Caleb did not go home.
That alone scared him.
He sat in the security room long after his shift officially ended, long after the hallway clocks chimed midnight, staring at the monitors like they were the only proof he still existed.
Room 313 remained dark.
But the sound feed—
Still active.
Breathing.
Slow. Deep. Patient.
Caleb muted it.
The silence felt worse.
He checked the log history again. No edits. No access records. Yet the system showed activity—constant, deliberate updates—as if an unseen clerk was working diligently behind the scenes.
Room temperature: NORMAL
Power usage: STABLE
Occupancy: CONFIRMED
Confirmed by what?
Caleb leaned back and rubbed his temples. His reflection stared back at him from the black screen of a dormant monitor, eyes bloodshot, jaw tight.
"Think," he whispered. "Think like it's just a building."
Buildings didn't breathe.
The radio crackled again.
Caleb flinched.
"Security," a voice said. Not the receptionist.
Male. Calm. Too calm.
"We have a complaint."
Caleb cleared his throat. "From where?"
A pause.
"Room 312."
Caleb frowned. The room beside it.
"What's the issue?"
"The guest says there's knocking coming from the wall."
Caleb's fingers curled slowly into fists.
"Knocking?"
"Yes. Rhythmic. Like someone asking to be let out."
Caleb pulled up Camera 6.
Room 312's hallway was empty.
"Did the guest describe the sound?" Caleb asked.
Another pause.
Longer.
"He said it sounds like… someone learning how to knock."
Caleb's skin prickled.
"I'm on my way," he said.
The elevator ride felt longer than usual. The numbers blinked past—1…2…3…
The doors opened on the third floor.
The air was colder here.
Not freezing.
Just… drained.
Corridor C stretched ahead, dim and narrow. The carpet muffled Caleb's footsteps as he approached Room 312. The knocking was audible now.
Soft.
Careful.
Wrong.
Caleb raised his hand and knocked on the door.
The knocking from inside the wall stopped immediately.
Room 312's door opened a crack. A middle-aged man peered out, eyes wide.
"You hear it too, right?" the man whispered.
Caleb nodded. "From the wall?"
"Yes," the man said quickly. "From that side."
He pointed.
Room 313's door stood closed, silent, innocent.
Caleb swallowed. "Has it been constant?"
The man shook his head. "No. It only starts when I stop moving."
Caleb felt something crawl up his spine.
"I'll handle it," he said.
The man hesitated. "You promise?"
Caleb didn't answer.
He turned toward Room 313.
The hallway lights flickered as he approached. Each step felt heavier, like the air itself resisted him. He stopped in front of the door.
No sounds now.
No breathing.
No whispers.
Caleb lifted his hand to knock.
The door knocked back.
Three soft taps.
From the inside.
Caleb's breath caught.
"That's not funny," he said, though his voice trembled.
The handle turned slightly.
Not opening.
Just enough to let him know it could.
Caleb stepped back.
The hallway lights went out.
Complete darkness.
Then—
The emergency lights flickered on.
Room 313's door was open.
Inside, the room looked… normal.
Too normal.
Bed neatly made.
Curtains still.
Bathroom door closed.
Caleb took one step forward.
The door behind him slammed shut.
He spun.
Locked.
The knocking began again.
Not from the wall.
From the bathroom.
Slow.
Expectant.
Caleb backed toward the door, fumbling for his radio.
Static screamed.
Through the static, a voice whispered—layered, overlapping, familiar.
"Security… you came."
The bathroom door creaked open.
Caleb squeezed his eyes shut.
When he opened them—
He was standing in the hallway.
Alone.
Room 313 was closed.
Silent.
The lights returned to normal.
His radio crackled.
"Security," the receptionist said cheerfully.
"Everything alright on the third floor?"
Caleb stared at the door.
His reflection stared back at him from the polished brass numbers.
For a split second—
It smiled before he did.