Submitted by: Anonymous, 67
Retired man
After my wife died, I moved into a smaller apartment. The building was quiet, which was what I wanted.
Within the first week, I began hearing footsteps above me.
They always started at 2:13 in the morning.
Someone walked slowly from one side of the apartment to the other. Then a chair scraped across the floor. After that, the footsteps stopped directly above my bed.
At first, I blamed poor insulation.
One morning, I met the caretaker and mentioned my noisy neighbour.
He stared at me.
The apartment above mine was empty.
A pipe had burst there two years earlier, causing severe mould. The door had been sealed while the owner argued with the insurance company.
That night, the footsteps began again.
I recorded them on my phone. The sound was clear: eight steps, a dragging chair and three heavy knocks.
The next day, I played the recording for the caretaker.
He agreed to inspect the apartment.
We removed the seal and entered together.
The smell was terrible. Wallpaper hung in strips, and black mould covered the ceiling.
There was no furniture.
The floor was coated in dust except for one area directly above my bedroom.
A wooden chair stood there.
The caretaker insisted it had not been present during the previous inspection.
The chair faced the wall.
On the plaster in front of it, someone had drawn a rectangle approximately the size of a television screen.
Inside the rectangle was a rough picture of my bedroom.
My bed, wardrobe and bedside lamp were all included.
There was also a figure lying beneath the blanket.
Another figure stood beside the bed.
I moved out temporarily while the police investigated.
They found no evidence that anyone had entered the apartment. The windows were locked from inside, and the dust near the door was undisturbed.
The caretaker removed the chair and threw it into a rubbish container.
The following night, while staying with my daughter, I woke at 2:13.
Someone was walking in the room above hers.
My daughter lives on the top floor.
Eight steps.
A chair scraping.
Three knocks.
Then the footsteps stopped above the guest-room bed.
In the morning, we found the wooden chair from the abandoned apartment sitting outside her front door.
My daughter wanted to contact the police again, but I asked her not to.
Taped beneath the chair was an old photograph of my wife.
It showed her asleep in our former bedroom.
The photograph had been taken from the ceiling.
Editorial note: This is an original fictional horror story presented in a realistic user-submission style. It is not a verified eyewitness account.