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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/ChickenJeff on 2024-10-28 15:39:24+00:00.

I knew one day I would have to tell this story. It took me a year to finally sit down and do it. I’ve been told that doing this could help me move on, but that’s not what this is for. I don’t expect to move on. The girl in 402 will always be with me. I’m telling this story, simply, because I have to.

I lived there for two years. It was a tiny little unit, tucked away on the very right of the fourth floor. Bachelor is almost generous. It was the kind of dingy place that never looks bright no matter how many lights you have on, but I liked it. I’m good with a small space, I enjoy not having that much to take care of. I could do without the bug problems, the leaks, the electrical problems, and the rotten smells that just sort of happen, but it is what it is.

There was a level of comfort, as well, to living on the fourth floor. Nobody robs a random fourth floor apartment unit. Nobody can peek into your window. It’s unlikely to get shot at… Yeah, I lived in one of those kinds of cities. You didn’t walk around at night if you could help it. You just didn’t.

I got accustomed to noise there. The cars, the sirens, the dogs barking, the shouting, the occasional echoing pop of a gunshot. It all becomes a whirling auditory soup. I learned to tune it out fairly quickly. In fact, I learned to tune out a lot of things.

I was in one of those periods of life that I think some people call “the grind” but really it’s more like being beaten into submission. Working to live, living to work – not living at all, just continuing to exist. All of this to say, I wasn’t very perceptive or sociable at this time. I was sleepwalking and daydreaming through life.

I’d say I could do my routine blindfolded except for the fact that I would stub my toe in the same spot on the coffee table 4 times a week at least. Funny how that works. I guess that was part of the routine too. But that’s what I mean about not being perceptive. The building could’ve caught fire and most days I probably wouldn’t have noticed until I actually went up in flames. I didn’t retain any faces I saw or names I heard. It was all just a blur, each day blending into the next. Until one night.

I got home from work like usual in the evening as the sun began to descend past the buildings. I couldn’t afford a car, but thankfully my work was close enough to walk to. The days were getting shorter now so my walks home became more brisk.

The apartment still smelled of dust and paint as they had finally sent someone to replace a moldy bit of wall the day before. I could still feel the sensation of dust collecting on my tongue when I opened my mouth and it getting sucked into my nose with every inhale. The smell of paint was strong, but infinitely better than some of the other smells.

I opened the window to attempt to ventilate the place, I emptied the bucket of rust coloured water collecting in the bathroom (they couldn’t be bothered to fix that as well), and I collapsed onto my bed. This was my ritual. After every work day, I would always take 10-15 minutes to just spread out on my bed like a cat and decompress from everything. But tonight, after about two minutes, I heard a noise.

This noise stood out from all the outdoor soup because it sounded a lot closer, and it sounded like a voice. A soft, feminine voice; making some kind of subtle moan or whimper. I froze in place. It startled me. It sounded SO close. Like it might be in the room. I didn’t move a muscle; I didn’t want to make a noise. I wanted to hear it again so I could tell where it was coming from. For a second I thought it might be coming from under my bed.

After a few seconds, the sound repeated. A faint, girly whimper. A bit louder than the last one. This time I could tell where it was coming from. It was behind me. Specifically, the other side of the wall behind my bed. That gave me some relief. It was my neighbor.

But then I was confused. I didn’t remember EVER hearing my neighbor making noise before. If I could suddenly hear a noise that soft, that mild, why couldn’t I hear anything before? Did I even have a neighbor before? Is this person new? I felt a rush of shame at just how detached I had become.

I reached back into my mind to try and recall any memories I had about my neighbor. I couldn’t find a single one. I remembered some people being on my floor, but I couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone enter or exit the door next to mine. I did, however, recall seeing people yesterday morning trying to move a couch up the stairs in the lobby. It was a fairly regular occurrence to see things like this. People rotated in and out of this place all the time. I suppose nobody else really wanted to stick around that long, and I can see why. But I guess that answers it. As peculiar as it is, I didn’t have a neighbor before - for two years - and now I do. And now they’re… whimpering? Why are they whimpering?

