can't. I have no where else to go. I'm stuck in this place, I've invested all of my money into here. I barely have enough money left for groceries. The dirt continues to ooze through every opening. From the window seals, underneath my doors, and dripping out of my faucet, the dirt is everywhere. There is no spot in my home that is left untouched or untainted by it's blackness.

The dirt isn't alone. I know, I might sound crazy.

I might be going crazy.

Am I crazy?

I'm not sure anymore what's real and what's fiction. I don't trust my own eyes. Things are happening here that I can't ignore or explain away with logical reasoning.

The first night the knocking began, and has ceased to end. It begins low like a quiet drum of a car engine humming late at night, and it proceeds to grow louder with each passing hour. Until 3am, it sounds as if claps of thunder are beating on the sides of the walls of my home. I've began sleeping in the daytime because when the sun is out all that is here is the dirt.

I've developed a routine to cope. Sleep during the day, eat, clean and shower before night. Never shower at night or the knocking occurs from the bathroom door and the dirt bleeds like blood underneath the door. I unfortunately learned that when the bathroom door locked me in for hours, the second night I was here.

Also I dread, pray and scream for the night not to come as fast as it does in this place. I feel like I only get a few hours of daylight and peace, before the thunderous knocking begins. In the daylight, I have some sanctuary here despite the uneasiness that fills the air like cigarette smoke in every corner of this apartment.

The apartment also changes at night in ways it doesn't during the daylight. It grows and morphs into 9ft high walls, endless corridors, and hundreds of rooms. I haven't had the chance to explore anything yet. To be honest, I'm not sure if I want to know what secrets this apartment has for me.

The phone hasn't worked since the first night I got here.

My cellphone doesn't get service here. The idea of not being able to call for help, terrifies more then the knocking and dirt. It's the horrible dread that comes with knowing, if something happens to me I can't call for help.

So, I have to be more careful and more cautious then I have been before.

I can't leave the apartment anymore. I tried too last night, the knocking got so bad and so loud, that it gave me a piercing headache. I got up out of bed, got dressed and I was determined to leave.

But the moment, I stuck my key in the door and turned the knob to leave. I twisted the knob and my nose began bleed vigorously. I let go of the knob and made my way, to the bathroom and cleaned my face. I stuffed toilet paper in my nostrils and made my way back to the front door.

I stared and contemplated for a few minutes before twisting the knob. I felt goosebumps forming along my arms, and the tips of my finger trembled.


About the Creator

Tiffanie Dotson

28 year old. KY. Horror/thriller/paranormal and dark fantasy are the genres I enjoy reading and writing the most. Edgar Allen Poe, Shakespeare and H.P Lovecraft are my favorite writers from old times. I find myself inspired by them.

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