I had been at my new office for almost four years when I decided to move on. The building had a history, people said. Long ago, it was a factory owned by a man with a cruel reputation. I never believed those tales, until two strange things occurred in my final months.
One evening, I was walking down the main corridor toward the supply closet. This hall has a concrete floor and two entrances, so any movement is easy to hear. It was just past five, and the place was empty. Suddenly, I heard a low mumble, like someone having a private conversation, and then heavy, fast footsteps. The strange part was that I never heard a door open or close.
The other time, I was cutting through the same hallway after hours. A cold feeling washed over me, and I heard a sharp crack from the empty closet, though the door was locked. After that, I was happy to leave.