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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Top-Investigator4629 on 2024-11-23 16:22:17+00:00.

My boyfriend and his roommates don’t understand the privilege of not having to lock their door.

When I come to visit, it’s like they experience culture shock when they try to barge in and they find it’s locked. None of them even carry keys. I once accidentally locked one of his roommates out for the night and he had to walk to a friend’s and sleep there.

They never got mad at me for it, they all understood why it was a habit I wasn’t willing to break.

My boyfriend and I were long distance. Since I worked from home, and he and his roommates were out of the house for the majority of the day, I would come and stay for a week at a time.

They all worked Saturdays, but I had weekends off, so I was laying in my boyfriend’s bed, in the room closest to the front door, having locked it and snuggled back in to relax until I felt like getting ready for the day.

The apartment complex they lived in comprised of buildings that connected, but had separate staircases and entrances pertaining to that section of apartments. My boyfriend’s apartment was all the way at the top left of the last building, nearest to the woods. It was in a nice neighborhood in the suburbs of two busy metropolitan areas.

The front doors of the buildings were never locked. The residents didn’t even pretend that they locked. They would even leave them propped open with large rocks for most of the day and night. On the occasions the door wasn’t propped open, when someone came into the building, it would slam loudly before bouncing back to an ajar position.

My boyfriend always told me to never answer the door, especially if I was alone.

On this morning, about an hour after the guys had left, I was reading a Tumblr post on my phone when I heard the door slam and what I swore was a cry for help.

I sat upright in bed and listened again, sure that I had gotten it wrong. I was prone to anxiety, diagnosed OCD, and knew I could let my thoughts twist and turn into the worse case scenarios that frequently went beyond realistic.

As I listened, there were no more cries, but it sounded as though someone was laboriously attempting to climb the stairs.

There were two flights between the entrance and my boyfriend’s front door.

As the sounds of fumbling footsteps, high-pitched panting and grunting, and palms on concrete neared the door, I heard another cry for help, and I knew for certain I heard it this time.

Instead of concern, my blood ran thick with fear at the sound. Something about it seemed off - wrong.

I quietly crept out of bed and neared closer to his bedroom door. I heard the woman clamber to the top of the steps and cry for help again. Instead of going for my boyfriend’s front door directly to her left, I heard the woman start pounding on the door of the person across the landing.

Guiltily, I felt relieved.

There were only two doors between my boyfriend’s and the person across from him. After having tried the two in the middle, the woman finally came pounding on the front door. I gasped and jumped, and my hands flew up to cover my mouth.

I pushed my boyfriend’s, thankfully silent, bedroom door open and peered into the hallway. I weighed the risk of checking the peephole, for I knew if she noticed a shadow she’d know I was in there ignoring her.

Also, I was scared of what I would find on the other side of the door.

To my further shock and horror, the door handle started to jiggle as well. The pounding was frantic, and louder and longer than she had done on the other neighbors’ doors.

I gathered all my courage and took careful footsteps toward the entryway. I tried my best to make no noise even though I doubt she’d hear me over her violent knocks.

Once I was close enough that I was confident I could check the peephole, whilst also not casting a shadow under the door, I leaned forward and squinted into the tiny glass circle.

My mouth went dry and I had to suppress a scream-turned-cough.

Standing unnecessarily close to the peephole was a man. A grown, disheveled beard, cracked lips, runny nose, crazy eyed man.

I cursed myself for leaving my phone in the bed when all of a sudden the noise stopped. I was paralyzed in my spot. I waited to hear him give up and walk away, but he never did. I wanted to sprint and grab my phone to call 911 but was scared he would break down the door if he heard me.

With nothing else to do, my morbid curiosity and flight instinct propelled me to look back into the peephole.

He was just standing there, breathing heavily at a high pitch with a wide, delirious smile on his face. Some of his lip started bleeding from a crack being split open again. He barely had any teeth, and the ones he did have were either completely black or a combination of brown and dark green.

He took a large inhale through his nose, and his eyes rolled in his head.

“Why won’t you help me?” He cried out in that near-perfect impression of a woman’s voice.

It took every ounce of my self-control and patience to let me go back to my boyfriend’s room at a pace that didn’t expose me. Once inside, I hurried across the carpet to sift through the sheets and blankets for my phone.

Once I had it in my hands, I immediately moved to call 911, but a different idea popped into my head last minute.

With swift fingertips, I searched ‘man angry someone at door audio.’ I turned down my volume so only I could hear and quickly sifted through my options. Having chosen one I hoped would work, I went back and held my phone through the doorway and into the hall, volume on full blast.

“Who the hell is pounding down my door at this hour?! They must be crazy! You know what?! Let me grab my gun so we can both say good morning,”

There was the sound of a gun clicking at the end of the track, and that was the one thing that finally made the man flee down the steps. I heard the door slam as he left the building.

Shaking, I went back and checked the peephole to confirm he was actually gone. I considered still making a call to the police, but knew I wouldn’t have much else besides my story.

I decided to head into the kitchen and dining area to grab a bottle of water and take a seat. On the way, I passed the small balcony that was rarely ever used. Suddenly filled with fear again, I ran over and moved back the curtain to find… nothing.

I finally let out a sigh of relief when I remembered the apartment wasn’t on the first floor.

Still, I reached up my fingers and turned the lock.