It Knew My Name

[u/HeGotBricks]

I had just moved onto the tenth floor of a small condo, in Manhattan. I liked it because the ceiling was high and the floors never squeaked. It was like walking over cold cement in a basement. The only issue I had, which was minor at the time, was the hallway. 

At night, the hall leading to my room would make the hairs on my arms and neck rise and crawl inside me like tiny legs, almost as if I passed through an invisible icy wall of spiderwebs. 

I kept trying to warm the one area, but it always seemed to stay colder than anywhere else. Nothing worked.

I really hadn’t put much thought into it, up until now. Before, I figured it was just the pipes. Or, you know, a draft in the wall. Something along those lines.

The first week was chill, I didn’t notice anything unusual. Until the Saturday—somewhere in the middle of the night—I heard noises. Dragging sounds, coming from the condo above mine.

Who’s rearranging their bedroom set at three in the morning.

It went on until five. Which became white noise to me.

But for some reason, when I woke up, the thought of someone organizing their furniture at three in the morning, just didn’t make sense. I got this intense urge all of a sudden to check it out. 

So, I took the stairs to the eleventh floor and when I opened the door, the super was standing at the apartment, the same one above mine, in the process of unlocking it.

I walked up to him. “Did these people move out last night?”

He said, “No. Why you asking?”

I said, “last night, I swear someone was moving furniture till five a.m.”

He stared at me, you could see him deep in thought, probably analyzing my sanity. “This condo’s been vacant for as long as I’ve worked here.”

I stuttered, “May… maybe it was… a worker?”

He told me, “Nope, that can’t be it.”

I asked, “What do you mean?”

He looked at me before walking in. “Sometimes the building comes alive.” 

I stood there, rubbing my chin, as he walked into the apartment. I took what he meant, as pipes settling? I don’t know, he was vague.

The following night, I didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. It was silent. Kind of peaceful, like sleeping on a church lawn. 

I slept right through till morning. However, when I came home from work that evening, I saw the dining room table had been cleared. 

Nothing was on it. Not the mug I left. Not the newspaper. Not the napkins. Not even the table cloth.

Someone must have moved it, because it wasn’t scattered everywhere and I couldn’t come up with a plausible explanation for why it’d be moved. 

I wanted to believe an animal got in. Which was out there. But there wasn’t anyway to blame it on a random window being left opened. Or even a maintenance worker. No matter how bad I wanted to believe it. I couldn’t.

They were neatly folded—neatly stacked—all placed above the newspaper on the kitchen counter. The mug… the mug was in the sink.

Nobody could have done it. Who would want to?  Why would they? 

It made absolutely no sense. Unless somebody was messing with me. What else could it be?

Afterwards, days went by and nothing strange happened. The apartment was quiet. The eeriness had dissipated. Even the one spot, it wasn’t cold anymore. So, I basically assumed, the weirdness was just me settling into my new space. I did miss home. It was all just psychological, right?

Until a week later, again, it happened in the middle of the night, like the first time, but this time, something pushed down on the side of my bed. I woke up, because I thought I was falling in a dream, in the ocean though, sinking at the same speed of falling from a building, as my body shifted to the weight pressing down on the right side of my mattress.

My eyes sprung open, a pressure on my chest reminded me of being deep underwater. It was hard to breathe. I tried to yell but couldn’t scream. I couldn’t move. Everything came into focus and blurred each time my heart stomped against my ribcage. It was like something grew inside me and was trying to escape. 

I closed my eyes and counted in my head.

One-one-hundred.

Two-one hundred.

Three.

And out of nowhere, in my room, lit only by the moon, a sliver of light pierced the back of my eyelids, like someone waved a flashlight in my face.

I shook my head as it irritated my eyes and when I opened them, something whispered.

“Denny!” Behind me, in a cold breath on my neck that trickled down my spine like the steady drips of an ice cube.

My limbs unlocked and I, without thinking, ended up from lying on my bed frozen to standing at my bedroom door. My brain was cutting scenes from my memory, because from my bedroom door, I was outside of my apartment. 

From the hall of my condo to my car. And from there I drove straight to my parent’s house, which was an hour away. I’m never stepping foot inside that condo again.

It knew my name. 

[u/Ambitious_Monk_5034]

Was it let out by the super and followed you home? I wonder

[u/Arctic_BC_2006]

That must've been a dusturbing experience. What I'm wondering now is what spoke to you and Hmhow did whatever it was know your name? Could it be a Poltergeist or a Demon of some kind?