The old lady handed him the keys with a crooked smile.
"Don't go near the red door at the end of the hallway," she warned.
Liam blinked. "Excuse me?"
But she had already turned away.
He moved into Unit 403 that same evening—cheap rent, no questions asked, just how he liked it. The apartment smelled of dust and neglect. Paint peeled from the walls like old skin. But it was quiet. And quiet was all he needed.
Until 3:00 a.m.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He sat up in bed. Three knocks—soft but sharp—echoed from the hallway.
He waited. Nothing else.
The next night, the same thing.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He rose and opened the door to the hallway. Cold air brushed against his skin. No one was there. But the red door at the end? It was slightly ajar.
The red paint was dull, cracked, almost black in the shadows. No handle. No keyhole. Yet somehow, it seemed to breathe.
On the third night, he dreamed of someone crying behind it. Then whispering his name.
By the fourth, he was afraid to sleep.
What happened to the last tenant of Unit 403?
Why does the red door knock, night after night, only at 3:00 a.m.?