Chapter 1 - APARTMENT 9C
Ethan Miller chose Bellweather Apartments because it was cheap in a neighborhood where nothing else was.
That should have been the warning.
Nine floors.
Old brick.
Renovated lobby.
Polished brass mailboxes.
A chandelier too expensive for the rent.
The manager, Mr. Harris, was fifty-eight and looked like a man who had not slept properly in years.
He did not smile when Ethan signed the lease.
He stared at Ethan’s driver’s license.
Then at Ethan.
Then back at the license.
“Twenty-nine?”
“Yes.”
“You live alone?”
“Yes.”
“Family nearby?”
Ethan hesitated.
“My father’s in Arizona.”
“Mother?”
“Dead.”
Harris stopped writing.
“How long?”
Ethan frowned.
“Three years.”
Harris looked at him for several seconds.
“I’m sorry.”
The sympathy sounded real.
Then he handed Ethan the key to Apartment 9C.
Not a keycard.
A heavy brass key.
“Do not copy this.”
“Why?”
“Old lock.”
That answer made no sense after Ethan had seen digital cameras in the lobby.
Harris walked him upstairs instead of using the elevator.
On the ninth floor, the hallway was unusually quiet.
Only four apartments.
9A.
9B.
9C.
9D.
Ethan noticed 9B had no number plate.
Only four empty screw holes.
“Vacant?”
Harris kept walking.
“Don’t knock there.”
Ethan laughed.
Harris did not.
Inside 9C, the apartment was better than Ethan expected.
Large living room.
Tall windows.
Original wood floors.
Modern kitchen.
One odd thing.
No mirrors.
Bathroom medicine cabinet:
matte metal.
Bedroom closet:
wood panel.
Even the microwave door had been covered with a dark adhesive film.
Ethan looked at Harris.
“Previous tenant hate mirrors?”
Harris shut the front door.
Then locked it.
His hands were trembling.
“Listen to me.”
Ethan’s smile disappeared.
Harris grabbed his wrist.
Hard.
Then forced the brass key into Ethan’s palm.
“There are nine rules here.”
“What?”
“Memorize them.”
Harris pulled a folded sheet from his coat.
No heading.
Nine handwritten lines.
RULE ONE: AFTER 11:00 P.M., NEVER ANSWER A KNOCK UNLESS YOU ARE EXPECTING SOMEONE AND CAN SEE THEIR FACE DIRECTLY.
RULE TWO: IF SOMEONE YOU LOVE WHO IS DEAD CALLS YOUR NAME FROM THE HALLWAY, DO NOT SPEAK BACK.
RULE THREE: IF THE HALLWAY LIGHT TURNS RED, CLOSE YOUR EYES UNTIL IT TURNS WHITE AGAIN.
RULE FOUR: NEVER LOOK INTO A REFLECTION AFTER 2:13 A.M.
RULE FIVE: IF YOU HEAR SOMEONE MOVING IN 9B, DO NOT INVESTIGATE.
RULE SIX: IF THE ELEVATOR OPENS ON NINE WITH NO ONE INSIDE, DO NOT ENTER.
RULE SEVEN: IF YOU HEAR YOUR OWN VOICE FROM ANOTHER ROOM, LEAVE THE APARTMENT IMMEDIATELY—BUT DO NOT USE THE FRONT DOOR.
RULE EIGHT: IF MR. HARRIS KNOCKS AFTER MIDNIGHT, ASK HIM WHAT HIS WIFE’S NAME WAS. IF HE DOES NOT ANSWER “MARGARET,” DO NOT OPEN.
Ethan swallowed.
Then rule nine.
It was written darker than the others.
RULE NINE: NEVER TRUST THE MAN INSIDE.
Ethan looked up.
“What does that mean?”
Harris grabbed his wrist tighter.
“Remember it exactly.”
“Who is the man inside?”
Harris stared at him.
Then said:
“If you ever have to ask that question, it may already be too late.”
Ethan pulled free.
“This isn’t funny.”
“I know.”
“Are you insane?”
“Probably.”
Harris walked to the door.
Then stopped.
“One more thing.”
Ethan waited.
“If somebody outside knows something only your mother knew, that does not make them your mother.”
Then Harris left.
Ethan stood alone.
The apartment suddenly felt much larger.
That night, at 10:58 p.m., Ethan placed the rule sheet beside his bed.
At 11:06, he laughed at himself.
At 11:43, someone began pounding on his front door.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
Then a woman’s voice called:
“Ethan! Honey, open the door!”
May you like
His entire body went cold.
It was his mother.
