Apartment 10 had remained silent for several days. Excessively silent.
Miss Carol was not one to raise her voice, yet every morning she would play her radio—old jazz, softly crackling through the wall. Recently, however, there has been nothing. There is no music. There are no grocery bags. No sound of creaking footsteps. Only quiet.
I thought perhaps she went to see her family. As I walked past her door en route to the mailbox, I noticed something affixed to it.
Initially, I perceived it as a typical notice—perhaps regarding late rent or maintenance issues. However, the letterhead did not originate from the complex management. It appeared… authoritative, yet slightly askew. No logo. There is no contact number available. There is an unusual symbol at the top—a triangle enclosed within a circle, drawn in black ink.
The communication conveyed:
“UNIT 10 HAS BEEN CLEARED.” PLEASE REFRAIN FROM ENTERING. NO ADDITIONAL ACTION IS NECESSARY.
There is no signature. No date provided.
I stood there, gazing intently, and that’s when I observed the peephole—sealed with duct tape from the inside.
I rapped, just a single time. It seems to be instinct. No response.
As I was about to walk away, I distinctly heard a sound coming from behind the door. Not footsteps. Not a sound.
A sound of scraping. Gradual and consistent. As if a weighty object were being pulled along the ground.
Once more, silence enveloped the space.
I captured an image of the note to inquire with the office regarding it.
However, when I accessed my camera roll later that evening, I found that every photo I had captured that day was present.
Other than that one.
The following morning, I made the decision to head to the leasing office. Mr. Alonzo, the manager, was a straightforward individual who often seemed to have solutions for every situation—or at least gave that impression. Upon pointing out Miss Carol’s apartment location on the building map, he frowned.
“She hasn’t lived here in months,” he remarked, sifting through some documents. “She relocated last spring.”
My stomach sank. “Pardon?” That doesn’t seem correct. I have been seeing her weekly since that time. She even gifted me cookies a fortnight ago!
Mr. Alonzo shook his head with conviction. “I understand.” Individuals often err. Believe me—she’s no longer here. Apartment 10 is currently unoccupied.
I departed the office with a sense of discomfort. Perhaps I had conjured up illusions. Ultimately, life can become hectic, and at times we unconsciously fill in the blanks of our memory. However, the note on her door felt all too real. Nor did that scraping sound.
As the evening progressed, my curiosity began to take hold. I couldn’t dismiss the sense that something was amiss. With a sense of resolve and a flashlight in hand (along with my phone, which continued to show no sign of the enigmatic notice), I cautiously approached Apartment 10.
The corridor was hauntingly vacant. Even the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead appeared more pronounced than normal. As I neared the door, I found myself pausing. What if someone had truly cleared the area? What if this constituted trespassing?
Then I recalled Miss Carol’s inviting smile, the way she consistently inquired about my day. If anything unfortunate had occurred to her, I had a responsibility to uncover the truth.
I examined the doorknob. Secured, naturally. As I leaned in to examine it more closely, I observed something peculiar—the lock appeared to be untouched, in perfect condition. Nearly flawless, especially when contrasted with the scuffed and worn condition of the rest of the doorframe.
Suddenly, a key appeared, sliding effortlessly under the gap at the bottom of the door.
I stood still. My heart raced intensely, echoing in my ears. Gently, I lowered myself and retrieved the key. It felt chilly against my skin, as if it had spent the entire night outside rather than being kept indoors. I looked around, half-expecting someone to leap out and shout “Gotcha!” Yet the hallway stayed empty.
Defying every instinct of reason within me, I turned the key in the lock.
The apartment was shrouded in darkness. Thick curtains shut out the faint glow of the streetlamps beyond. I activated my flashlight, its light piercing the darkness. The air had a musty odor, as if a window hadn’t been opened in ages. Dust covered every surface, including an old coffee table piled high with magazines from… 2017.
This was inconsistent. How could Miss Carol have given me cookies just weeks ago if this place hadn’t seen any change in nearly a decade?
