Something shifted.
Her flashlight slipped, its beam cutting across the hole — and there, for a split second, she saw a face.
It vanished as soon as the light hit it.
Emily screamed, slamming the metal plate back and bolting it tight. She sprinted for the office — but Marie was gone.
Her phone buzzed in her hand.
No caller ID.
Just one message:
“Don’t open the wall again.”
The Empty Unit
Emily didn’t sleep that night. She sat outside a 24-hour diner, drinking coffee until sunrise, trying to convince herself she was imagining things.
But when she returned the next morning, her blood turned to ice.
The hole? Open again.
She stared, trembling, afraid to look inside. She started packing her things to leave, when something caught her eye — a crumpled sheet of paper half tucked under her cot.
It was a child’s drawing. Stick figures in black crayon. One inside a box. One standing outside with hollow, empty eyes.
At the bottom were shaky words:
“HE SLEEPS BEHIND THE WALL.”
Continue reading…
