The Invisible Roommate

To save five hundred bucks on rent, I moved into a four-bedroom, one-bathroom shared apartment.

The property agent said my roommates were all high-level professionals working nearbyearly risers who came home late, extremely well-mannered.

I'd been living here for half a month and hadn't seen a single soul.

Until that night when I was scrolling through my phone and came across a trending post: "Property Agent Uses Copied Keys to Murder Tenant."

Suddenly, the ventilation window above my head was pushed open, and a withered hand reached down to strangle my neck.

Only in my dying moments did I realize it wasn't some property agent at all.

It was a homeless man who'd been living in the crawlspace above my ceiling this whole time.

One of my "invisible" roommates.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on my first night moving in.

1

The searing pain in my neck shot through my entire body like an electric current.

I gasped and bolted upright in bed.

Before me wasn't that gaunt, twisted face, nor that pitch-black ventilation window. It was the ghostly blue glow of my phone screen.

The time displayed: July 15, 2023, 8:00 PM.

I touched my neck. No ligature marks, but I could still feel the burning sensation of rough nylon rope scraping against skin.

I was breathing heavily, my heart pounding against my ribcage, the sound echoing in this cramped room.

I was alive. Or rather, I had come back to life.

Half an hour from nowor three days from now in my previous lifeI would die in this room. Cause of death: strangled by a homeless man hiding in the crawlspace above my ceiling.

I looked around. This was a partitioned room, barely sixty square feet. A single bed, a cheap fabric wardrobe, walls painted a sickly white with bargain paint applied recently to cover the mold underneath.

The air reeked of dampness mixed with the acrid smell of cheap formaldehyde.

To save five hundred dollars, I'd stuffed myself into this coffin-like box.

My banking app was still open to that soul-crushing screen: Balance $342.50. That was everything I had to my name. Not even enough for next month's rent.

What had the landlord said again?

"Six hundred bucks in this neighborhoodwhere else are you gonna find that? This is a four-bedroom apartment. The other three rooms have high-level finance professionals living in them. Quality people. They leave early, come home late. You probably won't even see them."

Indeed, I wouldn't see them.

In my previous life, I'd lived here for half a month. Even when I got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, I never heard a sound from those other three rooms.

But I'd heard other sounds.

Late at night, there would be this scratching noise from above the ceilingfingernails scraping against wood. And sounds like marbles dropping.

I thought it was rats, so I bought sticky traps.

Even in the moment of my death, that trap still lay pristine on top of the wardrobe, completely clean.

The real "rat" wasn't anywhere near there. He was directly above my head.

I looked up, staring hard at that small ventilation window high on the wall. It had been installed to provide airflow to this windowless room, connecting to the hallway's ceiling space.

In my previous life, that skeletal hand with fingernails caked in black grime had reached out from exactly there.

The terror receded like a tide, replaced by the sharp clarity of someone who'd narrowly escaped death.

I knew that monster was up there right now. Separated only by a thin ceiling, crouched like a giant cockroach, listening to my every move. Perhaps even watching me through some crack I hadn't noticed.

I had to leave. Even if it meant sleeping on the street or in a KFC, I couldn't stay here.

I jumped off the bed as quietly as possible, stuffing my ID, bank card, and the fruit knife I kept for protection into my bag. As for the bedding and clothesforget them. My life was worth more than those rags.

I reached for the doorknob and gently turned it.

Click.

The lock opened.

I pulled the door open a crack. The living room outside was pitch black. Not normal darkness, but the kind that seemed sealed in thick ink. Heavy blackout curtains covered the windows completely.

Silent. Dead silent.

The three other bedroom doors were shut tight, not a sliver of light beneath any of them.

I held my breath and tiptoed out. With each step, the floor groaned softly. In the stillness of night, these sounds were like thunder.

I didn't dare look back, but I felt a chill down my spine, as if something in that darkness was watching me.

Finally, I reached the front door handle. One of those old-fashioned security doors that needed two full turns to open.

My palms were slick with sweat as I twisted hard. It didn't budge.

I tried again. Still nothing.

