Chapter 1
Chapter One: The Empty Hallway
The first time I saw the girl, I thought she was lost.
The second time, I thought I was losing my mind.
By the third time, I knew she had been waiting for me.
I moved into Blackwood Apartments on a rainy Thursday evening, carrying two suitcases, a cardboard box of books, and the kind of exhaustion that sleep never seemed to fix.
The building stood between an abandoned laundromat and a narrow alley that smelled of wet concrete. Its windows were dark, except for a few dim lights on the upper floors. The sign above the entrance had lost two letters, leaving only BLACKW D APARTMENTS.
It was cheap. That was the only reason I chose it.
After seven months of sleeping on my friend's couch, I wasn't in a position to complain about peeling paint or a broken elevator. I needed somewhere quiet, somewhere I could work without being asked if I was okay every twenty minutes.
Somewhere I could finally forget.
I should have known better than to believe a place could help me forget anything.
The building manager, a thin man named Mr. Vale, handed me my keys without looking directly at me.
“Fourth floor. Apartment 406.”
“Is the elevator working?”
“Sometimes.”
I stared at him.
He stared back.
“Take the stairs,” he said.
That was my introduction to Blackwood Apartments.
By the time I reached the fourth floor, my arms were trembling from the weight of my suitcases. The hallway smelled of dust and something faintly metallic. One ceiling light flickered above a row of identical doors.
401.
402.
403.
The numbers continued down the corridor until I reached 406.
I unlocked the door, pushed my suitcases inside, and immediately regretted everything.
The apartment was smaller than it had looked in the online photos. The kitchen cabinets were scratched, the curtains were yellowed, and the bedroom window faced a brick wall barely three feet away.
Still, it was mine.
I dropped my keys on the counter and stood in the middle of the living room.
For the first time in months, there was no television playing in the background. No footsteps overhead. No one asking questions I didn't know how to answer.
Just silence.
I almost smiled.
Then someone knocked on my door.
Three soft taps.
I checked the time on my phone. 9:17 PM.
When I opened the door, the hallway was empty.
I leaned out and looked in both directions. Nothing but closed doors and flickering lights.
“Hello?”
No answer.
I was about to close the door when I noticed the girl.
She stood at the far end of the corridor, directly beneath the last ceiling light.
She looked about eight years old. Her dark hair hung in wet strands around her face, and she wore a faded yellow dress that reached her knees.
She was barefoot.
I glanced toward the stairwell.
“Hey, sweetheart. Are you lost?”
The girl didn't move.
“Where are your parents?”
She slowly raised her head.
Even from that distance, I could see that she was staring directly at me.
“Have you seen my mother?” she asked.
Her voice was so quiet I barely heard it.
I stepped into the hallway.
“No, honey. What's your name?”
She tilted her head.
Behind her, one of the lights flickered off.
Then another.
The darkness crept down the corridor toward her, swallowing the doors one by one.
I should have gone back inside.
Instead, I took another step toward her.
“Are you hurt?”
The girl looked past me, toward my open apartment.
Her expression changed.
It wasn't fear exactly.
It was recognition.
“Oh,” she whispered.
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
She took one small step backward.
“You came back.”
Before I could ask what she meant, every light in the hallway went out.
I heard a soft patter of bare feet against the floor.
Then silence.
I fumbled for my phone and switched on the flashlight. The beam swept across the hallway, catching the apartment doors, the stained walls, and the empty space where the girl had been standing.
She was gone.
I hurried back into my apartment and locked the door.
For several minutes, I stood with my back against it, listening.
Nothing.
I told myself she was a neighbor's child. Perhaps she'd wandered away from her parents. Perhaps I'd imagined the strange things she said because I hadn't slept properly in days.
There was always a reasonable explanation.
I repeated that to myself while unpacking my things.
At 11:43 PM, I found the first photograph.
It was lying face down inside the cardboard box containing my books. I was certain I hadn't packed it. I didn't even recognize the picture frame.
The photograph showed a little girl standing in front of a white door.
She wore a yellow dress.
My fingers went cold.
I turned the photograph over.
Someone had written four words on the back in faded blue ink.
**APARTMENT 09. DON'T OPEN.**
I stared at the words until they blurred.
Then I heard a sound from the other side of my bedroom wall.
Three soft taps.
I held my breath.
Three more taps followed.
Slowly, I turned toward the wall.
My bedroom was on the building's outer side. Beyond it was solid brick and a narrow gap between buildings.
There was no apartment next to mine.
There couldn't be anyone on the other side.
I took one step backward.
Then a child's voice whispered through the wall.
“Mara?”
I stopped breathing.
I hadn't told anyone in this building my name.
The voice came again, softer this time.
“Mara, let me in.”
I knew that voice.
I had spent seven years trying to forget it.
It belonged to my younger sister, Elise.
And Elise had been missing since she was sixteen.
