The Pool at Eleven

It was the first time I’d been to Mira’s place, a sleek condominium tower that rose above the city’s smog line. We’d been best friends for years, but she’d always been secretive about her home life, and I was excited to finally see where she lived. The elevator hummed as we ascended to the eleventh floor, and when she slid open the glass door to the balcony, I gasped. Below, the swimming pool stretched like a dark mirror, its surface unbroken, reflecting the distant city lights. ‘Pretty, right?’ Mira said, but there was a tightness in her voice. ‘My parents are out. I’m going to take a shower. Make yourself at home.’ She pointed to a bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter and disappeared into the hallway, leaving me alone in the vast living room.

I grabbed a cold soda from the fridge and flopped onto the plush couch. The TV was already on, and a horror movie was playing—something about a family being tormented by an invisible presence. I wasn’t really paying attention. The apartment felt too quiet, too still, like the air itself was holding its breath. The only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional gurgle of the plumbing. I kept glancing at the balcony, at the pool below, shimmering under the security lights.

Then the banging started. It was sharp, insistent, three rapid knocks on the front door. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Mira’s parents must have forgotten their keys. I shouted, ‘I’m coming!’ and grabbed the key ring hanging on a hook by the door. I unlocked it and swung the door open, a smile ready on my face—but the hallway was empty. The carpet stretched in both directions, lined with identical doors, and the only light came from a flickering fluorescent tube. ‘Hello?’ I called out. No response. I slammed the door and locked it, my heart thudding. Must be a prank, I told myself, recalling the horror movie’s plot. But the silence that followed was heavier than before.

I tried to focus on the movie, but my eyes kept drifting to the balcony. The pool was still down there, unmoving, like a dead eye. And then I noticed something odd: the reflection of the eleventh floor windows on the pool’s surface—it seemed to be one window too many. I counted the lit windows: ten. But the building had only ten floors above ground. No, that wasn’t right. I was on the eleventh. My mind was playing tricks.

I heard the shower stop. The bathroom door creaked open, and Mira’s voice floated out, muffled: ‘Hey, did someone knock?’ I didn’t answer. I was too focused on the pool. Because now, there was a figure standing at the edge of the water. A dark silhouette, featureless, just standing there, looking up. Directly at me. My breath caught. I stepped back, but the figure raised a hand, slowly, deliberately, and pointed at me.

A shiver ran down my spine. I wanted to call Mira, but my voice was gone. The figure started walking toward the building. Toward the entrance. I heard the front door unlock. The key turned, the door swung open, and there was nothing there—just the empty hallway. But I felt a cold draft sweep past me, as if something had entered. The door slammed shut by itself.

I ran to the bathroom, but Mira was already coming out, wrapped in a towel, her hair wet. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, seeing my face. I told her about the banging, the empty hallway, the figure at the pool. She went pale. ‘The pool,’ she whispered. ‘You saw someone at the pool?’ I nodded. She grabbed my arm. ‘We need to leave. Now.’ She dragged me toward the elevator, but as we reached it, the button for the ground floor lit up on its own. The doors opened, and inside, on the floor, was a puddle of water. A single wet footprint. Then another, leading out of the elevator and down the hall.

Mira was trembling. ‘It followed us,’ she said. The lights in the hallway flickered, and the pool below—through the glass walls of the elevator lobby—rippled, even though no one was in it. And in the water, I saw the reflection of the building again, but this time, the window on the eleventh floor was dark, and a face was pressed against it, staring down at us. It was my own face. And I didn’t smile.

The elevator doors slid shut, and we ran down the stairs, not looking back. But the pool was always there, at the bottom of every window, waiting. And even as we burst out into the night, gasping for air, I could feel something watching from the water, patient and hungry. I never went back to Mira’s place. But sometimes, at night, I see a pool of water on my floor, and a single footprint leading to my bed.