The Crying Lady of Room 105
The midterm exam review was one hell of an experience for me. I'd spent the whole week buried in notes, my brain spinning from sleepless nights and caffeine. It happened ten years ago, back when I was still in college — a night I will never forget.
That evening, I was reviewing alone in my dorm. My roommate, Jan, had gone home for the weekend, and the silence made the ticking of the wall clock sound louder than usual. Around 10 p.m., I suddenly craved some chips. I stopped reading and searched the drawers, under my bed, even my backpack — nothing.
Then I heard footsteps in the hallway.
"Huh… who could that be at this hour?" I muttered. It was late; everyone else had gone home to review.
The sound echoed again — slow, heavy, deliberate.
Chills ran down my spine. The air felt colder, and every hair on my body stood up.
Trying to shake off the fear, I sat back down and reached for my tumbler. My throat felt dry. Just as I took a sip —
KNOCK.
A loud, sudden knock on the door made me choke on the water.
My heart pounded as I stood up. The footsteps had stopped. Slowly, I approached the door and peeked through the peephole. Before I could see anything, I tripped on my messy floor and fell.
"Argh! That hurts… I really need to clean this place up," I groaned.
Then came a voice from the other side.
"Hey! Open up! What's taking you so long?"
I froze.
That voice — I knew it.
"Jan?" I said as I opened the door.
There he was, my roommate, looking a bit annoyed and holding a folder. "What took you so long, dude?" he asked.
I exhaled in relief and laughed nervously. "Man, you scared the hell out of me."
Jan explained he'd come back to get some important land documents he'd left behind. After telling him about the footsteps and the knocking, we both laughed it off.
But then I asked, "Hey… were you the one walking in the hallway before you knocked?"
Jan frowned. "What footsteps? I just got here. When I checked the guard post, there were no other cards on our floor."
Our dorm had a security system — everyone inside had to leave an ID card at the guard desk. If Jan was the only one, then who…?
He shrugged. "Maybe rats. There's a rat infestation upstairs."
I forced a laugh. "Yeah, maybe." But I knew — those weren't rats. The steps were too heavy.
After finding his documents, Jan said, "Anyway, I gotta go. My parents are waiting in the car."
"Wait," I said. "I'll walk with you. I need to grab some snacks from the mart."
"It's already 11," Jan said, looking puzzled. "Are there even open stores?"
"Yeah, 7-Eleven's open all night."
We walked down the dim hallway, joking about how unfair the school was for making us pay for events we didn't even attend. The laughter eased the tension — until we heard it.
A crying sound.
Soft at first. Then louder.
Jan tried to joke again. "Probably a ghost," he said, laughing nervously.
But the cry grew sharper — like someone in pain — echoing through the stairwell. The lights flickered. The air turned icy.
My body stiffened. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. It felt like something was holding me down, draining the air from my lungs. I tried to speak but no words came out.
Jan stood frozen beside me, his eyes wide in terror.
The crying grew closer — yet there was no one there. No figure, no shadow, only that terrible sound and the cold that wrapped around us like chains.
Then —
A hand touched my shoulder.
The grip snapped the invisible force holding me. I gasped and shouted.
When I turned around, it was Mr. Anderson, Jan's father. He jumped back in surprise at my scream. Jan also shouted in panic.
"What's going on here?" Mr. Anderson demanded.
We explained everything — the crying, the paralysis, the cold. Mr. Anderson frowned and said, "When I came up, you two were just standing there, staring blankly at Room 105. I called your names, but you didn't respond. So I touched your shoulder."
Jan asked, "Dad… you didn't hear the crying?"
Mr. Anderson shook his head. "No. Nothing."
He sighed. "It's late. I just came to tell you and your roommate we'll stay at a nearby hotel tonight. We'll head home in the morning."
Jan insisted they stay in the dorm instead to save money, offering to sleep in the living room. Eventually, Mr. Anderson agreed.
When we met Mrs. Anderson in the lobby, I greeted her politely. She smiled kindly but looked tired.
She hesitated when she heard they'd be staying. "Is that okay with you, Wesley? You're studying. I don't want to disturb you."
I smiled. "It's fine, ma'am. It's dangerous to travel this late anyway."
After some convincing, she agreed. As they prepared to go up, I told Jan, "Hey, I'll drop by the mart. You guys go ahead."
Jan looked uneasy. "After what happened? You sure you want to go alone?"
"I'll ask Mr. Terry, the guard, to walk me back," I said.
If only I had listened to him that night.
As I walked toward the store, the memory of that hallway clung to me. The crying. The cold. The feeling of being trapped. I shook my head. "Get it together, Wes. Just grab some cola and noodles and go home."
When I stepped inside the mart, the soft hum of the air conditioner and bright lights calmed me. Then I saw Regina.
She was behind the counter — my classmate, a working student supporting her siblings after their parents' death. I admired her for her strength… and maybe something more.
