Seeing Ghosts | Sevika

Sevika needed a new apartment because the old one had finally pushed her past her limit. The pipes screamed like they were being murdered every time she turned on the shower, the upstairs neighbor apparently bowled indoors at 3 a.m., and the landlord had the audacity to raise the rent again. Hard pass. So she did what any exhausted, mildly unhinged person would do at two in the morning, she doomscrolled sketchy housing sites that looked one pop-up ad away from stealing her identity.

That’s when she found it.

Too cheap. Suspiciously cheap. One bedroom, technically, if you counted the room where a bed could barely fit. “Vintage charm,” the listing said, which Sevika translated immediately to falling-apart disaster. The photos were grainy, taken at weird angles, like the apartment was actively trying to hide something. Still, the price sat there, smug and tempting. Sevika stared at it for a long time, jaw tight, before muttering, “Fine. Whatever,” and sending the message.

The building was from the 1920s. Of course it was.

Brick exterior, cracked stone steps, a lobby that smelled like dust and old water. The elevator didn’t work hadn’t in years, apparently, so she hauled her boxes up four flights of narrow stairs, cursing under her breath the entire way. The apartment itself was small, dim, and desperately in need of refurbishing. Peeling wallpaper. Crooked floorboards. A radiator that looked like it had seen both World Wars and lost. The windows rattled even when there was no wind.

Sevika dropped her last box and looked around, unimpressed. “I’ve lived in worse,” she told the empty room, like daring it to argue.

The first few days were… fine. Annoying, but manageable. The lights flickered sometimes, which she blamed on bad wiring. The TV shut off randomly, which she blamed on cheap electronics. When a spoon she swore she’d left on the counter turned up in the sink, she blamed herself. Long hours. Too much stress. Her memory wasn’t perfect.

Still, the apartment felt cold. Always cold. Even when it was stupidly hot outside, when the air was thick and heavy, the rooms held onto a chill that crept under her skin. Sometimes she’d shiver for no reason, jaw tightening as goosebumps crawled up her arms. She hated it, hated not knowing why.

Then came the nights.

Sleep felt wrong there. Heavy. Like something pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. One night, Sevika woke up unable to move. Her body locked in place, muscles useless. Her eyes snapped open, heart slamming against her ribs as panic surged hot and fast. She tried to tell herself it was just sleep paralysis. She knew what it was. Knew the science.

That didn’t stop the dread.

There was something in the corner of the room. A shape where the shadows were too thick, too solid. Sevika’s breath hitched. She couldn’t turn her head, couldn’t lift a finger, but she could see it, feel it. Watching. The air felt colder than ever, biting into her lungs.

Then she gasped awake.

Morning came with cold sweat soaking her sheets and a lingering sense of fear that pissed her off more than anything. Sevika didn’t scare easy. Fear was useless. Fear got you sloppy. She showered, dressed, and shoved the memory down hard, but it clung to her like a bruise she couldn’t stop pressing.

A few nights later, a loud bang ripped through the apartment.

Sevika was awake instantly, instincts sharp. She grabbed the bat she kept by her bed, grip firm, pulse steady. Someone breaking in would be a mistake, for them. She moved through the apartment quietly, every sense alert.

That’s when she saw her.

A young woman stood in the middle of the living room.

She was pale. Unnaturally so. Her clothes were old, no, ancient, like she’d stepped straight out of a photograph from the 1920s. A simple dress, worn thin, fabric hanging strangely still. Her hair was styled in a way Sevika had only seen in history books.

Their eyes met.

The woman’s eyes were lifeless, glassy… and shocked. Like she hadn’t expected this. Like Sevika wasn’t supposed to see her.

Sevika froze.

The bat felt suddenly heavy in her hands. The room seemed to drop ten degrees. The woman didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared, as frozen as Sevika herself.

“What the hell,” Sevika breathed.

The woman’s expression flickered, confusion, fear, something heartbreakingly human. And in that moment, Sevika knew.

This wasn’t a break-in. This wasn’t stress or bad wiring or a cheap apartment being cheap.

Something was very, very wrong.