Emily sat up, pulse racing. Maybe someone else was living in the next unit. It wasn’t unheard of — she’d read about others hiding in storage facilities, too broke to afford anything else.
Still, something about that slow, rhythmic knock made her skin crawl.
The next morning, she went to the front office. The manager, Marie, a woman in her fifties with nicotine-stained fingers, scrolled through the computer when Emily asked if anyone was renting the neighboring unit.
Marie shook her head.
“Nope. That one’s been empty for a month.”
Emily forced a laugh. “Just checking. Thought I heard something weird.”
“Probably rats,” Marie said without looking up.
Emily wished it were rats.
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