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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/justpizzacate on 2024-11-06 03:21:21+00:00.

I moved into my new apartment a few weeks ago, just looking for a fresh start after a rough breakup. The building was old, the kind that creaked when you walked and seemed to hold onto sounds. But it was cheap, and the neighborhood was quiet, so I figured I could deal with a few quirks.

On my first night, as I lay down in bed, I heard footsteps from the apartment above me. I thought nothing of it at first; it’s an apartment building, after all, and you expect a certain amount of noise. But these footsteps didn’t have the usual random pattern you’d expect from someone moving around their home. They were rhythmic. Back and forth, back and forth. And it went on for hours, like someone pacing.

I tried to sleep, but the sound seeped into my brain and wouldn’t let go. By 3 a.m., I was still wide awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering what could possibly keep someone pacing like that for so long. The next morning, I asked the building manager about the tenant above me. He looked at me, puzzled.

“No one’s lived up there in years,” he said. “We haven’t been able to rent that unit since… well, there was an incident. People say it’s haunted.”

I laughed it off and chalked up the sounds to old building noises. I didn’t believe in ghosts, and the thought of “haunted apartments” felt a bit ridiculous. But the footsteps continued every night, always the same slow, methodical pacing. And then, about a week in, I heard something else.

It was just past midnight, and the pacing had started as usual. I lay in bed, trying to ignore it, when suddenly the footsteps stopped. And then I heard a faint, muffled voice. It was low and indecipherable, like someone was trying to speak through a thick wall. I froze, my heart pounding. I couldn’t make out what it was saying, but it was definitely a voice. A man’s voice, muttering… something.

The next morning, I asked my next-door neighbor if he’d heard the noises too. He looked at me, and his face went pale.

“You hear it too?” he asked, almost whispering. “I thought it was just me. I asked the manager about it a couple years ago, and he just told me to keep it down, that the building was old. But I’ve been here a while, and… sometimes, it sounds like someone’s crying up there.”

That was all he would say. After that, he avoided me in the hall, never making eye contact.

The pacing continued every night, and sometimes, I could hear that muffled voice. I even tried recording it with my phone, but whenever I played it back, all I heard was static. My dreams were getting worse too, filled with images of dark rooms and shadowy figures. It felt like I was being watched, like something was slowly wrapping itself around me, suffocating me.

Then, last night, everything changed.

I’d fallen asleep around midnight, only to be jolted awake by a loud thud directly above me. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, barely breathing. The pacing had started again, but this time, it was faster, more frantic. And then I heard that voice—clearer than ever before.

“Help me.”

It was a whisper, but so close I could almost feel the breath against my ear. I shot up, grabbing my phone for some kind of comfort. I was about to call the building manager when the footsteps stopped. Dead silence filled the room.

And then… a knock. Directly above my bed.

I sat there, frozen, as the knock sounded again. Three slow, deliberate knocks. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I just stared up at the ceiling, waiting. Then I heard a creak—the sound of a door opening upstairs. But that didn’t make sense. No one lived up there.

With my heart pounding, I forced myself to stand. I don’t know why, but I had to see for myself. I had to know. I walked out of my apartment and up the stairs, every step heavy with dread. The door to the apartment above me was slightly ajar, and I could see a dim light spilling out from the crack.

I pushed it open slowly, and my eyes adjusted to the darkness. The apartment was empty, cold, and bare, with dust blanketing every surface. But as I stepped inside, I noticed something on the floor: footprints, in the dust, leading from the door to a corner of the room. And in that corner, the air felt… wrong, like it was thicker somehow, filled with an overwhelming sense of despair.

I heard the voice again, right next to me, soft and pleading. “Help me.”

I ran. I didn’t look back. I bolted down the stairs, back into my apartment, and locked the door behind me. But as I turned, I saw it—something I’ll never be able to unsee.

There, standing in the corner of my bedroom, was a figure. Dark, unmoving, with eyes that seemed to burn into my soul. And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, it spoke.

“Help me. Or take my place.”

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I’m going insane. But every night, I can still hear it—the pacing above, the whispering, the knock. And every night, it’s getting closer.

If anyone is reading this, please—tell me I’m not alone. Tell me… tell me what I should do. Because I’m terrified that if I don’t help it, I might just become it.