There wasn’t much to the room: a narrow bed, a desk and a chair. An alcove with an accordion door that hid a toilet, a cramped shower stall, and a tiny sink. That was okay. I didn’t need much. I wouldn’t be here often. Sleeping, mostly.

Ducts and pipes criss-crossed the high ceiling. Two walls were painted white, two were exposed red brick. The room even had a walled-off fireplace with a narrow mantelpiece, its decorative scrolls and swags reduced to amorphous blobs by countless layers of paint. The hardwood floor was scuffed and scarred. A horizontal window sat above the door, with glass that had clouded and gone blue-green around the edges.

“Is that painted shut?” I asked the landlady, a tall, gray-haired woman wearing a purple tracksuit.

I’d already forgotten her name. My stomach sank with the looming embarrassment of having to ask it a second time.

“The transom is locked,” she told me. “Not like anybody could get in through a window that high up!”

She chuckled at her own little joke. But, she was right. The ceiling was high, the door was taller than I was used to, and the transom over it was a good eleven or twelve feet from the floor.

“There’s a nice cross-breeze, if you open both windows,” she told me.

A pole with a hook on the end leaned in the corner next to the door. The landlady grabbed the pole and used the hook to flip the lock lever, and swing the transom open. I searched my brain for her name, and came up empty.

She added, “The lease is for the academic year. September to June. You can hold the room over the summer for two hundred dollars. The security deposit is also two hundred.”

I laughed. “Pretty cheap. Supposed to be haunted, right?”

Her expression chilled.

Mrs. Perriman, I remembered. Her name was Mrs. Perriman.

“I should be used to the jokes and the eye-rolling by now,” she said. “Somehow, I’m not.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry. Truly. I don’t believe in any of this supernatural stuff, but I heard the rent is so low because a student who lived here hung himself.”

“Why would that matter, since you don’t believe in ghosts?”

“So, it’s true?”

“No,” she said stiffly. “This room is inexpensive because it’s barely more than a closet. If you must know, astudent did fall from the second floor landing last year, and he did pass away. This was not his room. He lived upstairs. It’s the building that’s haunted, and it’s been haunted for decades. Anything else you’ve heard is nasty, tasteless gossip.”

“Oh,” I said. “I see.”

I was surprised that Mrs. Perriman still wanted to rent the room to me, after I’d made our first meeting so incredibly awkward. But she did. Once I’d moved all my stuff in, the room was surprisingly cozy. Even though the old building groaned and rattled and clunked in the night. Even if my two small lamps didn’t shine all the way to the shadowy ceiling.

After I climbed into bed, the light from the lobby shone through the high transom window, and cast a friendly yellow glow over the opposite wall.

One night, I was curled up under my purple and gold Lakers comforter, scrolling on my phone, when somebody knocked on my door. Soft and tentative. My friends always texted before coming over, since the outside door of the building was locked. I checked my texts. Nothing new.

“Who’s there?” I called.

Silence. The ceiling was even higher in the entryway, soaring up into the stairwell. Everything echoed out there. I heard no breathing, no shuffling of feet. Maybe I’d heard someone knock on a door upstairs.

Half an hour later, the knocking came again. This time, I got up and opened the door. There was nobody in the entryway. I stepped out of my room, and craned my neck to look up into the shadowy stairwell.

Nothing. No one.

The building was silent except for the faint, rhythmic churning of the washer in the laundry room at the end of the hall.

If that dumbass knocked on my door a third time, I wasn’t going to bother getting up. So, when the knocking came again, I sat and listened, and I realized it was coming from above me.

From the transom window.

I couldn’t see anything in the dark glass. A soft rasping followed the knocks, as if someone were scraping their fingernails down the door. It saw me. It could see my upturned face, wide-eyed with fear.

“Stop,” I whispered.

I didn’t know if I was talking to myself, or to that thing.

To myself. There was no thing outside my door. No unseen face watched me from the shadows, because ghosts did not exist. I was letting my imagination run away with me.