My heart sank. The door was deadbolted. Locked from the outside.

With these old security doors, if someone deadbolts them from outside with a key, you can't open them from inside without that key. The agent had only given me a door key, not the deadbolt key.

Who locked it?

Whoever it was, I was now trapped in this giant coffin.

Just then, I heard a sound. Very light, very faint. Like someone rubbing their fingertips against wallpaper.

The sound came from behind me. From above the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

I stiffly turned around.

In the darkness, I could just make out the ceiling access panel at the end of the hallway shifting slightly.

2

That access panel definitely moved. Like something had nudged it from above, revealing a pitch-black crack.

An indescribable stench wafted out from the gap. Sour, reeking of urine, and that smell of unwashed bodies caked in grime. The smell of a homeless person.

He was watching me. He knew I'd discovered the door wouldn't open. He was waiting for me to panic, waiting for me to scream, then savoring my fear like a cat toying with a mouse.

Every hair on my body stood on end. My fingers dug into my palms, forcing myself to stay calm.

I couldn't scream. In this godforsaken place where no one would hear me, screaming would only hasten my death.

I took a deep breath, pretending I just needed to use the bathroom. I turned toward the bathroom, deliberately making my footsteps heavier.

"This damn door, I'll have to get the agent to fix it tomorrow."

I muttered to myselfnot loudly, but loud enough for the thing above to hear.

I entered the bathroom and quickly locked the door. The window here faced the hallway, but it had security barsno way to squeeze through.

The only exit was still the front door. Since I couldn't open it from inside, I'd have to wait for someone to open it from outside. Or... lure someone here.

I pulled out my phone with trembling hands and opened SnapChat to message that seemingly helpful agentlet's call him Mike. This guy's eyes always drifted to my chest when we talked, and he spoke like a creep, but at least he worked for a legitimate agency. He probably wouldn't dare murder someone openly.

"Hey, the front door won't open. I need to go out for something urgent."

I sent the message. No reply.

I tried a FaceTime call. It rang twice, then was declined.

Immediately, a text message popped up.

"Girl, why go out so late? Door's broken, I'll get someone to fix it tomorrow. Just sleep tight. The building's security is great."

Great security? This run-down place didn't even have working streetlights. What security?

And how did he know I wanted to go out just now? How did he reply so fast?

Unless... he was nearby.

A deeper chill ran down my spine.

I remembered a detail from my previous life. When that homeless man was strangling me, I'd heard sounds near the front door. Like keys turning.

Could this whole thing be a setup? The agent bringing in tenants, the property manager collecting rent, and the homeless man... handling the cleanup?

No, impossible. If it were that organized, this criminal operation would've been busted long ago.

More likely, the agent knew something was off here but turned a blind eye to collect his commission. He might even be using this homeless man to scare off tenants, keeping their security deposits.

I gripped my phone, knuckles white. If you're going to be ruthless, don't blame me for fighting back.

I opened the dial pad and pressed 91

Before I could make the call, the bathroom light flickered twice.

It went out.

The world plunged into darkness.

Then I heard that familiar scratching sound from overhead. Not in the hallwayin the bathroom ceiling.

Those aluminum panel ceilings couldn't support a person's full weight. But he didn't need to support his full weight. He only needed to push those panels aside.

Click. The sound of the first panel being lifted.

In that moment, I could almost feel hot breath on my scalp.

I didn't dare look up. I yanked the bathroom door open and rushed out. Better to take my chances in the living room than be trapped like a rat in that tiny bathroom.

I ran back to my room and slammed the door shut, pressing my body against it with all my weight. I was already gripping that fruit knife, blade pointed at the door.

But I knew this door wouldn't stop him. That cheap ball lock could be popped open with a credit card from outside. Besides, he didn't even need to use the door. That ventilation window.

I whipped my head around. The ventilation window looked the samea black void. But I knew he was crawling through the ceiling crawlspace, like a giant gecko, heading toward my room.

I had to find a way to save myself.

Besides this door, there was no other exit from this room. The window faced the air shaftjumping down meant certain death or crippling injury.

