The Stairwell’s Silent Guest

It was a Tuesday evening in late October, and I was in my studio apartment on the fifth floor of an old, creaking building on Marrow Street. The city hummed outside, a constant low drone of traffic and distant sirens, but inside, all was still. I had just finished sketching a portrait of a raven I’d seen on the fire escape, and I was about to turn in for the night when I noticed the edge of my pale yellow curtain swaying gently, as if a breeze had passed through.

I froze, my hand hovering over the lamp switch. The window was shut, the latch firmly in place. My apartment had no balcony, no vents that could cause a draft. The movement stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and I told myself it was just the building settling. I walked through the small, cluttered rooms, checking every window and door. All were locked. Still, an unease settled in my chest, a cold knot that refused to loosen.

My roommate, a quiet man named Leo, was already asleep in his room, and I didn’t want to disturb him. I decided to go to the kitchen to make some tea, but as I stepped into the hallway, I saw something that made my heart lurch. A figure lay sprawled on the landing, blocking the top of the stairs. At first, I thought it was Leo, but he wore a grey hoodie, and this person was dressed in a faded floral dress, their face obscured by a mess of dark, matted hair. I thought, for a wild second, that it might be my mother, who sometimes visited without warning, but she lived three states away.

I backed away slowly, my feet silent on the worn carpet. The figure did not move. I could see the slow rise and fall of its shoulders, as if it were breathing. The air grew thick, and the smell of damp earth and rot filled my nostrils. I wanted to scream, but my throat was tight, and no sound would come. I reached the bottom of the stairs, my hand gripping the banister, when the creature’s head snapped up.

Its face was a ruin. Torn skin, gaping wounds, eyes that seemed to be nothing but black pits. It stared at me with an intensity that bore into my soul. And then, it smiled. A slow, deliberate smile that split its ravaged face. I finally found my voice and screamed, a raw, guttural sound that echoed through the building. The creature’s expression shifted to one of terror, as if my scream had wounded it. It scrambled backward up the stairs, and then disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.

I stumbled to the street, my legs shaking. I didn’t stop running until I reached the all-night diner on the corner. I called Leo, but he didn’t answer. The police came, but they found nothing. No sign of the woman, no evidence that anything had been there. But I know what I saw. And every night since, I hear a faint rustling from behind my closet door, and the curtains in my bedroom move, even when there is no wind. I no longer sleep. I simply wait. Because I know that the smile was just a prelude, and that she will come back. But this time, she will be waiting for me.