Sounds can drive you insane. It can be a dripping tap, the neighbor’s loud music or the constant chatter of co-workers. I was never bothered much by these things. I guess it was easy for me to down them out. Maybe it’s because I grew up in an urban area.
In my new apartment, things were different.
When I had to move because of a new job, I was forced to take the first apartment I could find. It was located in an old, two-story building. It had been written out as a recently renovated, modern place, but this couldn’t have been further from the truth. The place was a relic from the seventies. It was filled with the perpetual odor of old wood, and the musty air inside was almost suffocating. Here and there the wallpaper was faded, the floorboards creaked with every step, and I could’ve sworn I heard the faint drop of an old, leaking pipe somewhere deep within the walls.
The place’s landlord, Mr. Reinhardt, can best be described in three words: uptight, stingy, and condescending. As he led me through the place he went on about all sorts of rules: no loud noise after eight, not more than one visitor at a time, I could paint the living room, but not the kitchen, and god knows what else. It was an endless list, which he recited in an entirely bored and monotonous voice. The only positive thing was that he didn’t mind me bringing my cat, Paws, along.
The moment I’d signed the contract, he told me he’d not be around much, if at all. He preferred a ‘pay rent and leave me alone’ type of relationship. To say I didn’t like him was quite the understatement. He also didn’t seem to care about his tenants at all. He didn’t even bother telling me how many other people lived there, and I’m not sure he even knew.
When I moved in, I only saw two other tenants. One was a young man, smoking a cigarette near the building’s entrance, greeting me with an overly-friendly, overdrawn smile. I gave him a nod, but hurried on, rather unsettled by his smile. The other was Miss Schulz, a friendly older lady living next door. We chit-chatted for a bit. She was such a sweet lady, and I felt bad when I excused myself to finishing moving in.
The sounds started the first night. They came out of nowhere. I was taking care of a few boxes, when sudden sounds made me look up. It was a barely audible humming that reminded me of screeching or wailing, entirely different from the usual sounds of a bustling city. It was an unsettling, almost alien noise that wormed itself deep into my brain.
I first thought something was playing on my phone or laptop, but that wasn’t it. Then I checked the wall to Miss Schulz’s apartment, but everything was quiet. My eyes wandered around the apartment; it was already dark outside, and as the strange hum persisted, I felt goosebumps all over my arms. For the next couple of minutes, I went from room to room, trying to locate the sounds, but then told myself to calm down.
“There’s no such things as ghosts,” I told myself. “Right, Paws?”
The little guy answered me with a happy meow and rubbed against my ankle. Eventually, I just shrugged it off as something in the house. The place was old, the floorboards were creaking, pipes were leaking, so it was probably one of the water boilers.
When I heard the sounds more often though, I got unnerved. I wasn’t the only one, though. Poor Paws was agitated as well. He was scurrying through the apartment in an endless search for their origin. At times, I’d even find him sitting in a corner, simply staring at the walls or the ceiling. It wasn’t long before I began doing the same. I checked the whole place, every nook and cranny, but found nothing.
When I talked to Miss Schulz, she wasn’t much help. She’d heard nothing like it, but said her ears weren’t good anymore. Even with her hearing aids, she could barely make out what was on TV.
After my talk with her, I decided to check up the apartment upstairs. I called myself stupid for not doing so right ahead. God knows, it might be the people upstairs. When I arrived at the door, however, the name plate was gone. I rang the doorbell and knocked a few times, but no one answered. I sighed. Guess I can strike out that possibility. Great.
On my way back to the stairs, I ran into the same young man I’d seen outside when I first moved in.
“There’s no one living there,” he said in a friendly voice. “Are you looking for someone?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I answered, “but thanks.”
He nodded.
“I’m Mr. Stein,” he said, his smile all teeth.
Once more, I noticed how overdrawn it was.
“I’m Jenny. Nice to meet you,” I mumbled, slightly taken aback by his demeanor.
He reached out a hand, and when I took it, I couldn’t help but squirm a little. This felt less like a handshake, but more like him caressing my hand, testing it. All the while, his disgustingly sweet smile never wavered.
“Well, good to know you,” I said, freeing my hand, and returning downstairs.
Back in my apartment, I had no clue what to do. If those sounds weren’t coming from above, I was at my wit’s end. The more I suffered through the hum, the more anxious I felt. Sitting alone in the dim light of my laptop, the hum began gnawing at my nerves. At times, I almost jumped up, thinking someone or… something was there, like an invisible presence, stalking me unseen.
“Maybe Mister Reinhardt knows what’s up,” I thought, and dialed his number.
The moment he picked up, I heard the annoyance in his voice.
“Jesus, who the hell’s calling me at this hour? It’s almost ten!”
“It’s Miss Mann. There are these sounds, this humming, and-“
“You’re calling me about what now? A sound?” he cut me off. “Last time I was there, there was no damn sound or anything!”
“It’s not there all the time, only now and then, but I’ve got no idea where it’s coming from or what’s causing it. Can’t you send someone over? Like a maintenance person?”
“Pah, humbug! There’s always sounds in buildings like that. No reason to get so worked up about it! You young people and your-“
“It’s not normal! It’s like-“
“Whatever it is, I want to hear nothing about it! Especially not at this hour of the night!”
“But it’s your building, and-“
“And I’m free to kick you out whenever I want.”
This shut me up. I couldn’t afford to move again.
“See, young lady?” he started in his most condescending voice. “This issue is already over.”
