Caroline Winters stood in front of her new apartment building, the tall, aging structure looming over her. The sun was just beginning to dip behind the horizon, casting a golden glow across the faded brick facade. The place wasn’t exactly glamorous, but it was affordable, and that was enough for her. It had been months since she’d left her old life behind—the breakup, the city that never felt like home, the memories of things that didn’t feel like they’d ever truly be forgotten.
She took a deep breath and tugged at the strap of her bag before pushing open the door to the building. It creaked loudly, as if protesting her entry. Inside, the air felt thick and musty, like it hadn’t been properly aired in years. The building smelled faintly of dust and something more ancient—something she couldn’t quite place.
The lobby was dimly lit, with faded wallpaper peeling off the walls. A few flickering overhead lights cast long shadows across the floor, which was covered in old, cracked tiles. Caroline scanned the space quickly. It wasn’t what she imagined when she’d first seen the listing, but she wasn’t one to complain. The rent was cheap, and that mattered most.
Her footsteps echoed as she approached the stairwell. She passed an elderly woman sitting on a bench near the elevators. The woman looked up at Caroline with rheumy eyes, her face creased with age.
“New here, are you?” the woman asked, her voice rasping as though the words had been trapped in her throat for too long.
Caroline nodded with a friendly smile. “Yes, just moved in. The name’s Caroline. I’m on the third floor.”
The woman’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than comfortable, and Caroline shifted uncomfortably, but the woman simply nodded slowly.
“Third floor, huh? Be careful up there,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Room 417… Stay away from it. Bad things happened there.”
Caroline chuckled awkwardly, brushing it off as a harmless superstition. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The woman’s gaze didn’t soften. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, she turned her attention back to the half-empty hallway, her hands gripping the edge of her cane with a strange intensity.
Caroline frowned, a bit taken aback by the odd warning, but shrugged it off. After all, people loved to tell spooky stories. She was just looking for a peaceful place to get her life back on track, not looking for trouble.
As she ascended the stairs, Caroline glanced over her shoulder at the old woman one more time, but she was already lost in the shadows of the building’s dim interior. She shook her head, trying to clear the lingering unease the woman’s words had left behind.
The apartment was just as she remembered it from the quick tour. Bare, a little too large for one person, but with enough space for Caroline to make it her own. The first night, after a quick meal of takeout, she unpacked her boxes, arranging things with a sense of quiet optimism. This was her fresh start. She could make it work here.
That night, as she lay in bed, the sounds of the building creaked around her. The wind rattled the windowpanes, and she could hear the distant hum of traffic below, but it was the other noises—the ones she couldn’t quite place—that made her uneasy. At first, it was nothing more than a faint rustling sound from somewhere in the walls, like the building was settling. Then, she swore she heard a voice—a whisper, maybe—but when she sat up in bed, there was nothing. Just the oppressive silence of the night.
She chalked it up to nerves. It had been a long day of moving and adjusting to her new life. Tomorrow would be better.
The next morning, Caroline was greeted by the distant sound of children playing outside, the sun shining brightly through her window. It was a peaceful morning. As she was brushing her teeth, a strange sound broke through the usual hum of the morning routine. It was the sound of something dragging against the floor, faint but undeniable.
She froze, the toothbrush still in her mouth. Her eyes darted to the corner of the room, but there was nothing there. The noise had stopped, but her heart was still pounding in her chest.
Caroline shook her head. “It’s nothing. Just the building,” she muttered to herself.
Later, as she stepped out into the hallway to throw out a bag of trash, the air felt heavier somehow, thick with an invisible weight. The fluorescent lights flickered above, casting erratic shadows against the walls. Caroline’s eyes were drawn to the far end of the hall where a door stood slightly ajar—Room 417. The faded number on the door stood out, almost taunting her.
She wasn’t sure why, but she felt a strange pull toward it, like something was calling her. The whispers from last night seemed to linger in her mind. “Help us…” it had said. “Room 417… Find the truth…”
A chill ran down her spine as she stood there, staring at the door. She had no reason to be interested in Room 417, but the longer she stood there, the more she felt like she had to know what was behind it. What was so special about that room?
Just as she took a step forward, a creaking sound made her jump. The door to the building’s maintenance closet had swung open, and an old man stepped out, his grizzled face softening when he saw her.
“Hey there,” he said, his voice friendly. “First time I’ve seen you around here. Everything alright?”
Caroline nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just, uh… curious about that room.” She gestured toward the door at the end of the hall.
The old man’s expression tightened slightly. “Ah. Room 417. No one ever goes there.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You’d be better off leaving it be. People who go near it… they don’t come back the same. You’re new here, so I’ll give you a piece of advice. Stay away from that room.”
Caroline laughed nervously. “Sounds like a ghost story.”
The old man didn’t smile. “Maybe. But it’s a story a lot of people around here believe.” He gave her a long, searching look, then shuffled down the hallway, disappearing into the shadows of the building.
Caroline’s heart pounded in her chest. She stood there for a long moment, staring at Room 417, the door now seemingly even more ominous. She felt as if something had just happened that she couldn’t explain. She took a deep breath, shook her head, and walked toward the stairs, trying to push the feeling out of her mind.
But as she walked away, the whispering in her mind continued.
That night, Caroline couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that door—Room 417—looming in her mind like an unfinished puzzle. She tossed and turned in bed, the shadows in her room growing longer, darker. The air felt oppressive, thick with a sense of foreboding.
The whispers returned, faint at first but growing louder. “Help us… Caroline…” Her heart raced as she sat up in bed, her breath shallow and quick. She looked around her room. The shadows were deeper now, stretching and distorting like they were alive, creeping toward her.
“Stop it,” she whispered to herself. “It’s nothing. It’s just the building. You’re just tired.”
But deep down, she knew something was wrong.
In the silence, she heard it again. A dragging sound. Like something—or someone—was moving across the floor. She stood frozen, her heart in her throat. The sound grew louder, and then she heard a voice, clearer now, whispering her name.
“Caroline…”
She backed away from the bed, the words circling her mind. It’s the building… it’s the building… But even as she whispered that to herself, she knew it wasn’t true.
The next morning, she found herself standing in front of Room 417 again. She hadn’t planned to go there, but her feet had carried her. The whispers were still in her mind, louder now, urging her forward. Find the truth…
Her hand trembled as she reached for the door. She didn’t want to open it, but she had to.
With a slow breath, she pushed the door open.
The room was dark, the air cold and stale. Dust covered the old furniture, and there was an overwhelming feeling of emptiness in the air. Caroline stepped inside, her footsteps echoing on the creaky floor. She could hear the whispers now, clearer, urgent.
The walls were lined with faded wallpaper, peeling and torn in places. And there, in the corner of the room, was a small, cracked mirror. As she approached, the whispers grew louder, and she saw something in the reflection.
A figure—a shadow—loomed behind her.
The last thing Caroline heard was the voice whispering one final time: “You were always meant to be here.”
Her body was never found.