Wait.

This apartment had partition walls. To squeeze out more rooms, all the walls were just steel studs covered with drywall. These walls had terrible soundproofing, but that also meant... they were fragile.

My room was right next to Room B. If I could smash through this wall and escape into the adjacent room...

As long as there was someone in that room, I could call for help. Even though I hadn't seen anyone in half a month, the agent said those rooms housed professionals who left early and came home late. Even one person would be better than facing this monster alone.

I looked at the cheap wardrobe. Behind it was that partition wall.

I didn't care if I'd alert the thing above anymore. I shoved the wardrobe aside.

Facing that sickly white wall, I raised my leg and kicked with all my strength.

Bang. A dull thud.

The wall shook but didn't break.

The crawling sounds overhead suddenly stopped. Right above me. He was listening. Judging what I was trying to do.

Gritting my teeth, I stepped back and kicked again, even harder.

Bang.

This time the drywall made a brittle cracking sound, forming a dent.

It was working!

Like a madwoman, I kicked that dent again and again. Fear transformed into adrenaline. I couldn't feel the pain in my foot anymore. Only one thought filled my mind: Break through it!

Crack.

Finally, I'd kicked a hole through the drywall.

Ignoring the sharp edges, I reached in and tore at the insulation, widening the opening. A cloud of dust made me cough.

Through that hole, I could see into the adjacent room. In the faint light spilling from my room, I saw a bed. Someone was sitting on it. Long hair, back to me, completely motionless.

"Help! Someone's trying to kill me! Please help!"

I shouted at that silhouette, my voice trembling.

The person didn't move. Didn't even turn their head.

Panic rising, I didn't care that the hole was barely big enough for a dog. I forced my head and half my body through.

"Ma'am! Wake up! Call the police!"

I reached out and grabbed the woman's shoulder, yanking hard.

That body was surprisingly light, turning easily with my pull.

In that instant, I felt all the blood in my veins freeze.

It was a stiff, pale plastic face. Painted with garish red lips, eyes just dots of black paint.

This was... a store mannequin. Wearing a business suit, wig slightly disheveled, staring at me with those dead painted eyes.

Only then did I see clearlybesides this bed and this mannequin, the room was completely empty. A thick layer of dust covered the floor.

There were no high-level professionals. There never had been.

From directly overhead came an extremely soft laugh. That laugh didn't sound humanlike someone with phlegm stuck in their throat, raspy and shrill.

A hand reached out from the ventilation window in my room.

Holding a nylon rope.

Dangling it toward me, stuck helplessly in the wall, and gave it a little shake.

3

Extreme terror becomes numbness.

I was stuck in that hole in the wall, half my body on one side, half on the other. Ahead was the lifeless plastic mannequin. Behind was the killer homeless man.

That nylon rope swayed in the air like a venomous snake.

I jerked myself back, ignoring the sharp drywall edges tearing the skin at my waist. The pain brought some clarity.

I scrambled back to the corner of my room, clutching that fruit knife with a death grip.

The hand withdrew. But that didn't mean he'd given up. He was enjoying this. Just like a cat always plays with a mouse before eating it. He knew I couldn't escape.

The adjacent room had a mannequin. What about the others?

Were all those "early-rising, late-returning, high-quality" roommates the agent mentioned just these things? Creating the illusion of a fully-rented apartment to trick girls like mefresh graduates, broke and scared of living aloneinto this trap.

This was basically an elaborately designed hunting ground.

I had to verify this. Even if verification wouldn't save me, I didn't want to die in ignorance.

I burst out of my room.

The living room was still deathly silent. I didn't care anymore. I ran straight to Room C's door, the closest one, and twisted the handle hard.

Locked.

I kicked it. These cheap wooden doors couldn't withstand much abuse. After a few kicks, the lock area splintered.

I rammed through and charged in.

By my phone's flashlight, I saw the same scene. An empty room. One bed. One "man" sitting in a chair. Wearing a suit, glasses perched on his nose, that plastic face frozen in an eternal smile.

A male mannequin.

