This Place Isn’t Home Anymore.
6:00am: My hands are still shaking while I write this.
I’ve replayed the recording so many times now that I can practically hear the voices even when the apartment is quiet. I still don’t understand what they meant.
Were they talking to me?
Or were they talking about someone else entirely?
Something keeps bothering me about the recordings. Every time the voices speak, they refer to someone as “he.”
Not she.
“He moved rooms tonight.”
“He’s starting to notice.”
So who are they talking about?
Because it can’t be me.
I’m a woman.
And somehow, that realization scares me even more.
I can’t stay here tonight.
Honestly, I don’t think I can stay here ever again.
It’s now 8PM: Something is wrong in this apartment, and every night it feels like whatever is happening gets a little closer to me. I spent most of today asking around at work, trying to find somewhere cheap to stay for a few nights while I look for another apartment. A motel. A spare room. Anything.
No luck.
I finally broke down and played the recordings for one of my coworkers. I don’t even know why I did it. Maybe I just needed someone else to hear them so I could stop feeling insane for five minutes.
She listened quietly without interrupting me.
When the recording ended, she looked genuinely unsettled.
Then she said something that made my stomach drop.
“What if it isn’t the apartment?”
I laughed nervously and asked her what she meant.
She hesitated before answering.
“What if whatever this is just follows you wherever you go?”
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that since.
I’m home now.
Or at least I’m inside the place that used to feel like home.
Now it feels more like a cage.
The walls feel tighter every night. The silence feels heavier. I keep catching myself staring down the hallway expecting to see someone standing there.
I’m going to keep recording.
I’m going to keep writing everything down.
Right now, these journals and recordings are the only proof I have that any of this is really happening.
Assuming I can even sleep tonight.
It’s 3:30 a.m. now, and the silence in this apartment feels unbearable.
I slept with the hallway light on tonight. I couldn’t handle lying in complete darkness again, listening to every creak and whisper of the building settling around me. Even with the light spilling faintly into my room, I barely slept at all.
I checked the apartment a few minutes ago.
Everything is exactly where I left it.
The rug hasn’t moved. The doors are still locked. Nothing feels disturbed.
But the recording is there.
Waiting for me.
I keep staring at the notification on my phone, terrified to press play. My chest tightens every time I think about hearing those voices again.
No.
Not tonight.
I’m going to try to go back to sleep and wait until morning to listen to it. Daylight makes this place feel almost normal again. Safer somehow. Maybe when the sun comes up, I’ll finally convince myself there’s a rational explanation for all of this.
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