Ryan stood at the edge of the hallway, his eyes scanning the dilapidated walls of Ashwood Apartments. He had been warning Chris to leave for the past twenty minutes. From an outsider's perspective, his concern seemed excessive, even unnatural.
Chris wasn't quick to agree. After hearing Ryan's story, he felt that the man was holding something back. There was a hidden tension in his words, a tremor that didn't match the casual explanation Ryan offered.
"I've told you everything I can," Ryan said, brushing the dust from his worn-out jacket. "Leave now, while you still can. After midnight, this building becomes... different." With those words, Ryan turned and walked out into the night, his figure quickly swallowed by the surrounding shadows.
Watching him disappear, Chris lingered at the entrance, thinking about how he originally intended to gather information from the tenants about the strange occurrences. Instead, his confusion had only deepened. "Something's off about that guy," Chris muttered, still unsettled by Ryan's distant, haunted eyes. They were filled with fatigue and suffering—emotions too raw to be faked. "He must've really loved his wife."
As Chris walked back inside, he hesitated in front of the door to the first-floor apartment where he had noticed a woman earlier. He raised his hand and knocked.
"Hey, new guy," a voice called out—not from the apartment, but from behind him. Startled, Chris turned to find the door across the hall slightly ajar. A tall, gaunt man leaned against the frame, his unkempt hair blending with a scraggly beard. A large peony tattoo sprawled across the back of his hand.
"And you are...?" Chris asked, trying to keep his tone neutral but instinctively stepping back.
The man smirked, tapping his temple as if to signal something was off. "The guy posting that missing persons flyer? He doesn't live here. There's something wrong with him."
Chris frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Look," the man replied, his voice calm but firm. "That guy's trouble. Stick too close to him, and you'll end up in a bad place. Trust me."
Chris eyed him cautiously. This gaunt man seemed more coherent than the others he had met so far, but that didn't mean much in a building full of strange characters. "He might be a little odd, sure, but it seems like he's just distraught. His wife's been missing for a long time."
The man chuckled, a harsh, dry sound that carried through the dim hallway. "Let me guess. He told you she vanished near the apartment, right?"
Chris nodded.
"And he said the police told him to keep searching this place?"
"Yeah."
"Well, here's the thing," the man lit a cigarette, the tip glowing faintly in the dim light. "I've been living here for nine months, and I've never seen a single cop. That guy's either a liar or a lunatic. Don't buy into his ghost stories. It's all nonsense."
Chris didn't reply, but the seed of doubt was already planted. Ryan's behavior had been erratic, but his pain seemed genuine. Was the man lying about his wife—or was there more to his story?
"Look, it's late," the gaunt man continued. "Go back to your room and get some rest. This place messes with your head if you let it."
Chris thanked him with a nod and turned toward the stairwell. His thoughts swirled with questions as he climbed to his floor. Two conflicting stories, two mysterious men—someone had to be lying.
Lost in thought, Chris found himself on the third floor before he even realized it. The peeling paint and burnt walls told a grim story; this floor hadn't been renovated, unlike the others. Dark scorch marks marred the floor and walls, like faded memories of a terrible fire.
"Why wasn't this floor fixed up like the rest?" Chris muttered to himself, stepping cautiously over charred debris. "Was it a funding issue? Or something else?"
The motion-activated light above him flickered, then died, plunging the entire corridor into darkness. Chris, used to such moments from his years working in haunted houses, stayed calm. He reached for his phone to use the flashlight. Just as he activated it, a shadow darted through the far end of the hallway.
"Who's there?" Chris's voice echoed in the silence, his light illuminating the empty hallway. The figure had vanished.
He wanted to investigate, but footsteps coming from downstairs stopped him in his tracks. If the landlord—an irritable man with a limp—caught him snooping around on the third floor, there'd be trouble. Chris quickly retreated down to the second floor.
As he descended, he spotted a short, stout man emerging from one of the second-floor rooms, carrying a washbasin. The man was humming, seemingly in a good mood, but the moment he noticed Chris, his expression soured, and he hurried past without a word.
"What's his problem?" Chris muttered as he returned to his room, tossing his backpack onto the bed. He glanced around the worn space with a sigh. "There's not a single normal person in this whole building. Everyone looks like a potential killer…"
Sitting up sharply, Chris's eyes widened. The task assigned to him wasn't just to find the killer—it hadn't mentioned how many killers there could be. "What if there's more than one?" Chris whispered to himself. "This could be a group effort... a cover-up for something larger."
Suddenly filled with urgency, Chris grabbed his phone again. His conversation with Ryan hadn't been fruitless. At least now he had a lead—Ashwood Apartments had once been called Fairview Apartments. He quickly typed "Fairview Apartments murders" into the search engine, scrolling through pages until chilling headlines popped up on his screen.
"Family of Four Brutally Murdered! Killer Vanishes Without a Trace!"
"Accident or Arson? The Mystery of Fairview Apartments"
"Bodies Found Inside, More Secrets Uncovered!"
Chris's blood ran cold as he read through the grim articles. Five years ago, a fire had ravaged Fairview Apartments. What began as a routine investigation into the blaze soon revealed more sinister details. The fire hadn't been an accident—it was arson. Investigators found multiple ignition points scattered throughout the building. By the time firefighters extinguished the flames, four bodies had been discovered. The family that managed the apartment was dead, and the killer had disappeared without a trace.
"The case caused a stir at the time," the article continued. "Police efforts were extensive, but due to the fire's destruction, no physical evidence was recovered. The building remained sealed for a year before being handed over to the owner's father. That's when it was renamed Ashwood Apartments."
Chris leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. "No wonder people say this place is haunted…"
Suddenly, a realization hit him like a wave of cold water. The article mentioned that the original owner had been forty-one when he died. After the fire, the building had been inherited by his father, who would now be in his late sixties or seventies.
But the landlord Chris had encountered was far younger. Limp or not, he couldn't be the man the article described.
Chris stared at the screen, dread creeping into his gut. Who exactly was running Ashwood Apartments now?
He quickly stood up, glancing at the cracked window. In the darkness outside, a figure watched him from the street below—a silhouette that looked disturbingly familiar.
Ryan? Or was it someone else?
As his phone buzzed with a new notification, Chris hesitated before opening it, unsure of what fresh nightmare awaited him next.