Room D.

The door wasn't locked. I pushed it open. This one was even more absurd. Two "people" lay in bed together, one male and one female, covered with blankets, two plastic heads poking out.

These were the so-called "couple tenants"? All fake.

In this entire four-bedroom apartment, besides me, there wasn't a second living person.

No, there was one more. Overhead.

I stood in the center of the living room, holding up my phone's flashlight, the beam sweeping across those tightly closed bedroom doors. This place was like some grotesque wax museum.

In that moment, I didn't feel scared anymorejust disgusted. Disgusted enough to vomit. They'd treated people like complete idiots. For a few hundred bucks in monthly rent, they'd created this tomb of the living dead.

A drop of liquid fell on the floor in front of me.

I looked down. It was a drop of murky yellow fluid, reeking of urine.

Slowly, I raised my head.

The flashlight beam illuminated the living room ceiling. That access panel had been completely removed at some point. A skull-like withered head was hanging upside down there. Matted hair dangling like weeds, those cloudy yellow eyes squinting in the bright light.

He grinned, revealing a mouthful of half-rotten black teeth. In his hand was a water bottle, dripping urine downward.

He was mocking me. Marking his territory.

This was the "roommate" who'd been living above my head all along. Every night I'd heard those sounds, thinking they were rats. They were rats, all right. One giant human-sized rat.

"Come down here!"

I screamed at him, my voice so hoarse it scared even me.

"If you've got guts, come down! What kind of man hides up there!"

I raised the fruit knife, waving it at him.

That withered face twitched, apparently surprised I'd challenge him.

He retreated. Then came urgent crawling sounds. Heading toward my room.

I knew what he was going to do. That ventilation window. His favorite hunting entrance.

I couldn't go back to my room. But I had to use that room.

My mind raced, adrenaline surging.

If he liked playing dirty, I'd play along to the end.

I rushed to the kitchen. No gas here, just an old-style electric hotplate. But I rememberedin the corner of the kitchen was a bucket of paint thinner left over from previous renovations. Highly flammable.

I grabbed the metal bucket and shook it. Still half full. Enough.

I hauled the bucket back to my room.

The ventilation window had already been pushed open, that skeletal hand about to reach down. Seeing me rush in, the movement paused. Probably wondering why this prey dared walk into the trap.

I let out a cold laugh, unscrewed the bucket lid, and aimed at the bed beneath the ventilation window and the wall directly below it, splashing it everywhere. The acrid chemical smell instantly filled the cramped space.

"You want to come down? Then come down!"

I pulled out a lighter. Click. The flame sparked to life.

The eyes behind that ventilation window widened suddenly. The animal's instinctive fear of fire.

He tried to retreat. But I didn't give him the chance.

I tossed the lighter onto the thinner-soaked sheets.

The flames erupted instantly, like a fire dragon roaring toward the ceiling. That ventilation window was a wind tunnelthe flames rushed straight up with the airflow.

A piercing shriek erupted from the ceiling crawlspace. That sound made your scalp crawl, like a pig being slaughtered.

I stepped back, watching flames lick at the edges of the ventilation window.

But I knew this wasn't enough. This fire wouldn't kill himat most it would burn him. And if this old building really caught fire, I'd die too. I didn't want mutual destruction. I wanted to force him down. Force him out of his dark fortress, down to ground level, where we could fight to the death.

Sure enough, overhead came frantic crashing and rolling sounds. The crawlspace filled with smoke and firehe couldn't stay.

A massive crash from the hallway. The access panel had been completely kicked out.

A flaming black mass tumbled down from above, hitting the floor hard.

He'd landed.

It was a scrawny man, barely five feet tall, draped in tattered quilting, hair still smoking. He screamed and rolled on the floor, beating at the flames on his body.

I gripped the fruit knife tightly and strode out of my room.

Now he was no longer that superior hunter. Just a cornered dog.

Strike while the enemy's downfinish him off.

I rushed over and stabbed down hard at his thigh.

The sound of blade entering flesh.