The silence stretched so long and so taut that I picked up my phone again, so I could go back to mindlessly scrolling, but my finger hovered over the play button on the next video.  Every nerve in my body crackled with tension.

Into the quiet fell a long drawn-out sigh that ended in a phlegmy gurgle.

Nothing else. No sounds but the nightly creaks and rattles I’d gotten used to. I crawled under the covers and lay awake telling myself I hadn’t heard anything except the building settling. I hadn’t seen a dim face floating outside the transom, and I absolutely had not felt the weight of eyes staring at me from the darkness.

I didn’t remember falling asleep, but a furious banging on the door jolted me awake. The familiar fuzzy bar of light slanted across my room through the transom, dimly illuminating the room. I could see the door shaking as the thing outside pounded and pounded on it.

Then it stopped, leaving a ringing silence behind. No one came rushing down the stairs. No one called out, asking if I was okay. Everything was still, as only the dead of night can be.

Another loud thump crashed against the door, hard enough to make it shudder. I shrieked and clapped both hands over my mouth.

 A dark shape glided past the transom, and I cringed down, making the smallest shape I could. The shadow passed in the opposite direction, as if it were swinging slowly back and forth. How could this be happening? How could the ridiculous stories I’d heard around campus be true? Even as it passed the window again, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Then it stopped. It pressed against the transom glass, revealing a face with bulging eyes, and a nose like the edge of a butter knife. I screamed again, and this time it was the long scream of a doomed character in a slasher movie. This was no sad, lingering shade of a student who’d failed all his classes. This thing wasn’t even human. The word rose unbidden in my mind… Monster.

I pressed my fists hard against my mouth. Those eyes, each one the size of a softball, rolled in their sockets. Rakes of pink tendon gripped the edges of the eyeballs, and a tiny black pupil perched like a fat tick at the center of each one.

We stared at each other for an eternity, then the thing whisked out of view. Furious rattling at the door latch followed. Battering hands, scrabbling nails, huffs and gasps of breath, until it fell silent once more.

Huddled under my comforter, I waited for the banging to start again. I felt like a child, terrified of the half-open closet door, or the slumped silhouette of a jacket on a chair. I didn’t think I’d ever sleep again, much less fall asleep that night. I knew the moment I drifted off, the thing would come crashing and banging and scrabbling at the door again. Yet, somehow I did sleep. I woke in the gray glow of almost morning, crusty-eyed and drained.

With trembling hands, I crammed my laptop and my books into my backpack. I stood for a long time at the door of my room with my hand on the latch, feeling nausea crawl up my throat. Finally, I yanked the door open.

In the dawn light, the shabby entryway looked unreal, like a dream palace. I turned to lock my door. There were no marks on it that hadn’t always been there. Nothing fresh. I shuddered at my own choice of words. Fresh, like meat. I lifted my head and looked up at the transom. It looked like it always did. Just a pane of glass. No fingerprints. No greasy smears from those eyeballs.

In the late afternoon, I came back. I marched through the entryway with my gaze held straight in front of me, refusing to turn and look at the door of my room, as I headed up the stairs toward Mrs. Perriman’s apartment.

Yet, when I reached the landing of the second floor, I had to stop. After a long day of classes, and barely any sleep the night before, the weight of my backpack felt unbearable.

I laid my hand on the railing of the landing. It was painted the same shiny black as every other railing, but under my palm, it didn’t have the bumpy, crackly feel of old paint.

Maybe he fell from here.

I snatched my hand back. Then I looked down. From my high vantage, I realized I could look right into my room through the transom. I couldn’t see much. Just a dull orange shadow across the foot of my bed, and one corner of the rickety desk by the window. That was all.

Wait. That wasn’t all. A shadow drifted at the far edge of my view. The long window in my room didn’t have a curtain, only vertical blinds, so what was that?

I leaned out over the railing, twisting sideways to get a better look, gripping the slick new paint with both hands. The shadow glided past the transom, dimming my view of my room. Then it glided back again. A chill rushed over me.