Slowly these sporadic whimpers become more defined sobs. A woman was crying. I didn’t know what to do. I just decided to be as quiet as possible and put on some headphones to let them have their privacy and spare myself from feeling any more awkward. It felt wrong to hear this, and I immediately felt bad for this person. I made sure to play some extra loud music.

About an hour later, I removed my headphones and the noises had stopped in the interim. I very briefly debated going over and telling them about how thin the walls apparently are, but I made the much easier decision to wait. Wait until they do something loud and not so private so I can use that as the excuse. Like the TV or something. I was weighing my options. But I couldn’t talk to them about THIS. I couldn’t say “Hey you were crying real loud over there.”

The rest of the night was quiet but I didn’t have the best sleep. This disturbance in the routine, and the thought of having to face this person at some point was giving me some anxiety. By the morning, however, the alarm kicked me back into the routine. I heard no noises from the neighbor, so life resumed.

I got back home from work that night, much later than usual because someone decided to no-show at work. Walking home in the dark made me paranoid and I hated days when this happened. When I got inside I was relieved, and the dust and paint were not nearly as oppressive to the senses this time. I did the window, the water bucket, and then collapsed on the bed like clockwork. What happened yesterday was still on my mind, so I made sure to be extra quiet when laying down. After a few seconds of silence, I was ready to try and remove the whole ordeal from my brain. Then I heard the voice.

I couldn’t make out the first word I heard from the other side of the wall, but I listened for the rest.

“It was a poetry book.” I heard in a muffled but distinctly feminine voice. Quieter than yesterday, I thought. She must be further away from the wall.

“I can’t remember exactly.”

“It always feels like we’re going somewhere.”

“Maybe that’s why we see them most at night.”

“I mixed up our glasses.”

There was a moderate gap of a few seconds between everything she said. Clearly, I was only hearing half of a conversation. Phone conversation most likely, or else the other person is just insanely quiet.

It was difficult to gauge her tone from how muffled the voice was, but there was a kind of melancholy in it. I wondered what was going on, and I kind of laughed at how random the phrases were. I thought about listening further but I stopped myself. It wasn’t my business. It’s not for me to hear. I once again thought about going over and letting her know about the noise, but it didn’t feel like a good time. I put on my headphones once again to try and enjoy the minimal amount of respite I had left in the day, and that was the end of it for that night.

The third night I got home on time. I was a bit surprised not to hear anything from her at first. I guessed that maybe she went to bed early or went out for the night. It was Friday after all, usually people do things on Friday nights. I still made sure to be quiet when near her wall just in case she was sleeping. I made a mental note to look up how much soundproofing panels cost. I probably should have thought of that earlier.

I got up from my 15 minute “work sucks” bed sprawling and headed over to my computer to do that important research, but – as I often did – I forgot my coffee table exists and I stubbed my toe. The heavy table shifted inches across the wooden floor and pain shot through me like a shockwave. I don’t remember which expletive left my mouth involuntarily that time, but it was definitely one of them. I was so annoyed. Every damn time. I could just move the table, why don’t I ever just move the fucking table?

“Are you okay?” My heart leapt in my chest. I physically jumped back on one leg. I thought she wasn’t home, and I forgot how close she could sound. It scared the shit out of me. She also spoke quite loudly, she probably assumed it would be harder to hear through the wall than it was.

“Oh. Yeah. I’m good. Sorry. I just stubbed my toe.” I responded back in a shaky voice.

 “Shit. That sucks.” I could hear a chuckle in her voice, she was clearly amused. Her volume decreased to match mine.

I laughed in return, “It happens ALL the time… So sorry to disturb you.”

“No no it’s fine, I’m just reading… You sure you’re good? That sounded violent.” She responded, …

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1ge55gb/the_girl_in_402_part_1/