The Last Tenant of Lot 14

I should have known better than to rent a unit in the Pine Hill Storage facility. The place had a reputation, but it was cheap, and my late Aunt Clara’s belongings were already there, waiting for me to sort through. The facility was a maze of rusted metal doors and cracked asphalt, tucked behind a dying strip mall. The manager, a man named Mr. Grimshaw, had a way of looking at you like he knew something you didn’t. He handed me the key to Lot 14 with a trembling hand. ‘Don’t mind the cold spots,’ he said, not meeting my eyes. ‘And whatever you do, don’t stay after sunset.’ I laughed it off, but the laugh caught in my throat as he walked away, muttering about ‘the previous tenant.’

Aunt Clara had always been a bit of a hoarder, and her unit was packed floor to ceiling with boxes, old furniture, and dusty knick-knacks. I spent the first hour just clearing a path to the back, where a large chest sat beneath a mildewed tarpaulin. The air was thick with the smell of mothballs and something else—something sweet and rotten. I tried to dismiss it as a dead rodent, but the feeling of being watched was impossible to ignore. My own shadow seemed to lag a second too long, and every creak of the metal walls made me jump.

By mid-afternoon, I needed a break. I sat on an overturned crate, sipping water from my thermos, and tried to call my husband. No signal. Just static, and then, faintly, a whispered word that sounded like ‘leave.’ I froze. The static grew louder, and I swore I heard a child’s laugh, high and tinny, echoing from the far corner. I told myself it was the wind, but the air was still. I started packing up, my hands shaking, and that’s when I saw it—a small, tarnished locket on a chain, dangling from a hook on the wall. It hadn’t been there before. I reached for it, and as my fingers closed around the cold metal, the lights above flickered and went out.

Darkness swallowed the unit, and I fumbled for my phone, but the flashlight wouldn’t turn on. I heard a scraping sound, like something being dragged across the concrete floor. Then a voice, low and gravelly, right next to my ear: ‘You shouldn’t have come alone.’ I spun around, but there was nothing. The locket was hot in my hand, burning my palm. I dropped it with a yelp, and it clattered to the floor, splitting open. Inside was a tiny, faded photograph of a family—a man, a woman, and a little girl. The man’s face was scratched out with a pin, and the girl had a red ribbon in her hair. I recognized the ribbon from Aunt Clara’s belongings. I had seen it in a box earlier. But I had never seen this photo before.

A cold draft swept through the unit, and I heard the click of the lock on the door. I ran to it, yanking the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. The key was in my pocket, but when I tried to insert it, the lock turned on its own—click, click, click—and then a burst of static from the small radio on a shelf. The static morphed into a woman’s voice, pleading: ‘Let us out.’ The sound came from everywhere at once. I spun in the dark, my heart hammering, and that’s when I saw the girl. She was standing in the corner, her face half-hidden in shadow, but I could see the red ribbon in her hair. She pointed at me and said, ‘Daddy’s not done with you yet.’ Then she vanished.

I don’t remember how I got out. Maybe I blacked out. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground outside the unit, gasping for breath, the key still in my hand. The sun was setting, and Mr. Grimshaw was standing over me, his face pale. ‘I told you not to stay after sunset,’ he said. ‘The last tenant—he never left. And he doesn’t take kindly to new people.’ I stumbled to my car and drove home without looking back. But since that night, I hear the scraping sound in my own walls. And sometimes, when I’m alone, I catch the faint smell of something sweet and rotten. I found the locket in my coat pocket yesterday. The photo is still there, but now the little girl’s face is scratched out too. And I’m starting to see her in my reflections. She’s always pointing. I don’t know what she wants. But I know I can’t go back. And I know I’m not alone.