The Boston apartment listing was a dream: a private room in Beacon Hill for just $600 a month. As a broke student, I didn't hesitate. The landlord had only one condition. "Your roommate, Clara, works night shifts at a lab," he said. "She is incredibly quiet."For the first two weeks, Clara was a ghost. I never heard footsteps or doors closing. The only signs of her existence were a clean coffee mug left on the drying rack each morning and a tightly shut bedroom door with a note: “Please do not disturb.”One night, curiosity got the better of me. I waited up in the dim living room. At 2:15 AM, the front door clicked open. A tall, slender woman in a dark coat stepped inside. Her face was shockingly pale."Hi Clara, I'm Maya!" I smiled.Clara froze. She didn’t turn her head. She stood completely rigid, staring straight at the blank wall for ten agonizing seconds. Then, without a word, she glided past me into her room.The real terror began on a stormy Thursday. A loud crash from Clara's room woke me up at 3:00 AM. Walking into the hallway, I noticed her door was slightly ajar."Clara?" I whispered, pushing it open.The room was freezing and entirely empty—no bed, no clothes. Just a single wooden chair facing the window. On the floor lay a small leather notebook. I picked it up and rushed back to my room, locking the door.With trembling hands, I opened it. It was a logbook filled with frantic handwriting. I flipped to the latest entry:“Subject: Maya. Watched her sleep for two hours. The medication in her milk is working. She doesn't hear me enter.”My blood turned to ice. Medication? Watched me sleep?Friantic, I flipped to the very first page. Taped to the cover was an old newspaper clipping. The headline read: "Tragedy in Beacon Hill: Student Clara Vance Found Dead in Apartment." The photo showed the exact same girl from the hallway. Clara had died three years ago.Suddenly, the hallway floorboards creaked.Creak. Creak.Heavy footsteps stopped right outside my bedroom. Then, a raspy whisper bled through the wood:"Maya... you weren't supposed to read that."The doorknob began to slowly turn.
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