"Hey, Wesley!" she greeted cheerfully. "What are you doing here so late?"
"Oh, hey, Reg," I said, trying to sound casual. "Just getting some snacks."
"Midterm review?" she asked.
"Yeah. Thought I'd take a break."
We talked for a bit, and I tried to hide how nervous I was. Her laugh made me forget everything that had happened.
As I paid, I asked, "What time do you get off work?"
She smirked. "Why? You planning to wait for me?"
I laughed awkwardly. "Well, it's late. Might as well walk you home, right?"
She blushed. "You're sweet, but my coworker's about to arrive. I can't leave until he does."
Just then, her coworker walked in. I made up my mind.
"I'll wait for you," I said, smiling. "We'll walk home together."
She smiled back — the kind of smile that made my chest feel warm.
As she went to change, I waited outside, not realizing that somewhere, in the quiet darkness of the dorm across the street, the door of Room 105 had slowly creaked open.
---
Regina finished her shift a few minutes past midnight. The streets outside were quiet — too quiet for a Friday night. A faint fog rolled over the road, dimming the glow of the streetlights.
"You really didn't have to wait," she said, hugging her bag close.
"I couldn't just let you walk alone," I replied, forcing a smile.
We started walking back toward the dorm, our footsteps echoing softly on the empty pavement. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, then silence.
"So," she began, trying to lighten the mood, "how's your review going?"
I chuckled dryly. "Honestly? My brain's fried. I think I memorized everything except my own name."
Regina laughed, the sound soft and comforting. For a moment, the tension I'd been carrying all night eased. But then —
A cold wind swept through the street.
It carried a faint, familiar sound.
A cry.
At first, I thought I was imagining it. But when I glanced at Regina, her smile faded.
"Did you hear that?" she whispered.
The cry came again — louder, closer. A woman's voice, sobbing in despair. It wasn't just sound — it felt like it came from the air itself, wrapping around us.
My chest tightened. That same suffocating heaviness from before gripped me again.
"Wes…" Regina's voice trembled. "Let's go. Please."
We started walking faster. The dorm was only a block away now. The sound of crying followed us, echoing between the buildings.
Then, through the fog, we saw a shadow standing near the dorm entrance — a figure of a woman, hair long and dripping wet, head bowed low.
Regina stopped. "Wes… who is that?"
I couldn't answer. My body froze. The figure stood motionless for a moment — then slowly began to lift its head.
The light from the lamp flickered, revealing pale skin and hollow eyes that seemed to stare straight through me.
The woman's mouth opened — and the same crying sound burst from it, louder now, filled with agony.
Regina screamed. I grabbed her hand, and we ran.
We bolted into the dorm, rushing past the lobby toward the elevator. Mr. Terry, the guard, looked startled.
"Hey! What's wrong?" he called out.
"Someone's outside!" I shouted. "A woman—she's crying—"
Before I could finish, the lights flickered again.
The guard frowned. "Impossible. I was just out front five minutes ago. No one was there."
We all turned toward the glass door. The fog outside pressed against it, thick and heavy. For a split second, I saw a shape — a face — pressed against the glass.
Then it vanished.
Mr. Terry grabbed his flashlight and went outside to check.
Regina clung to my arm, trembling. "Wes, I don't like this."
I didn't either. Every part of me wanted to run upstairs and lock myself in. But I couldn't leave the guard alone.
Moments later, he came back inside, pale and shaking. "There's no one out there," he said quietly. "But the door of Room 105 is open."
My stomach dropped.
Room 105 — the room Jan and I had been staring at earlier, the one we couldn't move away from.
Mr. Terry locked the lobby door and turned to me. "Stay with your friend. Don't go out."
Regina and I sat in the lobby, the silence stretching endlessly. I could hear the faint hum of the lights, the slow ticking of the wall clock.
Then — another sound.
Footsteps.
This time, coming from the hallway behind us.
Slow. Heavy. Familiar.
Regina's grip on my arm tightened. "Wes…"
We turned.
The lights in the corridor flickered again, one by one, as if something was moving closer.
Then, just before the last bulb went out — we saw her.
A woman in a soaked white dress, her hair covering her face, standing right outside Room 105.
The lights died. The dorm plunged into darkness.
Regina screamed. I pulled her close, heart pounding. Then, faintly, from the dark hall came that same broken whisper:
> "Why… didn't you open the door?"
The lights flickered back on — and she was gone.
The next morning, Mr. Anderson told us that Room 105 had been vacant for years. Ten years ago, a student — a girl named Rina — had taken her own life there after failing her midterm exams. Some said she cried for hours before anyone noticed.
When the guards finally came, it was too late.
From that day on, residents often heard her crying at night — especially during exam season.
I never stayed in that dorm again.
But sometimes, when I'm reviewing late at night and everything's quiet, I still hear it — that faint, heartbroken cry in the distance, as if she's still waiting for someone to open the door.