In the heart of the city stood an old, dilapidated building. Its once vibrant exterior was now faded, and the windows were clouded with years of neglect. This was my new home.

I had recently moved to the city and was in desperate need of affordable housing. The building, despite its eerie appearance, was all I could afford. The landlord, a gruff old man, warned me about strange occurrences in the building, but I dismissed it as mere superstition.


The first few nights were uneventful. However, things started to change one stormy night. As the rain lashed against the windows, I heard a faint scratching sound coming from the walls. I assumed it was the wind and tried to ignore it, but the scratching grew louder and more persistent.

The next morning, I found strange marks on the wooden floor, as if something with sharp claws had been dragging itself around my apartment. I reported it to the landlord, but he merely shrugged and said, “It’s probably rats.”

But the disturbances didn’t stop. Objects started to move on their own. My keys would disappear from the table only to reappear in the refrigerator. My shoes would be neatly arranged by the door in the morning, even though I had left them scattered the night before. The scratching in the walls became a nightly occurrence, accompanied by a low growl that sent chills down my spine.

One night, as I lay in bed, the temperature in the room suddenly dropped. I could see my breath in the dim light. The scratching and growling grew louder until it was deafening. I could feel a presence in the room, a malicious energy that made my skin crawl.

Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain on my leg. I looked down to see three long scratches, fresh and bleeding. I jumped out of bed and turned on the light, but there was nothing there. The room was empty, but the feeling of being watched was stronger than ever.

I moved out the next day, leaving behind most of my belongings. The landlord didn’t seem surprised. As I left, he said, “You’re not the first to leave in a hurry, and you won’t be the last.”

I never found out what was in that apartment, and I don’t want to. All I know is that something was living there with me, something unseen, something that made my skin crawl. And sometimes, when I’m alone in the quiet of the night, I can still hear the faint scratching in the walls.

As an Amazon Associate we earn from qualifying purchases through some links in our articles.