My Voice Outside the Door

I live alone in a third-floor apartment that used to be an assisted living unit.

I know that because sometimes the elevator stops on my floor even when no one presses the button.

The building manager says it’s old wiring. I stopped asking after he paused too long before

answering. That night, I was awake because I couldn’t sleep—one of those quiet nights

where the silence feels loud. At exactly 2:17 a.m., I heard footsteps

in the hallway. Not heavy footsteps. Careful ones. I froze and waited for someone to knock

on the wrong door. They didn’t. The footsteps stopped right outside my bedroom.

I grabbed my phone to check the time, and the screen lit up the room. That’s when I heard