It was that thing. That horrible thing that I’d spent all day trying to convince myself was a nightmare. It sensed me looking, and it turned, fixing its huge eyes on me. Lifting one hand, it scratched its nails down the transom.

The door of my room banged violently. I jumped back, and felt the contents of my heavy backpack overbalance. My textbooks and my laptop tilted over the railing, dragging me with them. I couldn’t scream. Not with my belly jammed against the railing. All that came out was a whistling wheeze. I clutched at the slippery paint, kicking at the air, and managed to jam my sneaker between two balusters.

Below me, the thing pounded and pounded on the door. Flecks of paint drifted down from the door jamb like snow. Teeth clenched, I shrugged my backpack off one shoulder, then the other, and let it thump onto the landing. Gingerly, with my teeth clenched, I pushed myself back. My knees gave out and I crumpled onto the scuffed carpet. I sat there for a long time, my heart pounding in time with the thing behind my door.

It fell silent, eventually, like it always did. I stood up on jelly legs, grabbed my backpack by the strap, and tottered unsteadily up another flight of stairs to the third floor.  I knocked on Mrs. Perriman’s door. No response. I knocked again, harder.

Maybe she wouldn’t answer. Maybe she thought I was that thing.

The door opened to the length of a chain, revealing Mrs. Perriman’s face, pinched tight with… was that fear? Her expression slumped into worry when she saw me. She unlatched the chain and swung the door wide.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded.

I took a deep breath. My voice came out almost calm. “May I come in for a minute?”

“Of course. What’s happened? Is there a leak?”

“It’s not a maintenance issue,” I replied.

Mrs. Perriman’s apartment was crammed with cozy furniture. Knick-knacks covered every flat surface. Framed photos crowded the walls. A forest of pillar candles sat in the fireplace. A microwave tray steamed on a small table next to a tumbler of wine. I set my backpack by the door.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner.”

She waved my apology away. “You look awful. Can I make you some tea?”

“No, I…” I’d stomped across the entryway full of fury and purpose, and it had all withered away into exhausted dread. “I believe you. About the building being haunted.”

Mrs. Perriman raised her eyebrows.

“I saw it,” I said. “Last night. A face in the transom window.” I gestured above and behind me at the door to Mrs. Perriman’s apartment, even though her door didn’t have a transom. “And just now, I saw it inside my room, as I was coming up the stairs.”

“You saw someone in your room?” she asked sharply. “Just now?”

I shook my head. “I saw the thing. The — the ghost. I know you told me the other student fell by accident, but —”

“Daniel didn’t hang himself.”

“Well, someone did. I saw a face. Swinging back and forth. Why is the railing on the landing newer than the other railings?”

“I heard it happen,” Mrs. Perriman snapped. “I heard the railing break. A metal scream, and then Daniel screamed, and then I heard his body hit the floor down below. A crash like a cannon firing. Poor thing. A piece of the railing hit the tiles after him. Just one piece, and it rang on the marble like a church bell. I’ll never forget it. I ran out. Everyone came running out. I saw the railing gone, then I saw Daniel on the floor with his head broken open. Blood was everywhere. He didn’t kill himself. No. If he’d wanted to kill himself, he wouldn’t have screamed.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled through cold, numb lips. “I’m so sorry.”

Mrs. Perriman’s face had gone as gray as her hair. “I told you the building was haunted. You said you didn’t believe in,” she raised both hands and jabbed her fingers down in brittle air quotes, “ supernatural stuff.”

“I know what I said.”

“Then what would you like me to do?”

I hadn’t anticipated that question.

“You can break your lease,” she said, “but, there will be a penalty.”

“I didn’t expect… I thought it would be…”

Her mouth twisted in derision. “A story I made up?”

“No. Just… the noises an old building makes. Maybe a cold breeze. Or a weird feeling every so often. Have you seen it?”

Her eyes flicked away from mine. She shrugged. “I’ve only heard the tenants talk about it.”

