Daniel had never believed in ghosts. As a rational man, he dismissed all supernatural stories as mere illusions of the mind. That was until he moved into the old apartment on the outskirts of town. It was cheap, suspiciously cheap, but he didn't question it. A quiet place to focus on his studies was all he needed.
The first night was uneventful. The second night, he heard it—a faint whisper coming from the corner of his room. At first, he thought it was just the wind slipping through the cracks, but as the nights passed, the whispers grew clearer.
"Get out..."
The voice was neither male nor female, but something in between. It was soft, almost pleading, yet it sent a chill through his spine. He searched every inch of his room for an explanation, but there was nothing.
By the fourth night, the whispers turned into scratching sounds behind the walls. Then, the lightbulb flickered and went out. In the darkness, he saw a shadow—a tall, distorted figure standing in the corner, its head tilted unnaturally.
His breath caught in his throat. He reached for his phone, but the screen was black, unresponsive. A sense of dread filled the air, thick and suffocating. The figure took a step forward.
Daniel bolted from the room, running down the hall, but the shadows seemed to stretch and twist, leading him in circles. He could still hear it whispering.
"You shouldn't have stayed..."
The door to the apartment slammed shut on its own, trapping him inside. A cold hand brushed against his shoulder. He turned around, but there was nothing—only the darkness, pressing in from all sides.
And then, the whispers stopped.
The next morning, the landlord found the apartment empty. Daniel was gone. His belongings were untouched, his bed neatly made, as if he had never been there. But in the dead of night, the whispers continued.
Waiting for the next tenant.
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