The Third-Floor Visitor

I had never believed in ghosts. Not really. I had a rational explanation for everything: drafty windows, settling pipes, a neighbor’s cat. But the house I lived in, the top floor of a hundred-year-old brownstone, had a way of forcing you to doubt your sanity.

My aunt owned the place, and she had warned me when I moved in. ‘Don’t mind the sounds,’ she said, her eyes darting to the ceiling. ‘This old building has its moods.’ I attributed her warnings to an overactive imagination and a fondness for cheap horror novels.

Months passed, and I experienced nothing but the normal creaks and groans of an aged structure. But then, one night, after a friend’s birthday party, everything changed.

Maya, Leo, and I stumbled in around 3 AM, giddy with laughter and the mellow buzz of a few beers. I went to the kitchen to brew coffee, while Maya and Leo settled into the living room. The apartment was dim, lit only by a streetlamp filtering through the blinds.

‘Seriously, this place has a vibe,’ Maya said, wrapping her hands around her coffee mug. ‘I feel like someone’s watching.’

‘It’s just the old windows,’ I said, trying to sound dismissive. But then I saw Leo’s face. He had gone pale.

‘There’s someone upstairs,’ he whispered.

‘There’s no one upstairs,’ I said, my heart skipping a beat. ‘This is the top floor.’

‘No, I mean in your room,’ he said, pointing toward the hallway that led to my bedroom. ‘A woman, old, wearing a white nightgown. She’s standing by the closet.’

I laughed nervously. ‘Leo, stop it. You’re scaring Maya.’ Maya clutched her mug, looking uneasy.

But Leo insisted. ‘I’m not joking. She’s just staring at us. She looks angry.’

‘Let’s go check,’ I said, hoping to prove him wrong. I led them to my bedroom and flicked the light switch. The room was empty. ‘See? Nothing.’

Leo shook his head. ‘She’s gone now. But she was there.’ I didn’t believe him, but a cold draft swept through the room, raising goosebumps on my arms.

We returned to the living room, trying to shake off the unease. But the atmosphere had changed. The silence was deeper, heavier. Maya kept glancing over her shoulder.

‘You guys, I think we should go,’ she said.

‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘It’s just your friend playing tricks.’ But as I spoke, I heard a soft tapping coming from the wall behind the couch. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was rhythmic, deliberate.

‘That’s the pipes,’ I said, but my voice wavered.

‘That’s not the pipes,’ Leo said. He was looking at the wall, his eyes wide. ‘There’s something inside it.’

Before I could respond, the tapping stopped. A moment later, the kitchen window slid open with a loud screech, despite the fact that it was locked and the window was heavy and would not move on its own.

I ran to the window and slammed it shut, my hands trembling. When I turned around, I saw a shadow glide past the doorway of the hallway. It was tall, vague, but unmistakably human-shaped.

‘Who’s there?’ I called out, my bravado gone.

No answer. The air grew cold, and I felt a presence behind me. I spun around, but there was nothing.

Maya was crying softly, hiding her face. Leo was backing toward the door. ‘We should leave. Now.’

He grabbed Maya, and they rushed out the front door. I followed them, my own instinct for safety overriding my stubborn disbelief. As I stepped into the hallway, I saw a small figure standing at the far end of the corridor—a child, maybe six years old, wearing a blue dress. She had no face, just smooth skin where her features should have been.

I screamed and ran after my friends, not stopping until we were on the street below, gasping for air.

The next morning, I returned to the apartment in the pale light of dawn. The windows were all shut, the house still. I searched every room, but found nothing. Yet, I knew what I had seen. Leo confirmed it later, telling me he had encountered the same entities—an old woman, a man, a child—in that house. He said they were ‘residents’ who had been there long before my family.

I never went back to that apartment. I packed my things that very day and moved out. My aunt didn’t understand, but I didn’t care. Some things are better left unseen.

Now, I live in a newer building, plastered walls and no history. But sometimes, late at night, I hear a faint tapping. I tell myself it’s the radiator. I don’t look. I never look.

I don’t want to know if the third floor followed me.