The steps continued—down the hall

March 2, 2025

by Otilia

When I moved into my apartment on Willow Street, I knew something was off. It was a small place, just a bedroom, a tiny kitchen, and a living room connected by a short hallway. The stairs leading up from the front door had exactly six steps, and for some reason, I always felt uneasy walking up them. At first, I chalked it up to nerves—being on my own for the first time, dealing with bills, late-night creaks in an old building.

But I was wrong.

The first time it happened, I was sitting in my room, scrolling on my phone, when I heard it—the sound of my front door creaking open. My breath caught in my throat. I knew I had locked it. I grabbed the closest thing to a weapon—a heavy flashlight—and stepped out into the hallway.

Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, climbing the stairs.

I waited, heart pounding. Then they reached the top. I should have seen someone standing there, but there was no one.

The steps continued—down the hall, toward me. My chest tightened as an invisible presence moved past me, just inches away. The air turned ice-cold. Then, as suddenly as it came, it turned around. The steps retreated, back down the hall, down the stairs. And just before it reached the door, I heard it—a low, mocking chuckle that made my skin crawl. Then the door slammed shut.

That was only the beginning.

The worst night came weeks later. I was standing at the top of the stairs, staring out my front door into the dark street. A strange feeling settled over me, like something was standing right behind me, breathing down my neck. Before I could turn, a wave of freezing air swept over me, and then—shove.

I felt hands, ice-cold and unseen, push hard against my back. I tumbled forward, crashing down the steps, landing hard on the floor below. Pain shot through my ribs, my head spun, but before I could move, a voice—deep, guttural, and filled with rage—echoed from the top of the stairs.

“GET UP.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“GET UP NOW!”

I scrambled backward, my whole body trembling. The air above me seemed to twist, to pulse, like something was standing there, watching.

I don’t remember how I got out of that apartment that night. All I know is I spent the next few days at a friend’s place. When I came back, things were… different. Doors left open. Objects moved. Whispers in the middle of the night.

I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s still there. Waiting.

And I know it’s not finished with me yet.

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