The Investigation
The next morning, Emily went to the police.
She told them everything — the face, the knocks, the messages. She even handed over the crayon drawing.
The officer on duty gave her that polite, practiced nod reserved for people they don’t quite believe.
Still, they agreed to check.
They pried open the neighboring unit.
Empty.
Dust-covered floors. Cobwebs. No sign of life.
No trash. No bedding. No hole in the wall.
Emily’s mouth went dry.
“But it was right here,” she whispered.
The officer just sighed. “Sometimes stress does strange things to the mind.”
She didn’t argue. She just nodded, gathered her few belongings, and left the facility for good.
