The Unseen Visitor

The first time I noticed something was off about the old office building they’d converted into dorms was when the elevator music stopped. It was a tinny, warped version of ‘Moon River’ that played on loop every time the doors slid shut, a relic from the building’s corporate past. My roommate, Dana, and I had laughed about it when we moved in, joking that we were living in the set of a 1950s detective movie. The tinted glass on our door, the frosted pane with the room number stenciled in faded gold, only added to the vibe. We covered it with a thick piece of construction paper and a dark curtain, desperate for privacy and darkness.

That weekend, Dana had gone home to visit her parents, leaving me alone in our fourth-floor room. The building was quiet, erily so, especially for a Saturday night. I’d spent the evening studying, and by 11:45 PM, I was ready for bed. I locked the door, flicked off the light, and crawled under the covers. The room was pitch black, the kind of black that presses against your eyes. I closed mine and waited for sleep.

Fifteen minutes later, I was still awake, my mind wandering through the day’s lectures. That’s when I heard it: the unmistakable jiggle of the door handle, followed by the soft click of the lock being turned. The door swung open, letting a sliver of hallway light bleed in from the edges of our makeshift curtain. I felt a presence, a subtle shift in the air, as if someone had stepped inside. I sat up, expecting to see Dana’s silhouette, but the door was already closed. The room was still dark, and the door was not moving.

I froze, my heart starting to pound. I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand, its screen lighting up my face like a ghost. I checked the lock: it was engaged. How could it have been unlocked? I crept to the door, my bare feet cold on the linoleum, and placed my hand on the surface. It was freezing, colder than the air in the room. I peered through the tiny gap under the curtain, but only saw the empty hallway, dimly lit by a flickering fluorescent light.

I backed away, convinced it was a prank, maybe Dana had come back early and was messing with me. But the door remained closed, and the lock was still turned. I slid back into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin, and tried to sleep. But the feeling of being watched persisted, a prickle on the back of my neck.

An hour later, I heard the sound again: the lock clicking, the door opening. This time, I threw off the covers and lunged for the door, my hand hitting the light switch. The harsh yellow light flooded the room. The door was closed, locked. I opened it wide, stepping into the hallway, but it was empty. A faint breeze swept past me, carrying the scent of old paper and dust.

I didn’t sleep that night. I sat in the corner of the room, watching the door, until the sun rose. When Dana returned on Sunday evening, I told her about what had happened. She laughed it off, thinking I’d had a nightmare. But then, a few days later, she stayed behind while I went to the library. When I came back, she was pale, sitting on the floor with her back against the door. She said she’d heard the same thing, the door unlocking and opening, but no one was there. She’d checked the hallway, but it was empty.

We tried everything to figure out what was happening. We replaced the lock, but the door still opened on its own. We put a security camera in the room, but every time it triggered, it only showed the door opening and closing, with no one visible. We even contacted the building’s maintenance, but they found nothing wrong.

It was then that we learned the history of the building. It had been an office building in the 1940s, and a detective had occupied our room. He had died there, supposedly of a heart attack, but there were rumors of an unsolved case that had haunted him. His name was Walter, and he was obsessed with catching a criminal who had escaped justice.

One night, alone again, I decided to confront whatever it was. I left the door unlocked and sat in the dark, waiting. At 11:45 PM, I heard the lock click and the door swing open. I didn’t move. I watched as the door slowly closed, and I felt a rush of cold air. Then, I heard it: a faint, desperate whisper, right next to my ear. ‘I can see you.’

I scrambled for the light, but the switch wouldn’t work. I screamed, but no sound came out. I felt a cold hand on my shoulder, and then everything went black. When I woke up, I was on the floor. The room was dark, and the door was standing open.

From that night on, the door would open at random, whenever I was alone. I started seeing things in the corner of my eye, a translucent figure in a fedora. I knew it was Walter, still trying to solve his case, still lurking in the space between worlds. But the worst part was when I discovered that he wasn’t the only one. The building had been built on an old graveyard, and the walls were full of the unquiet dead.

I moved out at the end of the semester, but Dana stayed. She told me later that the door never opened again after I left. But I knew the truth: Walter wasn’t gone. He was just waiting for the next person to unlock the door.