“Did Daniel talk about it?”

Had Daniel leaned on the railing of the landing and looked down into the room on the first floor the same way I had?

“If he did talk about it,” Mrs. Perriman said, “he didn’t talk to me.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the microwave dinner congealing on her table. The conversation was over.

“I’m sorry I bothered you,” I said.

Mrs. Perriman watched me pick up my backpack and step into the hallway.

“Let me know what you decide,” she said.

Then she shut the door in my face.

The dim yellow sconce lights had come on in the hallway. I shouldered my backpack and headed down the stairs to the landing. Below me, the entryway lay in deep lavender shadow.

I couldn’t spend another night in that room. Not if that thing could come and go as it pleased. It could bend over me while I slept. Stare at me with those huge, colorless eyes. Brush my face with those fingers that had scratched against my door. Maybe it had already done all those things.

I decided to sleep in the library that night. Tomorrow I’d figure out what to do about the room.

At the landing, I looked down on the transom window again. I couldn’t help myself. But, the glass was inky black, and I couldn’t see anything. Thank God.

 I continued down the stairs, and a sharp tug on my backpack almost yanked me off my feet. I must have caught myself on some protruding piece of railing. I swung around with an irritated sigh.

It was behind me.

Looming up the stairwell.

Twelve, maybe fifteen feet tall. Its huge face tilted down to stare at me, its insane eyes glowing like twin moons in a column of gray smoke. I could see the staircase through its body, distorted as if through dirty water.

It held one strap of my backpack pinched between two spindly fingers with ragged nails. Under each nail was a dark smile of filth.

I screamed. The sound rushed up the stairwell. Echoes flew into my face again and again as I recoiled, and my foot slipped on the stair riser, and I felt myself tilting, overbalancing. The strap of my backpack jerked me to a halt, and I hung suspended.

My hands paddled the air, too far from the railing, and too far from the wall. Beneath me yawned the void of a very long fall. I looked up into the thing’s face.

“Please…” I whispered. “Help me.”

A long, thin mouth unzipped across the thing’s face, revealing gray-blue gums and a row of tiny needle teeth.

It let go.

I fell, arms pinwheeling. One of my flailing hands smacked the railing and for an instant I thought I’d halted my fall, but I couldn’t hold on. My back slammed the edge of a stair riser, and I lost my breath in a startled whuff. Something in my backpack broke with a loud crack. Oh God, my Macbook. All that money gone.

Still, I was falling, sliding and bumping down the stairs as the thing watched me with avid glee, its tongue waggling out of its laughing mouth like a gray worm. My foot struck the wall and I went tumbling, rolling over and over, propelled down and down by my heavy backpack. I hit my knees, hit my elbows. The back of my head cracked against something hard enough to make stars explode all around me. I landed in a heap at the bottom and lay stunned with my pulse roaring in my ears.

All around me were shouts and cries, slamming doors and running footsteps. A dark form bent over me. I shrieked, shied away, and pain rocketed up my back. Hands shoved me down.

“Lie still!” It was Mrs. Perriman. “Just lie still, for God’s sake! Call an ambulance!”

“It’s there! It’s right there! On the stairs!” I gibbered. I couldn’t make myself shut up. “It’s on the stairs! It’s behind you!”

Mrs. Perriman swung her head around to look. “What? What’s there? What did you see? Did you slip on something?”

Behind Mrs. Perriman, a circle of other tenants stood over me, their faces crumpled into identical expressions of worry and fear. One of them raised a phone to his ear and turned away. “Yes, hello. I need an ambulance.”

In the gap the man left behind, I saw the towering gray thing still floating in the stairwell, its unblinking eyes still fixed on me.

But, it was no longer smiling.

Editor’s Note

I love the power of the descriptions in this tale. They are absolutely spot on, and add so much to the experience. The descriptions of the eyes especially make me sick all over (in a good way).

If you want a behind the scenes look at the story, read our interview with Marigold.