Tales from the Void

I measured my apartment hallway the day I moved in. Twelve feet, three inches. I know because I wrote it in the lease inspection form. That was six months ago.

Last Tuesday, it took me nine seconds to walk from my bedroom to the kitchen. It used to take four. I told myself I was imagining it — maybe I was just tired, walking slower. But then I brought out the tape measure.

Twenty-three feet, seven inches.

The hallway had nearly doubled in length. And that's when I noticed the new door — the one that hadn't been there before, halfway down the left wall, painted the same off-white as everything else. Like it had always belonged.

I pressed my ear against it. Something on the other side pressed back...

My grandmother left me three things when she died: a house in the Carpathian foothills, a leather-bound journal filled with names I didn't recognize, and a music box carved from bone.

The music box plays a lullaby that no one in my family has ever heard before. Six notes, repeating. It shouldn't bother me — it's just a melody. But the melody changes. Every night, one note shifts. One note darker.

The journal entries are dated. The last one, written in my grandmother's trembling hand, reads: "It remembers now. When the song finishes, it will come for the next name on the list."

I turned the page. My name was there, written in ink that was still wet...

The 11:47 PM bus from downtown was never on time. But it was always empty — that's why I took it. After twelve-hour shifts at the hospital, the last thing I wanted was small talk with strangers.

Except tonight, someone was already on the bus. A woman in seat fourteen, facing the window. She wore a coat two sizes too large, and her hair hung over her face like a curtain. I sat in the back and looked at my phone.

Three stops later, I glanced up. She was in seat eight now. Closer. I hadn't heard her move. I hadn't heard anything.

Two more stops. Seat four. Her head had turned — not toward me, but just enough that I could see she had no reflection in the window beside her...