Nightmare Gallery: A Treasury of Twisted Terror Tales

The Watcher in the Hallway

Maya had always believed that the apartment she moved into was a little too quiet. When she first walked into the old building, its creaky floors and worn wallpaper seemed to whisper stories of lives long gone. But she didn't mind; there was a certain charm to the place. A place like this was affordable, and that's all that mattered when you were just starting over.

She didn't expect much. Just a quiet life, a place to study, and the solitude she craved after a long day of work and classes. Yet, after a week, Maya began to feel a nagging unease, a faint sense that something was off. At first, it was the small things. The flickering lights. The occasional creak from the hallway at night. The way the shadows seemed to gather just beyond her bedroom door, no matter how many lights she turned on.

But the real dread began when she started hearing the whispers. At first, she thought it was the building settling, the wind passing through the old pipes, or maybe even the sound of other tenants—people she rarely saw, but heard frequently. But soon, the whispers became more distinct, more purposeful.

Late one night, as she was finishing up an assignment at her desk, the whispers returned. She froze, her pen halting in mid-air. They were coming from the hallway. It wasn't the random murmurs she'd grown used to. This time, they were clear. They were calling her name.

"Maya... Maya..."

A shiver ran down her spine. She tried to tell herself it was nothing. Perhaps someone was passing by, or maybe the building's creaks were getting worse. But the voice was too real, too close.

She stood from her desk, her heart thudding in her chest, and crept toward the door. She held her breath, listening. The hallway beyond her apartment door was silent. No murmurs, no movement. Just the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the distant sound of traffic outside.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the door handle. Slowly, she twisted it, opening the door just a crack. She peeked out, eyes scanning the dark hallway. Nothing was there.

Confused and slightly embarrassed, Maya stepped back into her apartment and closed the door behind her. She told herself that it was just the stress of her new life, adjusting to the isolation.

But that night, she couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't alone.

The next few days were uneventful, but Maya couldn't shake the unease. The whispers hadn't returned, but every time she walked past her door, she felt as though someone was standing on the other side, waiting. Watching.

Then came the night that changed everything.

Maya had been up late studying for an upcoming exam when she heard it again. A soft scratching at the door. She frowned. It wasn't the wind, or the pipes, or even the settling of the building. This was deliberate. Someone—or something—was tapping on her door.

She got up, her heart racing. No one had visited her since she moved in, and the building was supposed to be quiet at night. She had seen no one in the hallways.

"Maya..."

The voice was back. But this time, it was clearer. It was coming from right outside her door. A shudder ran through her, her breath catching in her throat. She didn't dare open the door this time. Instead, she crept back to her desk, her mind racing. What could this be? Who was out there?

"Maya, you're not alone."

Her blood ran cold. It was as though the voice knew her thoughts, knew her every fear. Her knees weakened, and she gripped the edge of her desk for support. The shadows outside her door deepened, pooling against the wood. The clock on the wall ticked louder, the seconds stretching into eternity.

Then, the sound of footsteps. Slow, dragging footsteps, like something was scraping its feet across the floor.

She dared not move. She wanted to run, to leave the apartment, but she couldn't. She couldn't let whatever was out there know she was afraid. Her fingers trembled, reaching for her phone, but her hand stopped mid-air. The hallway beyond the door had gone eerily quiet again. No footsteps. No whispers. Just the thick, suffocating silence.

Maya stared at the door. The very air seemed to thicken around her, pressing in. She could almost feel the presence on the other side, waiting. Watching.

She had to know what was there.

With trembling hands, Maya slowly opened the door, just wide enough to peer through. The hallway was empty. No one in sight. No one standing there. But the shadows—the shadows were strange. They were long and twisting, like dark fingers creeping along the floor. It was as if they were trying to reach out and grab her.

Her eyes scanned the hallway, her gaze drawn to the far end where the staircase to the upper floors was located. There, in the darkness, she saw it. A figure, tall and gaunt, standing motionless in the corner.

The figure didn't move, didn't breathe. But Maya could feel its presence. It was watching her. Its face was shrouded in shadow, but she could sense the eyes—dark, hollow, and endless.

"Maya..."

The voice was soft now, almost a breath, coming from behind her.

Before she could react, she felt something cold brush against the back of her neck. She spun around, heart racing, but there was no one there. Nothing but the oppressive, heavy air of the room. The voice had followed her into the apartment.

She slammed the door shut and locked it, her breath coming in frantic gasps. Her mind raced with fear and confusion. Who was that? Why were they haunting her?

The voice in her head answered, as if it knew her thoughts.

"You should have never opened the door," it whispered.

The sound of scraping, the dragging footsteps, began again, this time from inside the apartment, not the hallway. The floorboards creaked under the weight of something heavy, something relentless.

Maya spun toward the sound, but there was nothing there—nothing but the dark corners of her apartment, the shadows stretching farther than they should have.

"Maya... you've let me in..."

It was coming closer now, growing louder, like nails on a chalkboard. She tried to scream, but no sound left her throat. She backed into the corner of the room, her body pressed against the wall, her eyes wild with terror.

The door to her apartment—the one she had just locked—slowly began to open. Not by force, but as if the air itself was pushing against it.

And then she saw it.

The figure that had been standing in the hallway was inside her apartment, standing motionless at the edge of the shadows. Its face was still hidden, but Maya could feel its gaze, penetrating her mind, her soul.

"Maya..." the voice whispered again, now right next to her ear.

The last thing she saw before everything went dark was its pale hand reaching for her.

The apartment was empty the next morning. No sign of struggle, no sign of a break-in. Just silence.

But the neighbors? They said they had heard nothing—nothing but the sound of a door opening. They hadn't seen her leave.

The building? Still as quiet as ever.

But Maya was gone. Just like the whispers had warned.

And whoever—or whatever—had been watching her, was still there. Watching the next tenant. And the next.

Waiting.