This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/houkuu on 2024-10-19 00:34:56+00:00.
I moved into my first apartment a few months ago, excited to finally have my own space. It was a modest one-bedroom in a quiet building, and I loved the peace it offered. I quickly settled into my routine, enjoying the independence and solitude.
One night, after a long day at work, I returned home and immediately noticed something felt off. My front door was slightly ajar. I was sure I had locked it, but I shrugged it off, thinking maybe I’d forgotten in my rush to leave. I pushed the door open, calling out, “Hello?” just in case I had a visitor.
No response. I stepped inside, locking the door behind me, and went about my evening. I noticed nothing seemed out of place, so I put it out of my mind and went to bed.
The next day, I got home late again. As I entered, I felt a chill in the air and again noticed the front door was ajar. My heart raced as I cautiously stepped inside. This time, I glanced around, and my heart sank when I saw a pair of shoes by the door—shoes that didn’t belong to me.
I froze, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I considered calling the police but decided to check things out first. I moved silently through the living room and into the bedroom, but everything seemed untouched. The shoes were the only sign that someone had been in my apartment.
I quickly went back to the door, locked it, and called my best friend, Jess. I explained what happened, and she urged me to stay somewhere else for the night. But I didn’t want to seem scared, so I brushed it off and insisted I’d be fine.
The next day, I took off work, still shaken. I didn’t want to be alone. I spent the day at Jess’s place, but by the evening, I decided to return to my apartment. I needed to confront whatever was happening.
When I entered, the first thing I noticed was that the shoes were gone. I felt a mix of relief and unease. I locked the door and spent the night on edge, jumping at every sound.
The following days were more of the same. Every time I came home, the door was ajar, and there were new items that didn’t belong to me—a jacket, a half-empty soda can, a set of keys. Each time, I’d lock the door behind me and wonder who was entering my apartment while I was gone.
I finally reached my breaking point and called my landlord. I explained the situation, and he assured me that no one had access to my apartment besides me. He suggested that I might be paranoid or imagining things.
Desperate for answers, I decided to set up a camera in my living room while I was out. I left it recording and went to work, feeling a mix of dread and hope. When I got home, I rushed to check the footage.
My blood ran cold as I watched. There, in the middle of my living room, was a shadowy figure, dressed in a dark hoodie, rifling through my things. I watched in horror as they casually opened my drawers, going through my personal belongings.
I felt sick. I couldn’t believe someone had been living in my space without me knowing. They were in and out as if it were no big deal.
I immediately called the police, and they came over to check things out. When they arrived, I played them the footage, and they assured me they would investigate. They also advised me to stay with friends or family until they found out who the intruder was.
After that night, I couldn’t bring myself to sleep in my own apartment. I spent the next few nights at Jess’s. The police kept me updated, but they had no leads, and I felt like I was losing my mind.
Then, about a week later, I got a call from the police. They had apprehended someone, and they wanted me to come in for questioning. When I arrived at the station, I was shown a mugshot of a man I didn’t recognize. They informed me that he had a history of breaking and entering.
But what shook me the most was what they said next: “He claimed he thought this was his apartment.”
He had been living in the building before I moved in, and for some reason, he believed he still had a right to enter. The officers assured me he wouldn’t be able to get near me again, but I knew I’d never feel safe in that apartment again.
I moved out a week later, and even now, I can’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me. Sometimes I still hear noises at night, and I find myself looking over my shoulder more than I should. I learned that some things can hide in plain sight, and they can be scarier than any horror movie.