I checked into my apartment, number 3B, on a Tuesday. I remember vividly because it rained so much that day, that my shoes were ruined. The bus came late, making me stand in the rain for several minutes, with bag soaked and hair glued to my head. It was an old building with walls cracked and paints peeled. I didn't care. All I needed was a place to crash each day after work.
Everything seemed normal on the first night. I unpacked my things and made some instant noodles. The TV barely worked, so I didn't spend too much time on it. It was an old square box that looked like something the rich would meaninglessly bid over using fancy terms like 'vintage'. I went to bed. But at exactly 11:23 p.m., I heard it. A ticking. It wasn't the clock. The clock was in the kitchen, but quiet. This was something else. It was deep, slow, and deliberate, like someone was counting every second.
I froze. I first thought it was coming from the neighbors. But it was different. It came from inside. Inside my apartment.
I tried to ignore it. “Old pipes. Old building. Chill, man,” I muttered to myself. But the sound got louder, closer. Tick… tick… tick… I got out of bed, barefoot, with flashlight in hand. I followed the sound to the living room. It was nothing but the shadows of the furniture looking weird. Nothing unusual. I shrugged. “Okay… just old walls.” I went back to bed, heart still hammering.
Next night, same time. 11:23. Tick… tick… tick… Only now it had rhythm. I tried sleeping on the couch but it didn’t help. The ticking followed. It felt… angry. Or patient. I couldn’t tell.
By the third night, I was nervous. My friend, Kayla, called me, probably sensing I was weird on texts. “Stop sleeping in 3B, it’s creepy and has ghosts,” she said, in a teasing tone. “You’re imagining things.”
“Maybe,” I said. I laughed, but my voice shook with fear.
I decided to investigate. Took a flashlight, opened drawers, cupboards. Checked behind the TV. Even under the rug. Nothing. But the ticking… always right behind me when I stopped.
Then came the whisper. Not words, not real words. Just… sound. Hissing, almost a sigh. “You… see…?” or maybe “You… feel…?” I don’t know. My heart thumped. I ran to my room, slammed the door. The ticking stopped. For three minutes. Then a knock. Single, deliberate, at my window.
I ignored it. Pretended I didn’t hear. But my imagination was already running wild.
Fourth night. I was ready. Phone in hand, camera ready. If I saw someone… anyone… I’d call the cops. Tick… tick… tick… It started again. I decided to follow the sound this time.
I saw something at the corner of the sitting room, where the shadow of the old clock leaned. It was not a person. Not fully. It was just dark and blurry, like smoke with edges. And the ticking came from it.
“Who’s there?” My voice barely came out. It was swallowed by fear.
The shadow moved. Not quickly, not fast, like it didn’t need to. Just… moved. Toward the wall. Tick… tick… tick… closer, softer, then louder again.
I froze, but heard footsteps. Mine? Not possible. I'm not even moving. I fell backwards and my flashlight flickered. The wall folded on itself, and a thick, solid mass of darkness emerged from it. Shaped like a human, but just darkness. No eyes, nose, or visible feature. It floated in the air in front of me.
"You don't belong here. Get out and never come back," it said, and merged back with the wall where it came from.
Tick… tick… tick…
I was gripped by fear. I sit where had fallen, for hours? Minutes? No idea. And then, it stopped. Silence. The morning light through the curtains made everything normal again.
I ran out of the apartment the following morning, and didn't return until I got another apartment. I found a better apartment and moved my thing out at once. I didn’t look back.
I didn’t tell anyone about the shadow. They’d call me crazy.
Till now, when I hear a clock ticking somewhere late at night, my stomach tightens. It's simply hard to get over.
Tick… tick… tick…
I sometimes hear a faint whisper. I can’t tell if it’s my mind, or Apartment 3B still calling unto me, reminding me that the supernatural exists, and they don't want to be disturbed.