With that, he hung up.
“That bastard! I cursed before I threw myself back on the couch.
Over the next few weeks, I tried my best to ignore the hum, telling myself there had to be a logical explanation. But before long, it was getting to me. One night, while grabbing a glass of water, it scared me so badly, I almost dropped it. Going to the bathroom wasn’t any better. It felt like the hum started the moment I stepped out of my bedroom, as if some unseen apparition was waiting for me, and coming to get me. The worst were the nights when I lay in bed, awake, dreading, half-waiting for the hum’s return. Other times, I thought I heard it, only to realize I was imagining things.
Whatever sleep I got was plagued by terrible nightmares, and I’d wake up covered in cold sweat, only to be greeted by the now ever-present sound. I one dream, I wandered through a twisted version of my apartment, populated by wailing figures. In another, a giant shade crawled towards me on the ceiling, screeching like broken machinery.
At work, I was a mess, and I noticed my boss watching me with concern. I knew I had to move, but no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find another affordable apartment. I felt trapped.
One day, after work, Miss Schulz approached me. The moment she put her hand on my arm, I jerked back, dropping my keys.
“Jesus Christ,” I cursed, but when I saw her next to me, I sighed with relief.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologized. “I’m such a mess these days…”
“It’s all right, dear. How about some tea?”
I smiled weakly and was about to decline. But what was I going to do in my apartment, anyway? Sit around all day, on edge, waiting for the hum to start again? Five minutes later, I sat on her couch and told her I thought about moving.
“Well, dear, I can’t blame you. With a place like this, and Mr. Reinhardt as your landlord… If I were younger, I’d find myself a nicer place, too.”
“That man’s the worst,” I said, giving a little laugh.
“Oh believe me, he is! You know those renovations back in the day? He made such a fuzz about them. I thought he’d modernize the entire place, but do you know what he did? A bit of paint here, some new wallpaper there, and a few new tiles in the bathroom. That was it! Oh, and they installed that new exhaust system. I think he was required by law to replace the old ventilation shafts. He’d never done it otherwise.”
“Wait, Miss Schulz. Ventilation shafts? What did they do with them?”
The old lady looked up at me in surprise.
“Those things? They closed them off, and that was it. Knowing Mr. Reinhardt, they probably just put some plaster over the opening.”
I sat there, wide-eyed. Don’t tell me that was where those damned sounds came from.
“What is it dear?” she asked, when she saw me like that.
“Oh, I just remembered something. I got to go!”
She nodded and helped me to the door, but was quite surprised at my sudden reaction.
Back in my apartment, I had no idea where to look. I didn’t know the first thing about ventilation shafts. I walked from room to room, listening intently, but the hum was so low, I couldn’t pinpoint it. After half an hour, I slumped down on the couch in frustration. By then, it was gone again.
“Hey Paws, come here, little guy!”
He didn’t react. Instead, he was sitting in the bathroom, staring at a corner. Then it hit me. Cats have much better ears than humans. Had the little guy figured it out already? A few moments later, I got myself a chair and began checking the bathroom walls. Miss Schulz had said they’d covered the openings with plaster, so I should be able to find them by knocking, right? I didn’t know if it was even working, told myself this was ridiculous, stupid even. I knocked against the wall here and there, furiously, and suddenly the sound changed. It sounded almost as if the wall was reverberating from inside. That’s it! I’d found it! In an instant, I picked up a hammer I’d used to put together my furniture, and went to work. I smashed it against the bathroom tiles with all the strength I could muster, again and again. My arm ached and trembled from the effort, my breath came in short, hard burst, and sweat was dripping down my face. But I didn’t stop, I couldn’t. Finally, a small hole was revealed.
I rushed forward, tearing at the remaining plaster. When I was done, the air was heavy with dust. I stood in front of a small rectangular opening, a shaft stretching upward inside the wall. Yet, wasn’t the apartment above empty? What the hell was going on? As if to answer me, the sounds started again, but this time much louder. Paws began meowing right away. As I stood there on the chair, an icy shiver went down my spine. For the first time, I realized what I’d been hearing these past weeks: the cries of a person.
I called the cops right away. The moment they heard the sounds, they called for backup and broke down the door to the apartment above. What they found was pure chaos. The entire place was trashed. Where the kitchen should’ve been, they found a holding cell. Inside was an older man, chained to the wall and barely alive.
As I answered the police’s questions, I was a mess. I had so many thoughts on my mind, so many questions. When I mentioned Mr. Stein, the overly-friendly young man I’d met, they looked up. They told me the name wasn’t on Mr. Reinhardt’s list of tenants. After I’d given a detailed description of the man, a few of the other tenants recalled seeing him as well. They, too, had assumed he was another tenant, but in reality, he must’ve been a stranger.
What makes this whole thing even weirder is that the apartment above was indeed rented. After a check-up, it was revealed that it was under a fake name. Mr. Reinhardt said it had been a middle-aged man who’d signed the contract, but after he was given Mr. Stein’s description, he state it was a different man. Whoever that man was, however, he always paid rent, and always on time, so there was never a need for questions, Mr. Reinhardt said.
By now, the police have started a manhunt for Mr. Stein, but the trail has gone cold, and the man has simply vanished. Even now, lying in bed at night, I can’t stop thinking about that damned smile, that overdrawn, toothy grin, and the way he held onto my hand.
He’s still out there. Every time I walk past my building, I can’t help but glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see him lurking nearby, staring at me with that same unnerving grin.