He screamed again, those cloudy eyes finally showing fear. He tried to get up, but I kicked him hard in that revolting face.

"This is for the me you strangled to death!"

I yanked out the knife. Blood sprayed everywhere.

I wanted to stab again.

But just then, keys turning sounded at the front door.

Click.

The door opened.

The landlord Mike's bulky figure appeared in the doorway. He held a baseball bat, panting heavilyclearly he'd rushed up after hearing the commotion.

But when he saw the scene before him, he froze. I froze too.

I'd expected him to come, but not with a weapon in hand. What I hadn't expected was that when he saw the homeless man covered in blood on the floor, his eyes showed no surpriseonly... fury. The fury of someone whose property had been damaged.

"Damn it, useless piece of trash!"

He cursed, turned around to close the door, and deadbolted it again.

He turned back around. Those little eyes that usually squinted to slits were now wide open, gleaming with murderous intent.

"Girl, you're pretty vicious, aren't you?"

He hefted the baseball bat, advancing toward me step by step.

"This idiot may be brain-dead, but at least he's been watching this place for me for six months, saving me plenty of trouble. You crippled himhow am I supposed to do business now?"

His tone was casual, like he was discussing some minor property damage.

But I understood.

This homeless man wasn't some illegal squatter. He was a dog the agent kept. Specifically to frighten tenants, drive away those who wanted their deposits back, or even... dispose of troublesome people.

I gripped the still-dripping knife, backing away step by step.

Wolf ahead, tiger behind. And this tiger was bigger, meaner, and harder to handle than that wolf.

"Don't come closer! I called the police!" I shouted, raising the knife.

"Police?" Mike sneered. "I installed a signal jammer in this dump. Who could you possibly call?"

No wonder the call wouldn't go through.

"Wasn't planning to touch you, but you had to make trouble."

The fat on Mike's face quivered as he showed a savage grin.

"Since you know everything now, might as well stay and keep them company. I'm sick of these mannequins anywayperfect time to replace one with the real thing."

He swung the baseball bat viciously at my head.

4

I instinctively dodged sideways, but the bat still caught my shoulder. Intense pain struck. I thought my bone might have fractured.

The fruit knife flew from my hand, sliding into a corner of the living room.

The massive force knocked me to the floor. My vision went dark.

Mike didn't pauseanother swing came down.

I rolled desperately across the floor, barely avoiding it. The baseball bat smashed into the floor, making a dull crash. Floor tiles shattered.

"Run? Where can you run?"

Mike sneered, bearing down on me like a mountain of flesh.

The homeless man I'd stabbed had also recovered by now. Clutching his thigh, he limped to his feet, making that weird clicking laugh, picking up a broken wooden stick from the floor and blocking my path to the bedroom.

Two against one. With me injured and weaponless.

Despair rose like a black tide, slowly covering my head.

Had I been reborn just to die again? Even more horribly this time?

My back against the cold wall, I gasped for breath. Past Mike's bulky body, I could see the front door. Deadbolted. Even if I had the key, unlocking it would take time. And they'd never give me that time.

"Stop struggling, girl."

Mike stepped on my ankle and ground down hard.

I screamed in pain.

He squatted down, that greasy fat face inches from mine, reeking breath washing over me.

"Originally I planned to let you stay a month, keep your deposit and kick you out. But you just had to make trouble."

He reached out his fat hand to grab my hair.

I suddenly lunged and bit down hard on his palm. Clamped down with every ounce of strength. I tasted bloodthe rancid flavor of pork fat.

Mike screamed and flung his hand, throwing me six feet away. My head slammed into the wall.

The impact made me see stars, my consciousness fading.

But I couldn't pass out. Unconscious meant dead.

Mike looked at the deep tooth marks on his hand, going to bone, and flew into a complete rage.

"Ungrateful bitch!"

He raised the baseball bat, this time aimed at my skull. He meant to kill me outright.

I watched that bat descending closer and closer. Time seemed to slow in that moment.

I wasn't willing to accept this. I really wasn't willing.

I was only 23. My life had just begun. Why should I die at the hands of these two pieces of garbage?

