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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/CreepyStoriesJR on 2024-09-13 08:40:02+00:00.
Moving to college was something I had been waiting for since I could remember. Growing up in a small town in Ohio, life had been predictable, too predictable. There were only so many times you could walk down the same three streets, wave to the same neighbors, and eat at the same diner before the monotony of it all began to eat away at you. College was supposed to be my ticket out, my chance to start fresh. To reinvent myself.
I chose this university because it was far enough from home that I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew, but not so far that I couldn’t make it back if I needed to. The campus was beautiful, with sprawling green lawns, old brick buildings, and a mix of historical charm and modern innovation. Ridgeway Hall, the dorm where I would be staying, sat on the far edge of campus, a little separated from the newer buildings. It was one of those old, ivy-covered structures that looked like it had been around for centuries.
When I first saw it, standing tall and slightly worn at the end of the long path leading from the main campus, it had an almost foreboding presence. The ivy snaked up the sides of the building, thick and dark, and the windows were narrow, their panes cloudy with age. There was something cold about it, something that made me shiver despite the late summer warmth.
“Ridgeway Hall, huh?” the cab driver had said as he helped unload my bags. “You’ll hear some stories about that place.”
I had laughed it off at the time, eager to get inside and start unpacking. But now, as I stood in the entryway, staring up at the winding staircase and the dark wood-paneled walls, I felt a pang of unease.
The building smelled faintly of old wood and something musty, like books that had been left in a damp basement for too long. The lights were dim, casting long shadows across the floor. I hadn’t expected luxury, of course. I had read the reviews and seen the pictures online. Ridgeway Hall was described as “charming” and “historic,” which I now realized were code words for “outdated” and “creepy.”
I found Room 318 on the third floor, tucked away at the end of a narrow hallway. The door creaked when I pushed it open, revealing a small room with two twin beds, two wooden desks, and a single window that looked out over the campus. The walls were a dull, off-white color, and the floor was covered in an old, threadbare rug that had clearly seen better days. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. For the next few months, at least.
I set my suitcase on one of the beds and looked around. The air in the room was stale, like it hadn’t been aired out in a long time. The window was slightly cracked, and when I walked over to close it, I noticed how dirty the glass was, making the world outside look hazy and distant. I could just make out the silhouette of the clock tower across campus, shrouded in mist from the light rain that had started falling.
A sigh escaped me. It wasn’t what I had imagined, but it would do. I spent the next hour unpacking, filling the dresser drawers with my clothes and setting up my books on the desk. The emptiness of the room was unsettling, and the quiet was almost oppressive. There were no sounds of other students moving in, no doors slamming, no music playing down the hall. It was as if Ridgeway Hall existed in its own bubble, disconnected from the rest of campus.
After finishing my unpacking, I decided to explore the dorm. The building had three floors, and from what I had read, it was one of the oldest structures on campus. The third floor, where my room was located, seemed to be the least occupied. I passed by several closed doors, but I didn’t hear any noise coming from inside. It felt like I was the only one here.
The second floor was a little more lively. I heard the faint sounds of conversation coming from one of the rooms, and the common area at the end of the hallway had a few people lounging on couches, scrolling through their phones. I waved to a couple of students as I walked by, but they didn’t seem to notice me. They were too absorbed in their own world, which suited me just fine.
The first floor, however, was eerily quiet. The lobby was dimly lit, the old chandelier casting flickering shadows on the walls. The floors creaked beneath my feet as I walked, and I could hear the faint hum of the building’s heating system. There was a strange smell down here, too, something metallic mixed with the musty scent of old wood. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was noticeable enough to make me wrinkle my nose.
I found the laundry room and the small kitchen tucked away in a corner near the lobby. They looked as old as the building itself, with outdated appliances and peeling wallpaper. I wondered how many students had passed through Ridgeway Hall over the years, how many had lived in the same room I now occupied. The thought made me feel small, like just another temporary occupant in a place that had existed long before me and would continue long after I was gone.
On my way back to my room, I passed an old corkboard near the stairwell, covered in faded flyers and notices. Most of them were announcements for events that had long since passed, but one flyer caught my eye. It was a simple white piece of paper with bold, black letters that read:
HAVE YOU SEEN ETHAN MARSHALL? Missing since last semester. If you have any information, please contact campus security.
I stared at the flyer for a moment, my heart skipping a beat. Ethan Marshall. The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I hadn’t heard anything about a student going missing before coming here, and the fact that the flyer was still up made me wonder if they had ever found him.
The thought of someone disappearing from campus, especially from the same dorm I was now living in, sent a shiver down my spine. I shook it off, telling myself it was probably nothing. People went missing all the time, didn’t they? It was probably unrelated to me or my new life here.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease as I headed back to my room. Ridgeway Hall felt different now, darker somehow. The shadows seemed longer, the silence more oppressive. I was glad I wasn’t alone, my roommate would be arriving soon, and having someone else around would make this place feel less... haunted.
When I reached my room, I noticed the door to the room next to mine, Room 317, was slightly ajar. I hadn’t seen anyone enter or leave that room all day, but now I could hear the faint sound of movement from inside. Curiosity got the better of me, and I paused for a moment, listening.
It was subtle at first, just the sound of fabric rustling, like someone shifting in bed. But then I heard something else, something that made my blood run cold. A soft, rhythmic tapping, like fingers drumming on a desk, growing louder with each passing second. I didn’t want to intrude, so I quickly stepped away and headed into my room, closing the door behind me with more force than I had intended. The tapping stopped as soon as my door clicked shut, and the silence that followed was deafening.
I sat on my bed, trying to shake the unease that had settled over me. I told myself it was nothing, just someone moving around in their room. But deep down, I knew something about this place wasn’t right.
And I hadn’t even met my roommate yet.
The following day, I woke up early, feeling a bit more settled after my strange first night. The rain had stopped, and the campus looked brighter under the pale morning sun. I decided to spend some time exploring the main part of the university, trying to familiarize myself with the layout of the buildings and find my way to the dining hall.
It was a peaceful morning, with only a few students milling about. I grabbed breakfast, found a quiet spot outside, and enjoyed my meal while watching people pass by. It was nice to feel part of something bigger, even if I didn’t know anyone yet.
Later in the afternoon, I headed back to Ridgeway Hall, my thoughts drifting to my roommate. I still hadn’t heard from him, and a part of me wondered if he had decided to back out last minute. The idea of having the room to myself was appealing, but at the same time, I was looking forward to meeting him. It would be nice to have someone around to share the experience of living in a new place.
When I reached my room, I noticed the door was slightly open. My heart raced for a moment, thinking back to the flyer I had seen the day before about the missing student. But as I pushed the door open, I saw someone standing by the window, his back to me.
He was tall, with messy brown hair and a relaxed posture, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He turned around as soon as I entered, flashing me a friendly smile.
“Hey, man. You must be Alex, right? Sorry I’m late. I’m Ethan.”
Ethan. My heart skipped a beat at the name. I forced a smile, trying to shake the unease that had suddenly gripped me. There was no way this could be the same Ethan from the flyer... right?
“Nice to finally meet you.” , I said.
Ethan immediately made himself at home, tossing his backpack onto the other bed and starting to unpack. He didn’t seem to notice my hesitation, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he launched into a casual conversation about the dorm, asking me how my first few days had been and whether I’d checked out the dining hall yet.
Despite my initial wariness, I found myself warming up to him quickly. He was easy to talk to, with a laid-bac...
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