My cousin found a nice flat in a building that had stood for a century. After he had lived there for several months, he began to notice a soft thumping sound from the roof space. He mentioned it to us, and we smiled and said it was probably just the old pipes or the wind. We thought he was letting his imagination run wild.
One evening, we were all at his home playing cards when we heard it, too. It was a distinct, rhythmic sound, like someone pacing slowly on the floor above. The sound moved from one side of the ceiling to the other. We stopped our game and sat in silence, listening. The noise ceased, and we finished our night trying to ignore it.
Later, as we were cleaning up and talking about what it could have been, the pacing started again. We were startled, but gathered our courage to investigate. We grabbed a rolling pin and a flashlight from the kitchen and headed into the corridor. The entrance to the upper floor was a narrow door at the end of the hall, shared by everyone in the building. A large, old lock was fixed to the door.