Welcome to Creep'scast.

If you hear this in your apartment, leave.

Written by Myra Sam 79.

The moment I stepped into the apartment, it felt right. It was small, yes, but it was mine.

After years moving from one shared space to another, I was ready for something of my own,

even if it was just this modest one bedroom on the outskirts of the city. The ranch was reasonable,

the area quiet, and best of all,

it was a space that I could shape to my liking. No more tiptoeing around roommates' habits or schedules. This place was a fresh start. The building itself was older maybe from the 1970s, with the usual quirks of an

aging structure. The hallway leading to my door smelled faintly of cleaning products in

mildew, the paint peeling slightly at the edges, but I figured I could live with it. It added

character, I thought.

The apartment had a certain charm too.

Wooden floors, a decent kitchen, a view of the treeline street below.

Nothing fancy but comfortable.

The first night after I moved in, I went through the usual ritual

of unpacking boxes and deranging furniture. The work was exhausting but satisfying. The routine

if it kept my mind occupied, and by the time that I finished, I was too tired to do anything

but fall into bed.

As I lay there staring up at the ceiling, I could hear the muffled sounds of the building

around me, the hum of distant traffic, footsteps from the apartment above, in the occasional

creek of the walls settling.

It was normal.

...