#thevoiceinthevent

Mardi had always loved the quiet of her apartment. Nestled on the top floor of an old, crumbling building, it offered the kind of solitude that she, an introvert by nature, craved. The thin walls and occasional creaks from her elderly neighbours were comforting reminders of life around her. Until, one night, something changed.

It started as a whisper—so faint, she thought it was her imagination. Lying in bed, with the soft glow of her phone casting eerie shadows on the walls, she heard it: a low, almost imperceptible murmur floating through the air vent above her bed.

At first, Mardi assumed it was Mr. Simmons from the apartment next door. The man often mumbled to himself when he couldn’t sleep, his gravelly voice barely a disturbance. But this murmur was different—sharper, cold. She strained her ears, hoping to catch a clearer phrase, but the sound vanished as quickly as it came.

By the next morning, the voice was forgotten, chalked up to the usual oddities of living in an old building. But the following night, it returned.

Mardi lay awake, staring at the darkened ceiling. The whisper crawled through the vent again, this time clearer, more deliberate. It was no longer a mumble; it was a string of words, garbled and strange, as though spoken through clenched teeth.

"Help me..."

Her heart skipped a beat. She sat up, the room suddenly much colder than it should have been. Maybe one of her neighbours really was in trouble. She pressed her ear to the vent.

"He’s coming... don’t listen..."

The voice was female—shaky and distant, as though it came from some far-off place, but the air vent was the only possible source. She held her breath, waiting for more, but the voice cut off abruptly, leaving only silence.

The next morning, she knocked on Mr. Simmons' door, feeling foolish but desperate for answers. After a few moments, the door creaked open, revealing the frail, white-haired man.

"Good morning, Mr. Simmons," Mardi began, keeping her voice steady. "Have you heard... anything strange? From your vent, I mean."

He blinked at her, his rheumy eyes narrowing in confusion. "Strange? Like what?"

"Voices. At night. It sounds like someone’s... trapped."

Mr. Simmons shook his head, looking more puzzled than concerned. "I haven’t heard a thing, dear. Not in years. My hearing’s not what it used to be."

Mardi forced a smile and thanked him, but unease crept into her bones. If he wasn’t hearing it, who else could it be? Was it just in her head?

That night, she lay in bed again, eyes wide open, heart pounding. Hours passed in silence. She was beginning to think she really was losing it when the voice returned, louder this time.

"Get out..."

Mardi jolted upright. The voice was urgent, panicked, and much closer than before.

"He’s here... He’s watching..."

Mardi’s breath caught in her throat. The air in the room felt thick, suffocating. Her eyes darted to the vent, now nothing more than a square of black metal on the ceiling, but it suddenly felt like something was staring back through it.

Before she could react, a second voice emerged—a deeper, guttural one that sent icy chills down her spine.

"Too late."

The words slithered through the vent like a hiss, dripping with malice. Mardi froze, every muscle in her body tense, as if her very survival depended on staying still. She waited, trembling, praying that whatever this was would stop.

But the whispers continued. The voices overlapped, one pleading, the other mocking, their tones battling for dominance in her mind.

"Get out!" the woman cried again.

"She’s ours now," the deeper voice growled.

The room plunged into darkness as the light flickered and went out. A rush of cold air blasted from the vent, carrying with it a foul, decayed smell. Mardi scrambled out of bed, her fingers fumbling for her phone, but it slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor.

The sound of something heavy shifting in the walls echoed through the room. And then... a scraping noise. Slow, deliberate, as though nails were dragging along the metal ducts, moving closer, inch by inch.

Mardi’s eyes locked onto the vent. Something was crawling through it.

The grating noise grew louder, reverberating through the apartment. She backed away, her legs trembling beneath her, as a shadow began to take shape behind the slats of the vent. Something with long, bony fingers was pulling itself closer.

Without thinking, she bolted for the door, yanking it open and stumbling into the hallway. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she ran down the stairwell, not stopping until she was out on the street, panting, eyes wide with terror.

The next day, Mardi didn’t return to the apartment. She couldn’t. She broke her lease and moved out within a week, refusing to tell anyone the real reason why.

A month later, another tenant moved in. A young woman, eager to take advantage of the rent-controlled unit. She found it odd how quickly the previous tenant had left, but figured it was just city life.

That night, as she lay in bed, her eyes fluttering shut, a faint whisper drifted through the vent above her head.

"He’s coming..."