Roommate

I tightened my grip on the box of books, the corners biting into my palms, as I navigated the narrow staircase to my new apartment. The air was thick with the faint scent of mildew and something metallic, like old pipes clinging to their last days. The building wasn’t much—peeling paint curled away from the walls like dead leaves, and the light fixtures flickered as if they, too, were on their last legs—but it was what I could afford. After the year I’d had, cheap was good enough.

The landlord had been brisk, barely pausing as he handed me the keys. “Other tenant’s quiet.” he muttered, almost as an afterthought. I nodded, brushing it off. Quiet sounded like a gift.

The first few days unfolded like shadows in soft light—uneventful but faintly off-kilter. Alex, my unseen roommate, was an enigma. He never left his room, at least not when I was around. I guessed he worked odd hours or maybe preferred solitude. Still, his presence lingered in small, unmistakable ways. The faint aroma of coffee wafted from the kitchen each morning, though I never saw him brew it. The contents of the fridge shifted inexplicably, condiments rearranged as if by invisible hands. At night, the whisper of a door hinge, just loud enough to stir me from the edge of sleep, reminded me I wasn’t entirely alone in this apartment.

Once, emboldened by curiosity, I knocked softly on his door. “Hi, I’m Ray,” I called, my voice light but hopeful. No answer came, not even the shuffle of movement from the other side. After a few moments, I retreated, telling myself it wasn’t worth pressing. People had their reasons for keeping to themselves.

For now, I told myself, it was enough to coexist in silence, but then, there was the breathing.

It began on my fourth night. I lay in bed, my phone casting a faint blue glow across my face, when the sound drifted through the thin wall. Deep, guttural, and rhythmic. It came in steady waves, rising and falling with the heavy deliberation of a bellows. I froze, my breath catching, as the sound pressed into my ears. For a moment, I wondered if Alex was ill—or simply snoring—but the noise felt too primal, too alien. It crawled under my skin, demanding attention.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the unease. Everyone makes strange noises in their sleep, I thought, forcing myself to put the phone down and close my eyes. Sleep came eventually, but the sound lingered, threading through my dreams like a dark undercurrent.

The following night, it returned—louder, closer. I sat upright, my pulse quickening. Pressing my ear against the wall, I strained to catch every detail. It was unmistakable this time: not snoring, not sickness, but something deeper, as though the apartment itself had lungs and was laboring to breathe. The sound scraped against reason, its heaviness coiling in my chest.

By the end of the week, the air in the apartment felt oppressive, charged with an invisible weight. The breathing seeped into every moment of quiet, a reminder of the unseen presence just beyond the wall. I told myself it was nothing—just a quirk of my reclusive roommate—but the explanation felt thin, like paper stretched too tight.

And the tension? It clung to me, heavy as the sound itself.

On the seventh night, the breathing changed.

It came heavier now, layered with a low, rhythmic thumping that reverberated through the walls. I bolted upright, my pulse hammering in my ears. The sound was deliberate, methodical—like the dull pounding of something massive against the walls of Alex’s room. I sat frozen for a moment, my breath catching on the edges of panic. Thump. Thump. Thump.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet pressing into the icy floor. The dim hallway stretched before me, the faint glow of the kitchen light barely reaching the shadows. The thumping grew louder, more insistent, echoing through the stillness. Each slam seemed to rattle the air, vibrating down to my bones.

What if Alex was in trouble? The thought broke through my fear. What if he was hurt—or worse? I rushed to the kitchen to grab a knife, a naive thought in hindsight, and moved towards Alex’s room. I crept forward, my fingers trembling against the cool knife handle. The hallway felt impossibly long and dark, the sound louder with every step. I stopped just outside his door, the wood scuffed and worn beneath my knuckles.

“Alex?” I called softly, my voice cracking under the weight of my nerves. Nothing. The thumping didn’t falter. my heart raced as I knocked harder, the vibration running up my arm. “Are you okay?” I tried again, louder this time.

