Not a real story(ai)
I moved into a new place — or at least, I thought I did. Turns out, the apartment wasn’t really mine. It had other plans.
The day I got the keys to my new apartment, something felt… off. The landlord seemed nervous, avoided eye contact. The previous tenant left in a hurry, or so I was told.
The first night, I woke up to the sound of my door locking itself. I checked — deadbolt turned tight, no one outside. I tried to leave the apartment in the morning. The door wouldn’t budge.
Every exit was blocked. The windows showed the city — but I was trapped inside. Days passed. Food deliveries never arrived, but somehow my fridge was full.
Voices whispered from the walls, not quite words. Shadows shifted just beyond sight. My phone lost signal.
I wasn’t alone.
One night, a figure appeared — blurred, silent — just beyond the threshold of the living room. It didn’t speak but gestured for me to stay.
Now I’m writing this from the inside of this prison, hoping someone will see this and believe me.
Because the apartment isn’t just a place to live. It’s alive. And it doesn’t want me to leave.
Not a real story(ai)