The Watchers in Apartment 7B

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Two weeks into my observation, something changed. As they sat in their usual positions, the woman slowly turned her head and looked directly at me. I ducked away, heart pounding. She couldn't have seen me—I was hidden in the shadows, and my lights were off.

The following day, I found a note slipped under my door: "Enjoying the show?"

I should have stopped then. Anyone with sense would have. Instead, I became more careful, watching from different angles, at different times. I convinced myself I was investigating something important, something sinister.

One night, I saw them standing in their living room, both facing the wall. On the wall was a large map with dozens of red pins inserted into it. As I watched, the man removed a pin from one location and placed it in another. The woman made a note in a small black book.

The next day, I read about a disappearance in the neighborhood where the pin had been removed.

This continued for weeks. A pin would move, and someone would vanish. I started cross-referencing news reports with their pin movements. The correlation was perfect. Too perfect to be coincidence.

I went to the police, of course. Detective Ramirez listened patiently before informing me that apartment 7B had been vacant for over a year. The previous tenants, an elderly couple, had died in a gas leak.

"But I've seen them," I insisted. "Every night."

He suggested I might be working too hard, sleeping too little. Stress can do strange things to the mind, he said.

That night, I waited until dark and picked the lock to 7B. The apartment was empty—no furniture, no people, no map on the wall. Just dust and silence.

As I turned to leave, I noticed something scratched into the wall near the door: my apartment number, followed by a series of dates. The last date was tomorrow.

I ran back to my apartment and packed a bag. I needed to get out, to go somewhere, anywhere else. As I reached for my door, I heard footsteps in the hallway. Two sets, moving in perfect synchronization.

They stopped outside my door.

I backed away, phone in hand, ready to call for help. But when I looked at the screen, I saw only my own reflection—and behind me, the couple from 7B, standing perfectly still, watching me with empty eyes.

The woman held up a small red pin.

The man smiled and pointed to the wall behind me.

I turned slowly. There, on my living room wall, was a large map I had never seen before, covered in red pins. And in the center, marking my current location, was a single empty hole.