The noise stopped.

The silence that followed was almost worse. It pressed against me, thick and oppressive, as if the apartment itself were holding its breath. my fingers twitched around the knife as the seconds dragged on. Then, with an agonizing groan, the door swung open, the hinges shrieking in protest.

I blinked, my breath hitching. The room beyond was… wrong.

It wasn’t just empty. It was void. A cavernous, yawning expanse stretched before me, far too vast to fit within the confines of the apartment. The faint light from the hallway barely penetrated the gloom, leaving the space bathed in thick, shifting shadows that pooled and rippled like something alive. Cold air rushed out to meet me, carrying with it the faint, putrid smell of damp earth and decay. I gagged, my hand instinctively covering my mouth as I took a cautious step back.

My grip on the knife tightened. “Alex?” I whispered, the name barely audible against the oppressive silence.

The shadows shuddered, as if stirred by my voice.

Against every instinct, I took a hesitant step into the void, the knife trembling in my outstretched hand. The air was colder inside, biting against my skin like the depths of a winter night. my voice barely rose above a whisper. “Alex?”

The sound evaporated into the darkness.

My instincts screamed at me to turn back, to run, but my feet carried me forward as if the shadows themselves were pulling me in. The moment I crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind me with a thunderous crack. The sound was deafening, sealing my inside.

I whirled, my free hand clawing at the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Panic surged, tightening my chest as my breath came in ragged bursts. The room felt alive now—shadows moved with a sick, unnatural fluidity, converging at the edges of my vision. They twisted and writhed, growing denser, darker. The walls seemed to close in, though the space stretched on endlessly.

The shadows began to gather.

At first, it was subtle—a thickening in the air, like storm clouds forming overhead. Then they moved faster, converging into a single mass that began to take shape. I stumbled back, the knife shaking in my hand as I watched it rise. Limbs stretched unnaturally long, too thin, bending at angles that defied reason. A head followed, nearly scraping the ceiling, its hollow eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. The figure loomed, its form still shifting, impossibly large and grotesque.

And then came the breathing.

It poured out of the creature in waves—deep, guttural, and impossibly loud. Each inhale seemed to draw the air from the room, resonating through my chest as if my own lungs were being dragged into its rhythm. The sound was alive, primal, suffocating, and it rattled me down to my very bones.

My grip tightened on the knife, my knuckles white. I forced myself to raise the blade, though my body quaked with terror. The thing stared down at me, its eyes like glowing voids, its presence so overwhelming that my voice caught in my throat.

It took a step toward me.

I screamed, my voice raw and desperate, as I swung the knife in frantic arcs. The blade sliced through the shadows, meeting no resistance, as if I were fighting smoke. The creature lunged, its hollow eyes burning brighter, and I stumbled back, my spine slamming against the freezing wall. my hand scrambled wildly, searching for the door handle as the darkness closed in around me. It pressed against me, cold and unyielding, wrapping itself around my throat, my chest, my limbs—a suffocating void dragging me deeper.

With a final, desperate cry, my fingers found the handle. I yanked it with all my strength, the door flying open as I tumbled into the hallway. my knees hit the floor hard, but I didn’t stop. Scrambling to my feet, I slammed the door shut with trembling hands, the echo of the impact reverberating down the silent corridor.

Everything suddenly stopped.

The stillness that followed was absolute, a silence so deep it made my ears ring. my chest heaved, each breath sharp and painful as I stared at the door, half-expecting it to burst open. But it didn’t move. The shadows didn’t seep through the cracks. No thumping, no banging, no nothing. There was only quiet.

I didn’t wait to question it. I grabbed my coat and keys from the hook by the door, my hands fumbling as if I were underwater. Without looking back, I fled down the staircase, my footsteps pounding like gunfire in the empty building. I didn’t stop running until I was blocks away, my breath ragged and my mind splintered with the memory of those hollow, glowing eyes.

I never went back.