"How come we heard a knock, but there's no one outside the door?"
Li Xingyang stared at the screen, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Xie Peng scoffed, rolling his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Are you seriously that clueless? Some kid's pranking us, obviously. Ring the doorbell and bolt. Happens all the time in my building."
If only it were that simple. If only it were just some bored kid messing with us.
But last night, Meng Yifan and I had seen her. Clear as day. A girl in a black dress, with long hair and bright red high heels. She'd stood right there on the threshold, staring at us, pointing at the master bedroom.
The camera in the living room was angled perfectly—facing the front door, capturing every inch of the hallway outside, even the elevator bank at the end. It had picked up us loud and clear, our confused faces, our awkward postures.
So why couldn't it pick up her?
The blood drained from our faces as we stared at the empty hallway on the screen. Our minds went blank, every logical thought short-circuiting. We didn't dare to voice the only explanation that made sense—not in this dim, quiet room, not with the walls closing in around us.
The footage rolled on. The part that should've shown Meng Yifan snapping at the girl, arguing with her, demanding she leave—that part just showed him standing there alone, yelling at thin air, gesturing like a madman. And me? I was right behind him, gawking like an idiot, watching him rant at nothing.
Xie Peng and Li Xingyang finally caught on. The amusement faded from their faces, replaced by a slow, creeping dread. They glanced at Meng Yifan, who was standing there frozen, his lips trembling, and their voices dropped to nervous whispers.
"Boss Meng… who were you talking to?"
Meng Yifan opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His whole body was shaking, like he'd been doused in ice water. I could see it in his eyes—he was terrified, so scared he couldn't even form words.
My own voice came out shaky, barely audible. "Last night, someone knocked. A girl. She came the night before too, asking for a woman named Li Xiumei. Meng and I both saw her. But… but the cameras didn't pick her up. Why didn't the cameras pick her up?"
Xie Peng and Li Xingyang shot to their feet as if they'd been electrocuted. Their faces turned ashen, their eyes wide with horror. Li Xingyang stumbled toward the curtains, yanking them open in a panic, as if sunlight could chase away the darkness clinging to the walls.
But the house had always been dark, even on the brightest days. The windows were small, the layout awkward, the sunlight barely trickling through the glass. Even with the curtains pulled back, the living room stayed dim, the shadows stretching long and thin across the floor.
"H-How is that possible?" Li Xingyang stammered, his voice cracking. "The cameras caught you two! If she was really there, why didn't they catch her?"
They didn't need to say it. We all knew the answer. But none of us dared to speak the word aloud—not in this house.
I couldn't stop thinking about it, though. If someone had died here… if that girl was something else… was she the one who'd died in this apartment? Was she Li Xiumei? But why would she be looking for herself? And if she wasn't… then who was Li Xiumei?
And those footprints—their direction reversed tonight, pointing out of the master bedroom instead of in. If there was something in this house, something not quite human… had it left the room? Or had it been invited out?
I shook my head, trying to clear the fog of fear, and hit play on the footage again. We watched, transfixed, as the night unfolded. Just like I'd suspected, Meng Yifan and I had both sleepwalked. We'd gotten up at exactly two o'clock, just like the night before. And the master bedroom door—I'd double-locked it before we'd fallen asleep, I'd sworn I had—but the footage showed me unlocking it in my sleep, turning the deadbolt with a blank, vacant look on my face.
We'd stumbled out to the living room, sat on the sofa, and Meng Yifan had picked up the remote and turned on the TV. Just like a couple of mindless puppets.
Meng Yifan collapsed onto the floor, his shoulders slumping. Fear wasn't even a strong enough word for what was written on his face. It was terror, pure and simple—bone-deep, soul-shaking terror.
Xie Peng and Li Xingyang looked like they were about to pass out. They huddled together in the corner, their eyes darting around the room like they expected something to jump out at them at any second. The air felt thick, heavy, like it was pressing down on our chests. Every little sound—the hum of the fridge, the tick of the clock—felt like a threat.
I stood up, my legs wobbly, and walked back to the master bedroom. I flopped down onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, my mind racing a mile a minute. Meng Yifan, Xie Peng, and Li Xingyang followed me, their footsteps soft, their eyes never leaving the walls.
"What are you doing, Second Boss?" Meng Yifan asked, his voice hoarse.
I didn't take my eyes off the ceiling. "If something really happened here—if someone died in this house—why didn't the cops find anything? Their records are clean. No homicides, no suicides, no nothing."
I paused, swallowing hard, the pieces clicking into place in my mind. "They interviewed the neighbors, checked the files, came up empty. There's only one way that's possible. Someone died here… and no one knows about it. No one ever found the body."
The words hung in the air, cold and sharp. The color drained from their already pale faces. Even Meng Yifan, who'd seen more weird shit than anyone I knew, looked like he was going to throw up.
"The couple who bought the house—they kept saying they felt like they were being watched. And it only ever happened in this room," I said, gesturing to the four walls around us. "The first night I was here, those cement footprints led straight to this door. And that girl—she pointed right at this room. All the weird stuff, it all leads back here."
Xie Peng and Li Xingyang clung to each other, their teeth chattering. "Second Boss… please don't scare us like this."
I couldn't blame them. After seeing that footage, after living through two nights of this hell, I was scared out of my mind too. Scared enough that I was this close to wetting my pants right there on the bed. We'd really walked into a nightmare here. A real, honest-to-God nightmare.
Meng Yifan stepped closer, his brow furrowed in confusion. "But… we didn't feel anything. No eyes on us, no weird vibes, nothing. Why only them?"
I nodded slowly. "Because we didn't experience what they did. They never sleepwalked. They never saw the girl. They never heard the click-clack of high heels in the hallway."
I hesitated for a second, then added the part I'd kept to myself last night. "I heard something else, too. A scraping sound. Like someone was plastering a wall. Right next to my ear."
Meng Yifan stared at me, his eyes wide. He looked like he was about to faint.
I sat up, my gaze sweeping the room, taking in every detail—the peeling wallpaper, the uneven floorboards, the massive wardrobe pressed against the far wall. "If someone is watching this room… where would they be hiding?"
The question hung in the air. Meng Yifan, Xie Peng, and Li Xingyang spun around, their eyes darting to every shadowy corner, every dark crevice, like they expected to see a pair of eyes staring back at them.
I lay back down, closing my eyes, trying to mimic the couple's position, trying to feel what they'd felt—the cold, unblinking gaze on the back of their necks.
The ceiling? Too thin. No way someone could hide up there without us noticing.
The wall behind the nightstand? Also too thin. It backed onto the outside of the building, for Christ's sake. No room for anyone to squeeze in there.
The window wall? Even worse. No hiding place there.
And the wall facing the bed? That was the TV wall in the living room. Paper-thin. Impossible to conceal anything.
That left only one option.
The wall with the wardrobe.
I sat up again, my eyes narrowing. "Has anyone else noticed? The master bedroom is too small. It's the same size as the guest room."
The three of them blinked, confused, until it clicked. We were in real estate—we didn't need to be architects to know the basics of house design. No matter the size of the apartment, the master bedroom was always bigger than the guest room. It was common sense. A rule of thumb.
Especially in a place like this—a hundred-plus square meter penthouse, with fancy decor and a premium price tag. No designer in their right mind would make the master bedroom this tiny. It was absurd. It was wrong.
Unless…
Unless the master bedroom had once been bigger.
Unless there was a part of it that had been sealed off. Hidden away. Covered up with plaster and drywall and lies.
Unless that scraping sound I'd heard last night hadn't been a dream at all.