The Last Tenant

In the hollowed-out carcass of the Pine Hollow Mall, where the only footsteps were the echoes of your own, I ran a shop that sold the memories of dead people’s homes. Antique clocks that ticked out their last seconds, porcelain dolls with cracked smiles, and a gramophone that played a record scratched with a woman’s last breath. I knew the building was cursed when I signed the lease five years ago, but the rent was cheap and the ghosts were quiet. The other vendors called it ‘the old man,’ but I knew his name was Augustus, a former janitor who had hanged himself in the maintenance tunnels after the mall’s glory days faded. He didn’t like the new owners, and he didn’t like me either, but we had an understanding: I stayed out of his way, and he didn’t flood my store.

Last year, I hired a woman named Priscilla, a retired nurse with steady hands and a calm demeanor. She was perfect for the job, and I gave her the keys so she could open and close on her own. One night, she closed up as usual, locking the deadbolt and setting the alarm. The next morning, I walked in to find the bathroom sink running at full blast, water cascading over the porcelain and onto the tile, seeping under the walls and into the stockroom. The damage was twenty thousand dollars, and I blamed Priscilla, whose face went pale when she saw it. She swore she had turned off the tap, but I didn’t believe her. I docked her pay and let her go, and she left with a look of betrayal that I would later understand.

A month ago, my new assistant, a twitchy kid named Marcus, and the cashier, Delia, were opening the store. The alarm beeped its usual code, the lights flickered on, and they were greeted by the smell of damp carpet and the sight of the back room door standing ajar. The bathroom was dry, but the faucet was dripping, a single drop landing in the basin with a splat that seemed too loud. Marcus shrugged it off, but Delia noticed the photo frames on the wall had all turned to face the corner, as if they were hiding their faces. They didn’t tell me about it until later, and I chalked it up to pranksters or a draft.

But then it escalated. The next night, I stayed late to finish inventory. The mall was empty, and the only sound was the hum of the refrigeration units from the food court and the occasional crack of the building settling. I was in the back office counting boxes when I heard the bathroom door creak open. I called out, ‘Augustus?’ but there was no answer. The faucet began to run, a steady stream that I could hear even from across the store. I walked over, and sure enough, the water was on, the sink filling, the water rising toward the brim. I turned it off, but as I did, I saw the reflection in the mirror: a figure standing behind me, a tall man in janitor’s coveralls, his face hidden in shadow. I spun around, but there was no one. My heart hammered, and I grabbed my keys and left, but the image stayed with me.

The next day, I called a plumber, but he found nothing wrong with the pipes. I tried to rationalize it: a faulty valve, a pressure surge. But then Priscilla called me, her voice shaking. She said she had a dream the night before, a dream where she was in our store, and the faucet was running, and a voice whispered, ‘You forgot me.’ She asked me if I had seen anything, and I lied, saying no. After we hung up, I remembered the warning the other tenants gave me when I moved in: ‘Don’t let Augustus get attached to anyone. He gets lonely.’ I had laughed then, but now I knew it was true. Augustus had chosen Priscilla as his new companion, and he was trying to frame her for his mischief so she would come back.

Determined to put an end to it, I stayed overnight, armed with a voice recorder and a handheld camera. I sat in the dark, the only light from the emergency exit sign, the air thick with dust. At 3 a.m., the temperature dropped, and the bathroom door swung open. The faucet turned on, and I heard a low, mournful hum, like a man trying to remember a song. I crept forward, camera rolling, and I saw a shape in the mirror, but it wasn’t the janitor. It was Priscilla, her eyes wide and pleading, her mouth moving soundlessly. She was reaching out to me, but water was pouring from her open mouth, flooding the room. I stepped back in terror, and as I did, the faucet shut off, and the mirror cracked.

I found out later that Priscilla had died that night in her own bathroom, a freak accident where she slipped and hit her head, drowning in the tub. The official report said it was an accident, but I knew better. Augustus had taken her, and he was furious that I had blamed her. The flooding was his way of telling me he wanted company, and I had punished the one soul who could have been his friend.

The store has been closed for a week now. I’ve tried to sell, but the new owners always back out, claiming they hear water running in the walls. I sit here, in my office, typing my confession because I know I can’t leave. Something keeps me here, something that wants to be remembered. The faucet in the bathroom is dripping again, and I know if I go in there, I’ll see her, Priscilla, her eyes full of accusation, and behind her, Augustus, gesturing to the sink, as if inviting me to join him. I’m not going to turn it off this time. I’m going to let it run, until the water rises, and the last tenant of Pine Hollow Mall is me.