The Tenant in the Hall

We moved into the Ashford Arms three years ago, after my husband, Daniel, got a job at the mill. The building was old, with creaking radiators and peeling paint, but the rent was cheap and the rooms were big. For the first two years, we never heard a thing. We were too tired, I suppose, to notice the way the floorboards groaned at night, or the way the hallway light flickered when no one was near the switch. We just lived our lives, ate our meals, watched TV, and slept.

Then, three nights ago, Daniel woke up with a start. He said something had touched his hand. Not a person touching, but something cold and light, like a breath on his skin. I told him it was just a draft, maybe a mouse, but he was insistent. He said it felt like fingers, barely there, tracing along his knuckles. I laughed it off and told him to go back to sleep. But the next night, I felt it too. I was lying in bed, half-asleep, and I felt a tug on my shirt, right at the shoulder, as if someone was trying to get my attention. I sat up and looked at Daniel, who was wide awake, watching TV with the sound low. I asked him why he pulled my shirt. He looked at me, confused, and said he hadn’t touched me. I saw his hands, both on the remote and his lap. I let it go, but a cold knot formed in my stomach.

Last night was worse. I woke up to the sound of the floor popping, like someone walking across the living room. I listened, my heart thumping, but the apartment was still. The popping came from the hallway, then the kitchen, then back to the living room. It was a deliberate rhythm, like footsteps, but there was no one there. I shook Daniel awake, but he just grumbled and said I was hearing things. He went back to sleep, but I lay there, listening to the footsteps stop right outside our bedroom door.

In the morning, I mentioned it to my sister, Elena, over the phone. She’s into all that occult stuff, tarot cards and pendulums. She insisted on doing a reading for our apartment. When she did, she got quiet. She said she saw two men, friendly, maybe former residents, and one woman. She said the men were protective, but the woman was darker, and she didn’t want to talk about her. She said the woman was there, in the hallway, and she was angry. Elena told me to be careful, that the woman might not like us being there.

Then this afternoon, my son, Jamie, came running from the hall, white as a sheet. He said he saw a light in the hallway, shaped like a person, all silvery and glowing. He said it was standing by the closet, and it had no face. My daughter, Lily, said she saw a woman in a long dress, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, just watching. She said the woman looked sad, but also angry, and that she wanted us to leave. I didn’t know what to think. We’ve never had any problems here. It’s a quiet building, mostly old people like us. But now, I can’t help but feel we are not alone. Every time I walk down the hall, I expect to see her. And every night, I wait for the footsteps to start again.

What do you make of this? Is it just our minds playing tricks, or is there something real in this apartment? My sister says it’s spirits, but I’m not so sure. All I know is that the floor pops at night, and something touched my hand. I don’t know if it means us harm or if it’s just a lost soul. But I’m scared to find out.