The Girls Upstairs

The noise from the room upstairs ripped me from my sleep.

It was the scraping of chairs on the floor, the sound punctuated by shrieks and what sounded like laughter.

Idiots, I muttered, clamping a pillow over my head. I fumbled for my earplugs on the nightstand, shoved them in, and rolled over, surrendering back to the darkness.

The next morning, the landing for the fourth-floor staircase was cordoned off with police tape.

When I asked what happened, the story came out in hushed, horrified whispers.

Sometime in the dead of night, the girls in Room 414 were slaughtered.

All four of them. No survivors.


1

To understand the timeline, the four of us from the room directly below—314—were brought to the station for questioning.

It was the girls in 427, the room next door to the victims, who found them. The winter dawn was still a vague promise in the sky when they got up for an 8 AM lecture and noticed 414 was still dark.

Then they looked down. A thick, blackish-red liquid was seeping from under the door.

The police were fast, but someone was faster. Before the scene was fully secured, a photo had been snapped and blasted to every group chat on campus.

The pictures were… a Jackson Pollock of blood and something worse.

Leah threw up the second she saw them.

Now, Nina, Zoe, and I sat in a sterile waiting room at the police station while Leah gave her statement. The air was thick with a shared, unspoken weight.

If just one of us, annoyed by the noise, had gone up there to complain… could we have stopped it?

And if not, could we at least have seen the killer’s face? Given the police something to go on?

But we didn’t. None of us did.

I just laid there, beneath the unfolding carnage, and cursed them for waking me up. I called them idiots, then fell asleep and didn't wake until morning.

Sleep feels impossible now.

Every time I close my eyes, I see blood dripping through the ceiling tiles above my bed.

Sensing our fragile state, the police brought in a specialist to “interview” us—a department-approved psychologist.

The door to the interview room opened, and Leah emerged, leaning on the arm of a woman with long, dark hair.

2

Dr. Evelyn Reed was a renowned criminal psychologist, a frequent and vital partner in the department’s major cases. Her reputation was built on one extraordinary skill: a masterful use of hypnosis.

A conscious criminal can lie, can control their narrative. But under hypnosis, the mind’s floodgates open. Every detail, every buried memory, is laid bare for the hypnotist to see.

Dr. Reed gently guided Leah to a chair beside me, her voice as smooth and soothing as warm honey.

"Alright, girls, thank you for providing what you could. The detective tells me you’re all quite shaken up. Don’t worry. I’m going to have a one-on-one session with each of you, just to help you process everything. How does that sound?"

She was talking to us like we were children. I glanced at her ID badge. She couldn't have been more than four years older than us.

But I didn't care. At that moment, I desperately needed whatever help she was offering.

3

We went into her temporary office one by one.

For the twenty minutes I was under, I have no idea what happened. I only know that when I woke up, a profound sense of calm had settled over me. The bloody image of Room 414 had, for a moment, receded into a manageable haze.

As I was leaving the room, she offered a small, disarming smile.

"Nice combat boots, kiddo."

I waited in the lounge while the others took their turns. A young officer, sensing my boredom, handed me a tablet to watch videos on.

Leah was the last to finish. This time, she walked out on her own, no longer needing support.

"Congratulations, girls. You should all be able to get a good night's sleep tonight," Dr. Reed said, clapping her hands together softly. Her gaze landed on me.

I offered a weak smile in return, but as my eyes met hers, a sliver of ice traced its way down my spine.

Her red lips parted. "I'm sorry, Ava. You'll need to stay."

Nina, Zoe, and Leah froze.

Leah was the first to speak. "Why?"

Dr. Reed strode toward me. My wrist suddenly felt heavy. Cold. A pair of handcuffs clicked shut around it.

She was still smiling, but the expression didn't reach her eyes. "Because you're the one who murdered everyone in Room 414."

4

"What are you talking about?" Nina lunged forward, placing herself between me and the psychologist. "Ava was with us the entire time! There's no way she could have killed anyone!"

Zoe and Leah rushed to my defense.

"That's right! I even heard her roll over in her sleep that night!" Leah added.

Dr. Reed crossed her arms, watching our frantic display with a detached amusement. "She's deceived all of you."

"You're lying!" Nina was furious now. "I thought you were here to help, but you're just twisting things! Police! Officer!"

Nina's voice was loud, echoing through the station as she yelled for the uniformed officers standing down the hall. "Help! Someone is trying to illegally detain my friend!"

A few officers approached, their expressions a mixture of confusion and concern as they looked from my terrified face to Dr. Reed's calm demeanor.

"Dr. Reed," one of them began, "are you saying this girl… killed four people?"

She said nothing, her smile unwavering.

"That seems… unlikely," another officer murmured. "The killer was brutal, a complete psychopath. She’s just a twenty-two-year-old kid."

Dr. Reed’s gaze settled on me. "Then I suggest we watch the session tapes."

5

I didn't kill anyone. I knew that.

But when the video from my hypnosis session played, my world tilted on its axis.

On the screen, I was reclined in a soft armchair, Dr. Reed's voice a gentle murmur guiding my answers. It started with simple things: my name, my major, the university I attended. Then it delved deeper, into secrets I’d barely admitted to myself—the time I cheated on an exam, the raw, simmering resentment I held for my family.

I pressed my hand to my mouth.

Some of these details were things I thought I’d forgotten, yet under her guidance, they flowed from me with perfect clarity. Hypnosis unearths memories buried under layers of dust.

Finally, she asked the question.

"On April 12th, at 1:00 AM, what were you doing?"

My voice, thin and distant, came from the speakers. "Killing them."

Dr. Reed pressed on. "Who?"

"Room 414. All four of them."

6

A gasp escaped my lips.

Nina, Zoe, and Leah stared at me, their faces masks of disbelief.

I shook my head frantically. "No! That's not me! That's when the noise woke me up! I looked at my clock—it was exactly 1:00 AM! I muttered something and put my earplugs in and went back to sleep!"

Leah immediately backed me up. "I can vouch for that! I'm a light sleeper. I heard her toss and turn!"

Nina nodded vigorously. "Our beds are head-to-head. I heard her curse them out! How could it be her?"

Zoe chimed in, her voice firm. "I was half-asleep, but I know it wasn't Ava. She has a history of depression, and since her recovery, she's been extremely sensitive to screaming. I heard screams from upstairs that night. Ava would never go towards a sound like that."

We sat on one side of a long table, the four of us from Room 314. On the other side sat Dr. Reed and the police. Detective Miller, the lead on the case, clearly trusted his consultant, but his eyes held a flicker of doubt as he looked at me.

Another officer leaned over and whispered to Dr. Reed, "The girl's history checks out. Hospital records confirm it. She has a stress-induced aversion to screaming. Are you sure about this?"

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