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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/CynicismNostalgia on 2024-10-13 12:13:18+00:00.
I always liked having my own space. I’d had my fair share of experience with cramped dorms and messy, inconsiderate roommates. It wasn’t for me. So when I found a small, ground-floor apartment near campus, I didn’t hesitate. It wasn’t fancy, but it had everything I needed. Quiet, private, and fairly cheap—perfect for my last year of university.
Everything was good—until the neighbors started complaining.
It began with Mrs. Reed from next door, catching me in the hallway one morning. She looked tired, her eyes heavy with bags.
“Elizabeth, are you having late-night parties?” she asked, her voice sharper than usual.
I blinked, confused. “No? I go to bed at 10.”
She shook her head, a deep frown settling into her jowls. “I hear music. Laughing, banging on the walls. You should be more considerate.”
I hadn’t heard a thing. “I’m sorry, but it’s not me. I promise.”
She squinted at me like she didn’t believe a word I said. “Just keep it down.”
Nights were quiet on my end. I didn’t throw parties or invite friends over, I’m a bit of a recluse, honestly. I barely left the apartment, aside from classes or library runs. Still, the complaints didn’t stop. More neighbors started approaching me in the hallways, their faces drawn and annoyed, asking about the noise. To keep it down.
The thing is though, every night I slept like a rock. Nothing woke me up. Nothing ever stirred. I tried staying up one night to catch the sound, but I was too exhausted. I wasn’t going to sacrifice my sleep for something I knew I wasn’t contributing to, so I passed out around 11p.m. with no disturbances.
One evening, after a long day of studying at the library, I came home to find a note slipped under the door. It was crumpled and hastily written: “Noise complaints. Handle it.” Next to it, bizarrely enough, was a chocolate bar wrapper. A small amount of slick, melted chocolate still inside. The letter itself smeared in it.
I was pissed tbh. What the hell? It wasn’t even me making the noise, and why? Why stuff your own trash along with the letter? Frustrated and tired, I tossed the note on the counter and the wrapper in the trash. Then, I collapsed into bed and fell into a study-induced coma.
That was the night things started going missing.
At first, it was small stuff—pens, keys, a sock here or there. The usual, nothing suspicious. They always turned up, but never where I left them. I figured it was stress; finals were around the corner, and I was so drowsy all the time. I chalked it up to forgetfulness.
Then one morning, I found my toothbrush sitting on the coffee table. It was damp, tinged brown. The odd thing? I hadn’t brushed my teeth yet. I knew I hadn’t. I still had morning breath.
I started to wonder if I was sleepwalking. Could I have been getting up in the middle of the night, moving things without realizing it? Making loud noises? I considered having a friend stay over to keep an eye on me, but that felt… extreme?
I finally got my answer a week later, at a point where I was being threatened with eviction due to these unexplained noise complaints. I noticed a panel in the base of my closet was... ajar? I froze. The base always looked solid before, nothing loose. Curiosity got the better of me, sliding it open some more and being met with a stale, cool breeze rising up from below. Stupid I know, but I peaked my head in, discovering a crawlspace.
It couldn’t be more than three feet high, dank and covered in thick dusty cobwebs. Scattered throughout the space were chocolate bar wrappers. It smelt like mould and sickly sweetness.
I guess I was naive. I assumed I’d find some wily raccoons, a stray cat. I turned on my phone’s flashlight and peered further in. There were several cushions steeped in mould, discarded soda cans, more chocolate bar wrappers. It smelt of sugar and rank air. No scratching, no animal sounds.
But deeper into the darkness, I saw them. Four pairs of eyes, squinting from the light I brought in with me. As my eyes settled. I realised what was staring back at me.
Two children sat cross-legged on the floor. They were pale, gaunt, with dark circles under their eyes. But their knees rocked with giddy excitement, their smiles smeared with chocolate. The boy let out a small giggle as his eyes met mine.
Slumped against the left side was a woman. Her face was blank, her eyes unfocused. Staring at everything; and nothing, in particular.
And in the far corner, drenched in darkness, was a man. Hunched on all fours, watching me intently with a calm expression.
“You’re finally here,” his voice was soft, with a hint of malice.
He gestured toward the children, who were still giggling. “The kids love playing at night. Apologies, they can get a little loud.”
He smirked. A small, controlled smile. From his pocket he revealed a tiny glass bottle. “I’ve been helping you though. You’re a sound sleeper when you’re… properly dosed.”
My blood ran cold as the cramped, rank space I peaked my head into began to spin. “...You’ve been drugging me?”
He shrugged, nonchalant, then gestured toward the woman slumped in the corner. “My wife doesn’t talk much these days, but she enjoys the company.”
The woman didn’t react to being addressed.
Something cold brushed against my hand. The little girl was crouched next to me, her fingers icy as she tugged at my fingers. Her eyes were wide as she stared up at me, her smile never fading. “Wanna play?”
I scrambled backwards, out of the crawlspace, before slumping back in a daze. My limbs felt like lead, my vision blurry. I heard the children let out disappointed cries as the man’s face peaked out of the crawlspace, half hidden in shadow.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his voice dripping with menace. “You’ll love it here. We all do. Don’t we, kids?”
High-pitched cheers echoed out.
That’s the last thing I remember. The sound of happy children and the man’s toothy grin rearing up from underneath.
And do you know what? He wasn’t wrong.
A difficult transition, as all things are. Didn’t sleep the first week, and now I sleep all day. Probably sugar crashing tbh.
Now, I love it here. I’ve grown fond of the kids and their games. I’ve come to learn that the “wife” is called Margaret, and she isn’t officially his wife. Sometimes, her eyes follow me, and she’ll mumble something incoherent. Like she has something to tell me, but it comes out twisted. Generally she’s quiet, but I enjoy her company.
Mrs. Reed doesn’t complain anymore. In fact, I haven’t seen her in days.
I’m sure she’ll understand eventually. Just like I did.
Anyway, the apartment’s finally prepped for a new tenant. $550pm, a really great bargain in this area! Especially with such... quiet neighbors. Enquire Below!
We can’t wait to meet you!