Episode 5: Demolish

Three taps.

Again.

Same wall.

Police said there’s nothing behind it.

So either they’re stupid...

or the wall’s lying.

Moved the dresser, pulled the frame,

Found three little scratches beside my name.

Paint looks fresh. Too fresh.

Landlord swears he never touched it.

Cool. Everybody’s lying now.

Measured the room. Measured the hall.

Apartment outside

is two feet longer than the wall.

That’s not paranoia. That’s math.

Finally, something I can defend.

Pressed my ear flat.

Heard breathing. Slow.

Then a whisper: “Closer.” ...

Absolutely not.

So obviously I moved closer.

THERE’S SOMETHING BEHIND THE WALL.

I KNOW THAT NOW.

HEARD MY OWN VOICE BUT IT SOUNDED WRONG SOMEHOW.

THREE LITTLE TAPS, THEN FOUR,

THEN FIVE— IF NOTHING’S BACK THERE,

WHY’S IT SOUND ALIVE?

I THINK I F’N LOST IT,

BUT I FOUND A CLUE.

THERE’S SOMEBODY BACK THERE WHO SOUNDS LIKE ME TOO.

Started peeling wallpaper after midnight,

Found a thin black line running floor to light.

Not a crack.

More like a seam.

Like somebody built a door and painted over the dream.

I laughed. (hahaha)

Then stopped. Because something laughed back.

Same pitch. Same timing.

Half a second late.

Okay.

That’s rude. Got a screwdriver.

Started prying.

Wall gave way like it had been waiting.

Behind it? Nothing. Just darkness.

Too deep for the space.

Phone flashlight on. Beam disappeared.

No back wall. No floor.

Just stairs.

Going down.

My apartment is on the third floor.

So...

where the fuck are those stairs going?

One step.

Two.

Three.

Air gets colder.

Voice gets clearer.

“Keep going.” No. “Keep going.” Stop.

“You asked where I was.” ...

Yeah. That sounded like me.

Not similar. Me.

Then I found a phone on the fifth step.

My phone. Same case.

Same crack.

Same picture on the lock screen.

Except the date says tomorrow.

And there’s one notification: “THANK YOU FOR OPENING IT.” ...

No.

No no no.

Footsteps behind me.

Not below.

Behind.

THERE WAS SOMETHING BEHIND THE WALL.

NOW THERE AIN’T.

HEARD MY OWN VOICE WHISPER MY NAME.

THREE LITTLE TAPS TURNED INTO STEPS— COMING UP SLOW WHILE I’M LOSING

MY BREATH. I THINK I F’N LOST IT.

MAYBE I DID.

’CAUSE SOMETHING JUST WALKED BACK INTO MY CRIB.

I ran upstairs.

Wall was sealed again.

No stairs.

No opening. Nothing.

Then my phone buzzed.

One new message. From my own number.

“Good job.”

... I typed back: “You’re welcome.”