The next morning felt like a hangover without the fun part. My eyes felt like they were filled with sand, and the daylight hitting my living room floor was offensively bright.
I grabbed my keys and a tumbling stack of junk mail, heading for the lobby. I needed caffeine, and I needed to get out of the apartment. The air in there felt stale. Heavy.
I hit the bottom of the stairs just as the front door swung open.
It was Sarah.
She looked how I felt. Her scrubs were wrinkled, her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun that was slowly surrendering to gravity, and the dark circles under her eyes were practically bruised purple. She was carrying a heavy tote bag and looked like she was vibrating with anxiety.
"Hey," I said, trying to keep my voice casual.
She jumped, clutching the strap of her bag. "Oh. God. You scared me, Mark."
"Sorry," I said, stepping back to give her space near the mailboxes. "Rough shift?"
She let out a breathy, nervous laugh. "You have no idea. Double rotation. I feel like I haven't slept in three days."
This was it. The opening. I shifted my weight, gripping my mail tighter. I didn't want to be a jerk, especially since she looked like she’d just survived a war zone, but I needed to sleep tonight.
"Yeah, I… I didn't get much sleep either," I said, leading the witness.
Sarah looked up at me, her eyes wide and jittery. "Right? The wind was crazy last night."
I paused. There was no wind last night. It was dead calm.
"Actually," I started, deciding to just rip the band-aid off. "I was gonna ask you about that. The tapping? I know you’re probably winding down when you get home, or maybe it’s a nervous habit, but the walls are super thin. I could hear it all night. Just… tap, tap, tap."
I demonstrated the rhythm on the metal row of mailboxes.
Sarah’s face went slack. The polite, exhausted smile vanished, replaced by something that looked a lot like fear.
"You heard it too?" she whispered.
I blinked. "What do you mean, too?"
She stepped closer, lowering her voice, glancing up the stairwell as if the building itself was listening. "Mark, I haven't been home since yesterday morning. I pulled a twenty-four-hour shift. I just got back."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and cold.
"You… weren't home?" I asked, my brain scrambling to process the data.
"No," she said, shaking her head rapidly. "But I heard it two nights ago. That’s why I took the extra shift. I didn't want to be there. I thought it was you."
The lobby went silent. The hum of the vending machine in the corner seemed to drop away.
"You thought it was me?" I repeated.
"Yeah," she said, hugging her arms around herself. "It sounds like it’s coming from your living room. Like you’re… I don’t know, working on something against the wall?"
My stomach did a slow, sick somersault.
If I was hearing it coming from her side, and she was hearing it coming from my side…
"It’s not me," I said, my voice sounding strangely hollow. "And if you weren't home last night…"
We both looked up at the ceiling, toward the second floor where our apartments shared that long, dividing wall.
"Rats?" Sarah suggested, though she didn't sound convinced. She sounded desperate for a rational explanation. "Big rats?"
"Maybe," I lied. I didn't tell her about the recording. I didn't tell her about the lack of high-frequency roll-off or the fact that the sound had a distinct, purposeful rhythm. I didn't tell her that rats don't tap out a beat.
"We should call the landlord," she said, digging for her keys. "Mr. Henderson needs to call an exterminator."
"Yeah," I said. "I’ll email him today."
She gave me a weak smile, one that didn't reach her eyes, and started up the stairs. "Okay. Thanks, Mark. Sorry for… you know. Acting weird. I’m just burnt out."
"Get some sleep," I called after her.
I watched her disappear around the landing. I stood there in the lobby for a long time, listening to the old building settle. The pipes groaned. The floorboards creaked.
But then I smelled it.
It was faint, drifting down the stairwell in the wake of her movement. A sharp, sour odor. Like milk that had been left out in the sun, mixed with the dusty, copper tang of old insulation.
I’d smelled that last night, too, near the wall. I had assumed it was just dirty laundry I’d forgotten about.
I looked at the mail in my hand—a flyer for pizza, a credit card offer, a bill. Normal things.
But as I walked back up the stairs, moving toward the darkness of the hallway, I couldn't shake the image of the waveform on my screen. The sound hadn't come from Sarah’s apartment. And it hadn't come from mine.
It was coming from the zero space. The void between us.
And whatever was in there… it wasn't a rat. Because rats don't stop tapping when you hit the record button. They don't listen back.
I gripped my keys, the metal biting into my palm. I had to go back in there. I had to work. But for the first time in my life, I wasn't worried about the noise I could hear.
I was worried about who was listening to me.
ns216.73.216.10da2
and then Add to home screen.