The Ninth Floor

I never thought I’d miss the flickering fluorescent lights of the office, but at least there I knew the only ghosts were the ones in the coffee machine. My new apartment, on the ninth floor of a building that smelled like old carpet and regret, was a different beast entirely.

It started small, as these things always do. I’d find the bathroom cabinet open when I knew I’d closed it. The shower curtain would be damp, though I hadn’t used it since morning. But the worst was the elevator. Every night, at 3:07 AM, I’d hear the ding of its arrival, followed by the grinding of the doors, and then a long, pregnant silence. I lived alone. I never pressed the button.

I told my friend, Anna, about it. We’d been through something similar years ago, in a different city, in a different life. She said, ‘It’s the same one. It followed you.’ I laughed it off, but the knot in my stomach tightened. She wasn’t joking.

The first time I saw her, I thought I was dreaming. I’d fallen asleep on the couch, the news droning in the background. I woke to a cold draft, and there she was, standing by the window. Not pressed against it, just… standing. A girl, young, with hair like a curtain of ink. She wore a simple black dress, but across her chest, from shoulder to hip, was a flash of white, like a streak of lightning painted on. It looked almost like a scar, or a sash. She didn’t move. She just stared at the city lights beyond the glass.

I blinked, and she was gone. But the cold remained, and so did the faint smell of ozone, like after a storm. The next night, I heard a faint whispering from the hallway. Not words, just a susurrus, like dry leaves skittering on pavement. I opened the door, and the corridor was empty. But on the floor, in front of my door, was a single playing card. The nine of hearts.

I picked it up, and the paper felt wrong, too smooth, too cold. As I held it, I could have sworn the heart on it pulsed, just once. I shoved it in my pocket and didn’t sleep that night. I thought about Anna’s warning, and about the entity we’d faced before. It had never left us alone, had it? It just changed its face.

A few nights later, I was in the kitchen, getting a glass of water. The apartment was oppressively quiet. The hum of the fridge, the tick of the clock. And then I heard it – the elevator ding. But this time, it wasn’t followed by the doors opening. Instead, the sound of footsteps, slow, deliberate, came from the hallway outside my door. They stopped just outside. I held my breath, staring at the door, waiting for the knock that never came.

After a minute, I crept to the peephole. The hallway was empty. But as I turned away, a movement caught my eye – a flicker of white, right at the edge of my vision, vanishing around the corner. I threw the door open, but nothing was there. Only the faint, lingering scent of ozone.

I called Anna, trembling. She said, ‘Don’t answer it. Whatever you do, don’t open the door when it knocks. And don’t acknowledge the girl with the white streak. If you look at her directly, she’ll know you see her, and she’ll never leave.’

I tried to follow her advice, but the entity grew bolder. The whispers became clearer. I heard my name, over and over, in a voice that was not my own. It was a woman’s voice, young and pleading. ‘Megan… let me in…’ it said from behind the door. My hand hovered over the doorknob, trembling. It was such a simple thing, just turn and pull. But Anna’s voice echoed in my head: ‘Don’t.’

I retreated to the bedroom, pulling the covers over my head like a child. The whispering stopped. But then I heard a new sound, a soft, rhythmic tapping. It was coming from the window. I looked up, and my blood ran cold. The girl was outside, pressed against the glass, her face deathly pale. The white streak on her dress seemed to glow. She was trying to get in.

I screamed, and she vanished. The tapping stopped. I lay there, shaking, until dawn. When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed of a long corridor, lined with doors, all of them shut. At the end, a single door was open a crack, and from it came a pale light, and the sound of sobbing.

I woke with a start. The sun was streaming through the window. The apartment was peaceful, almost mocking. I went to the bathroom, and on the mirror, written in what looked like condensation, was a message: ‘I am not the one who haunts you. I am the one who helps.’ I wiped it away, but the words stayed burned in my mind.

The next night, the power went out. The building was plunged into darkness. I fumbled for a flashlight, and as I shone it around the living room, I saw her again. She was standing by the bookshelf, but she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking at the door. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. I read her lips: ‘Don’t trust the knock.’

Suddenly, the door shuddered under a series of heavy knocks. Three, deliberate, echoing through the silent apartment. The girl turned to me, her eyes wide with warning, and then she faded. The knocks continued, faster, more frantic. I grabbed a kitchen knife, my heart pounding. I shouted, ‘Who’s there?’

The knocks stopped. A voice, deep and wrong, answered from the other side. ‘It’s maintenance. We have a gas leak. Open up.’

I didn’t believe him. The building was silent, no sound of other tenants. I crept to the peephole. A man stood there, in a grey uniform, his face obscured by shadows. He looked up, directly at the peephole, and smiled. It was too wide, too many teeth. I stumbled back, dropping the knife.

The knocks resumed, now pounding, the door shaking. I backed away, into the kitchen, and my hand touched the cold surface of the counter. I looked down, and there was the nine of hearts, lying on the counter. I hadn’t put it there. It was the same card, but now the heart was glowing faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat.

I picked it up, and I heard a whisper, not from the door, but from the card itself. ‘Turn it over.’ I did. On the back, written in the same condensation as the mirror, was a name: ‘Evelyn.’

I said the name aloud, ‘Evelyn.’ The pounding stopped. The apartment fell silent. The power flickered back on. The hallway was empty. The girl in black was gone.

I never saw her again, nor the man at the door. But sometimes, late at night, I still hear the elevator ding. And once, I found another card, a queen of spades, left on my pillow. And I know, somehow, that the game is not over. The ninth floor is patient. And so is she.