As I ventured deeper into the living room, my eyes caught sight of an object resting on the couch—a small wooden box, beautifully carved with designs that echoed the peculiar symbol from the note. With a mix of uncertainty and intrigue, I opened it.
Within was a solitary sheet of paper. Inscribed in elegant, flowing script were the words:
“I APPRECIATE YOUR CONCERN AND ATTENTION.”
In an instant, the flashlight began to flicker. Then passed away entirely.
A wave of panic washed over me. I searched for my phone, illuminating the screen for guidance. Before I could respond, a gentle light began to radiate from the box. The room was enveloped in a soft blue light, casting shadows that moved oddly across the walls.
Then I heard her voice.
“Mira…”
It was subtle, nearly a murmur, yet undeniably Miss Carol’s.
I turned swiftly, looking for her. “Ms. Carol?” “Are you present?”
Her voice returned, more distinct this time. “It takes courage to seek.” Many individuals would likely not take the time.
“Where are you?” I inquired, my voice quivering. “What is happening?”
She hesitated, as though selecting her words with great care. “I am now in a place of safety.” However, I required someone to understand the reality. Regarding them.
“Those individuals?” I repeated, a sense of dread gathering in my chest.
“They observe,” she stated plainly. “They take those who are not observant.” Who are indifferent to their neighbors. Who allowed fear to silence them?
Before I had a chance to reply, the glow grew stronger, momentarily dazzling me. As it disappeared, the room transformed. Neater. More luminous. Before me stood Miss Carol, exactly as I recalled—her kind eyes, silver hair elegantly pinned back, and her beloved floral dress adorning her figure.
At this moment, she appeared… more buoyant. Nearly see-through.
“You are not…” I fell silent, unable to complete my thought.
“No,” she affirmed softly. “I just wanted to share this with you: You truly made an impact.” By taking the time to inquire. To inquire. To take action.
She extended her hand—not fully making contact, but near enough that I sensed a warmth emanating from her presence. “Promise me you will continue to do that.” For others. Kindness holds greater significance than you may understand.
With that, she started to fade, her figure breaking apart into small particles of light that floated upward, vanishing completely.
As I found my way back into the hallway, squinting against the bright fluorescent lights, I noticed that the note on the door had vanished. The duct tape was indeed covering the peephole. Everything seemed perfectly ordinary—as though nothing out of the ordinary had ever occurred.
In the days that followed, I found myself pondering if it had all merely been a figment of my imagination. An intense vision triggered by anxiety or insufficient rest. Yet, beneath the surface, I understood it was not the case. A genuine event had taken place. Something significant.
In the weeks that followed, I began to observe more intently—my neighbors, strangers, and anyone who could use assistance. I prepared cookies for the elderly couple living above me. Assisted in carrying groceries for the single mother managing her toddler. I even engaged in conversations with individuals I typically would have overlooked without a second glance.
Gradually and imperceptibly, transformations occurred. Not only for myself, but for all those in my vicinity. Smiles grew increasingly common. The sound of laughter resonated through the hallways. The feeling of seclusion that frequently accompanies apartment life started to fade away.
One afternoon, as I tended to the plants outside the building, I encountered a new neighbor who was moving in. Samir introduced himself with a shy smile, awkwardly holding a potted fern in one hand.
“Would you like some assistance with that?” I extended my offer.
He nodded with appreciation. “Thank you.” It’s my first day here, and I already feel overwhelmed.
We exchanged a few words, and as he turned to leave, I noticed something nestled under his arm—a small wooden box, beautifully carved with recognizable designs.
My breath caught in my throat. Could it have been possible? Had Miss Carol discovered someone else ready to provide care?
No matter the situation, I found myself smiling. Kindness spreads outward, impacting lives in ways we might never completely grasp. At times, even the tiniest gestures of kindness have the power to transform everything.
So, esteemed reader, I present to you this challenge: Become the individual who observes. It doesn’t matter. Who performs. In a world that frequently seems detached, your kindness could be precisely what someone requires to feel acknowledged, listened to, and appreciated.
If this story struck a chord with you, kindly share it. Let’s illuminate our path together. ❤️