My hand groped wildly across the floor, hoping to grab something.

My fingertips touched something cold and hard. A piece of broken floor tile with a sharp edge. Only palm-sized, but the edge was sharp as a knife.

The instant the baseball bat fell, I exploded with my last reserves of strength.

Not to dodgeto attack.

I shot forward, not retreating but advancing, ramming into Mike's bulk. The tile fragment in my hand stabbed viciously toward the carotid artery in his neck.

The sound of a sharp object piercing a blood vessel.

Scalding liquid instantly sprayed across my face.

Mike's movement froze. The baseball bat slipped powerlessly from his hand. Those beady eyes bulged like they'd pop out. He clutched his neck, making gurgling sounds, blood foam gushing between his fingers.

The homeless man saw this scene and was stunned stupid. He probably never imagined his usually vicious master could be counter-killed by a "little rabbit."

I shoved aside Mike's heavy corpse and stood up, face covered in blood. Like a demon crawling out of hell.

I turned toward the homeless man.

"Your turn."

The homeless man shrieked and turned to scramble toward the access panel.

But how could I let him escape?

I picked up the baseball bat, dragging it with my uninjured arm, walking toward him step by step.

"Don't... don't..."

The homeless man cowered in the corner, trembling. Now he seemed humannow he knew fear.

I raised the baseball bat.

Without the slightest hesitation.

Thud.

The world went quiet.

I dropped the bat and slumped weakly against the wall. The whole room reeked of blood mixed with burnt smell.

I looked at the two corpses on the floor and suddenly wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

Was it over? Had I survived?

Trembling, I fished the keys from Mike's pocket.

The front door key.

I staggered to the door, my hand shaking so badly I couldn't insert it properly several times.

Finally, it went in. I turned it. Click. The lock opened.

I pushed the door.

Outside in the hallway, the motion sensor light flickered on. That sudden brightness was somewhat blinding.

I squinted, wanting to breathe some fresh air.

But I saw someone.

Someone in a police uniform. Standing at the hallway entrance, gun in hand, pointed at me.

I froze. A cop? Had someone called the police? Was I saved?

I was about to raise my hands, about to shout "I'm the victim."

But the next second, I saw that cop's face clearly.

It was a familiar face. Though wearing a police uniform, those sinister eyes, that hooked nose...

It was the property manager! The property manager who'd been at the contract signing, always with a gloomy expression, never speaking!

Why was he wearing a police uniform?

No, that uniform didn't fit right. The shoulder patches were crooked. It was fake.

Cosplay? No.

He looked at me, then at the carnage inside the apartment, his face showing not a trace of surprise. Instead, he wore a strange smilelike someone who'd just watched their game finally reach completion.

"Not bad, little girl."

He slowly lowered the guna black imitation pistol.

"Thought Mike would win this round. Didn't expect you to turn the tables."

He pulled a walkie-talkie from his pocket and pressed the button.

"Hey, the house lost this round. Calculate the payout."

The walkie-talkie erupted with chaotic cheering and betting talk.

"Holy shit! This chick actually pulled off a double kill!"

"I told you betting on this girl to survive the night would pay off!"

"I'm ruinedI bet on the homeless guy!"

My mind exploded with a thunderous roar.

This wasn't robbery, wasn't murder to silence a witness. This was... a gambling ring? This entire shared apartment was their arena? Me, the previous tenants, even the homeless man and Mikewe were all just pieces in their game?

The property manager put away the walkie-talkie and raised the gun again, aiming at the center of my forehead.

"You won, but the rules of the game are simple: there can only be one winner."

"And that winner is always the house."

Bang.

A flash of fire erupted from the gun barrel.

I felt a chill between my eyebrows.

My consciousness rapidly faded.

With my last glimpse, I saw the property manager step over my corpse, speaking into the walkie-talkie:

"Clean it up. Prepare for the next round."

...

I gasped and bolted upright in bed.

No searing pain in my neck, no chill between my eyebrows.

Before me was that familiar phone screen.

Time: July 15, 2023, 8:00 PM.