Every night someone walks down our street screaming for help and we're not allowed to help them. Last night it was my roommate. I should have known my studio apartment was too cheap to be real, but I was desperate after dropping out of college and needed something I could afford. The day I moved into Maple Street Apartments, two girls knocked on my door and told me the rules I'd apparently agreed to without reading my lease. Every night, someone walks down the street screaming for help, said Zoe.A girl with choppy black hair who was sitting on my bed like she owned the place. Different person each time. They scream for about an hour, but we aren't supposed to help them. Her friend Luna, who had red braids and was chain smoking by my window, nodded grimly. "It happens at different times every night. We never know when it's coming, but we get a warning on our phones." I laughed because it sounded like the stupidest prank I'd ever heard. "What kind of warning?" "You'll see," Zoe said with awicked smile that made my stomach turn. That night, they came back with two guys, Marcus and Tyler, carrying wine and cigarettes. We sat on my floor by the window and they explained how all the young people lived in our building while families live next door and elderly people lived across the street. Like, we've been sorted into groups, Luna said, taking a long drag from her cigarette. Around midnight, all our phones went off at once with an earsplitting alarm, like an amber alert, but louder. The sound echoed throughoutthe entire neighborhood. Hundreds of phones screaming in unison. "Do not interfere. It's coming," Marcus whispered, and his whole demeanor changed from relaxed to terrified. We sat in complete silence for what felt like forever. And then I heard it in the distance, a cry for help getting gradually closer and more desperate. I leaned out my fourth floor window and saw an elderly man in a bloodstained hospital gown stumbling from door to door, leaving a trail of dark red behind him. Where his arms should have been,there were only bloody stumps. And when he looked up at our building, I knew he was staring directly at me. "Help me," he whimpered and then began screaming in a voice that didn't sound human. Luna yanked me away from the window, but nothing could block out that sound. "What happens if you don't follow the rules?" I asked. Marcus started crying and clutched a heart-shaped locket around his neck. A couple months ago, one of them got my girlfriend Shannon. She ran outside to help and she justdisappeared completely. No body, no trace. Over the next few weeks, I learned to live with this nightmare. Every night, someone different would walk down our street screaming for help. Sometimes they looked normal, but sometimes they were missing limbs or covered in blood. The worst were the children running and screeching like injured animals. One night, there was a blaring alarm and flashing red lights outside, but I just covered my head with a pillow and tried to sleep. I was getting used to this routine wheneverything changed during Luna's birthday. We went bar hopping and came back late around 1:47 a.m., which was later than usual for the nightly screaming. As Tyler pulled onto our street, all our phones went off with the warning and we saw a figure in a white night gown stumbling down the middle of the road. "Shannon," Marcus whispered, staring at the approaching figure. It was his missing girlfriend, but something was horribly wrong with her. Her eyes had been scooped out completely, leaving dark holes in herface and blood streak down her cheeks like tears. "I have to help her," Marcus said, reaching for the car door handle. "That's not Shannon anymore," Tyler grabbed his arm desperately. "Please don't do this. You know what happens to people who interfere." But Marcus broke free and stumbled out of the car before any of us could stop him. The thing that looked like Shannon turned toward him and started backing away, holding her arms out defensively like she was afraidof him. Suddenly, alarms started blaring and the street lights turned flashing red. Tyler floored the accelerator and we sped away, leaving Marcus behind. As we drove off, I saw a black van pulling around the corner in the flashing lights. That was 2 weeks ago, and none of us have spoken much since. We tried calling the police, but they claimed to have no record of Marcus ever existing, which makes me think this is bigger than just our neighborhood. I'm moving back in with my parents next week because Ican't take it anymore. But last night, at exactly 2:33 a.m., I heard Marcus' voice outside my window crying and pleading for help in that same desperate way. I didn't interfere, just like the rules say. But I watched from behind my curtain as he stumbled down the street with bloody stumps where his arms used to be. And tonight I'm terrified it might be my turn to walk down that street screaming for help that will never
