This is a story I heard from a friend of mine after I moved up this year, but only if you have time to look at it.
I’m a college student, living alone.
My friend lives on the first floor of the same apartment. I live on the third floor.
One day, I was having a drink with my friends from the same department, and around 2 a.m., we had nothing to talk about.
I was with a friend (let’s call him “B”) and two other friends who lived in the same apartment.
One of them said, “Let’s talk about scary stories.
I love scary stories, and whenever I get a new one, I often tell it to my friends.
Today I was the one telling everyone scary stories. With the lights off.
I told him a lot of stories, and when I had run out of material, B started to speak suddenly, saying, “I have a story to tell you, too….
After I heard what he said, I thought, “Tell me sooner!”
B began to tell his story.
“One day during spring break, I was texting with my girlfriend.
I kept texting, and it was 2 am. I was getting ready for bed.
I continued texting with her in the futon and decided to go straight to sleep.
Suddenly, there was a pounding on the door of my room.
It sounded like a serious knocking with a knob, clearly different from a knock on the bathroom door.
“Help! Open the door! Help!” I was about to get out of the futon to see what was going on when I heard a woman’s voice outside the door.
The voice sounded hysterical and crazy, banging on the door.
I was very worried that the door was locked, but I could not move.”
It’s hard to convey in writing, but seeing how seriously frightened B was as he told that story.
I could feel that this incident was very serious.
We who were listening had no choice but to just shut up and listen.
B continued talking.
“While I was stuck, the woman was banging on the door screaming like crazy.
I went into full stay-away mode.
All the while, I prayed from the bottom of my heart that my girlfriend would not text me back.
I realized that my cell phone was not on silent mode even though I was staying put.”
“Don’t text me. Don’t text me. Don’t come, don’t come, don’t come, don’t come, don’t come, don’t come, don’t come….”
Then suddenly the banging on the door and the woman’s crazy calls for help stopped.
I was sweating, even though it was still chilly in spring.
Relieved, I was about to call my girlfriend about what had just happened.
Then I heard the sound of slow steps on gravel.
I slowly closed my phone. The sound of stepping on the gravel came from outside.”
I know this because I have been to B’s room many times.
B lives on the first floor and unusually sleeps on a futon.
The futon is laid parallel to the window.
In other words, the left side is the window and the right side is the room.
And there is gravel outside that window.
This means that someone is stepping on the gravel outside the window.
The sweat that had been pouring out of my earlier seemed to have receded all at once this time.
I stiffened again. The sound of footsteps on the gravel was slowly approaching in the direction of my room.
Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no.”
The footsteps finally stopped in front of my room. On the other side of the window and curtains…
What I could tell was that someone outside the window was obviously trying to peek inside my room.
I lay back on the futon, breathless, motionless, praying that my phone wouldn’t ring again.
“If she find out I’m in there, I’m in trouble! She’ll kill me!”
Maybe I’m exaggerating, but I really thought that at the time.
Hurry up and go away! I closed my eyes and realized it was morning.
When I woke up, I felt like it was a dream.
I ate a normal meal, got ready for school, and was about to leave the house when I suddenly became aware of it.
I opened the curtains.
There was a handprint on the window that was clearly a man’s and footprints that looked like he had been on the gravel.
