Khrushchev-era Apartment

I want to tell you a story that happened to me. I live in a Khrushchev-era apartment building built after the war. The house is at least fifty years old. Everything creaks and wobbles. Mice sometimes even run across the floor, which is often frightening, especially at night. But I defeated them by sealing all the holes and holes with boards. They haven't bothered me since.

It was daytime. I was home alone, watching a movie. Then something strange started happening. I heard the creaking of the parquet floorboards (as I said, the house is ancient; no one has renovated it since Soviet times). At first, I didn't pay any attention to it—I thought it was the neighbors upstairs. But then the creaking started approaching my room, and my door was wide open. A shiver ran down my spine. I turned around, but saw nothing.

Reassured, I continued enjoying the movie. Just as the film's hero started screaming like crazy through the speakers, the creaking grew louder. I turned around, and what I saw was terrifying. A shadow, resembling a man, as tall as the ceiling. My heart sank; I froze in primal terror. Coming to my senses, I urgently began searching for a knife. Finding a large kitchen knife, I gathered my strength and peered into the small hallway between my room and my parents' bedroom. It was still there... I saw its face. It wasn't a man, and its face wasn't a face—harsh, prominent features on gray skin, like a bad, crumpled pencil drawing. I froze and dropped the knife. I felt like I was choking on my own saliva, unable to swallow or breathe. Luckily, it turned the corner of the closet in the room, ignoring me.

From that moment on, I can't be alone in the house. Then I learned from the neighbors that before we arrived, a lonely old woman had lived in this apartment and was one day found dead with a terrible grimace on her face. Apparently, she saw him too...