The Roommate

                                                                The Roommate

Emma was thrilled to move into her new apartment. It was a cozy one-bedroom in a charming old building, the kind with creaky wooden floors and vintage windows. The price was a steal, and the landlord had only one rule: Don’t go into the locked room at the end of the hall.

At first, Emma barely noticed the room. She was busy unpacking and getting settled, and the rest of the apartment was perfect. But as the days passed, the locked door began to gnaw at her curiosity. It was scratched and scuffed, as though something—or someone—had tried desperately to get out.

One night, as Emma lay in bed, she heard faint noises. It sounded like shuffling footsteps...coming from the locked room. She froze, holding her breath. But then it stopped. She convinced herself it was just the old pipes or her imagination playing tricks on her.

The next morning, she asked the landlord about the room. He grew pale. “It’s storage,” he said, too quickly. “Don’t worry about it. Just...stay out of there.”

That night, the noises grew louder. Now, it wasn’t just shuffling—it was whispering. Low, raspy voices that seemed to come from multiple people. “Help us,” they murmured. “Let us out.”

Emma couldn’t take it anymore. Armed with a screwdriver, she pried open the lock. The door creaked open to reveal...nothing. The room was empty, save for a few broken pieces of furniture and a dusty mirror on the far wall.

Relieved, she laughed at herself and stepped inside. But as she approached the mirror, she froze. The reflection wasn’t her own. Instead, it was a gaunt, pale woman with hollow eyes, standing right behind her.

Emma spun around, but the room was empty. When she turned back to the mirror, the woman reached out—and Emma felt cold hands clamp around her throat.

Emma’s body was never found, and the apartment went back on the market, listed as a cozy one-bedroom with “historical charm.”