Chapter 4 — Footsteps On The Ceiling

That night, for the first time, I actively waited for that sound to appear. I don't draw the curtains. Also don't turn on big lights. The living room had only one standing lamp. The pale yellow light shone into the corner of the wall, making the crack on the ceiling even more obvious, like a wound about to be torn apart. I installed the mini camera I just bought on the top of the bookshelf, pointing straight towards the inspection door. That square lid is located at the boundary between the living room and kitchen, normally almost no one notices, the color matches the ceiling, only revealing a very thin border. Yesterday, after the footsteps stopped, I looked up for a long time before discovering that there were new, extremely small scratches at the edge of the crack. It was like someone was pushing me out from inside. I also spread a thin layer of white powder on the floor just below that lid. Plaster powder used for drawing. Barely visible, but enough to leave a mark. Eleven fifty-eight. I pushed the wheelchair into the middle of the living room, turned off the phone, and clipped the recorder to my collar. Then take a clothes-drying pole and gently place it horizontally on your lap. Twelve o'clock. What rang out first was not the sound of footsteps. It's a low sound. Like something hit the wooden board. Immediately after that, the noise meter lit up. The red light flashed continuously, so bright that it hurt the eyes. Footsteps fell from the ceiling. Urgently. Chaotic. Bring on the rhythm of panic. No longer circling like the night before, but moving quickly from east to west, stopping near the inspection door, then suddenly silent. I raised my head, not daring to blink. Then the sound of dragging sounded. Worse than two nights ago. Like someone in a tight space, desperately pulling themselves forward. Goosebumps appeared on the back of my neck. Not a ghost. A very weak person. But still alive. I tightened my grip on the pole, my throat was dry, hesitated for two seconds, then raised my hand and knocked on the ceiling three times. The room immediately fell silent. The meter was still on, the red number jumping like a heartbeat, but I couldn't hear it anymore. All attention is focused on the thin ceiling above. Twenty seconds. Suddenly, there was a response above my head. But clearly. The pole in my hand almost fell down. Really… there are people. There's actually someone up there. My breathing was disordered, I tried to force myself to calm down, knocked twice more, and changed my position to probe. This time, the other person did not respond immediately. About five or six seconds later, a very small rubbing sound gradually moved towards the inspection door. Like fingernails scratching rough wood. Then, something slowly fell from the gap. Falling into the powder, almost without making a sound. I'm in no hurry. Only when it was completely quiet above, the footsteps disappeared completely, and the number on the noise meter slowly lowered, did I push the wheelchair closer. In the layer of plaster on the floor, lay a crumpled piece of medicine label. The drug name and person's name are printed on it. Sertraline hydrochloride. Tran Vu Ninh. I stared at those three words, my fingers tightening. Sertraline is a medication that treats depression and anxiety. And Tran Vu Ninh... is Chu Thanh's wife. The whole area said she had returned to her mother's house. I turned the label over. The back has a light brown stain. Like the blood had dried a long time ago. My stomach rolled. I raised my head and looked towards the door to check. The lid still lay there, as if nothing was happening. But now I know, the back is not empty. Behind is a passage. Or a closed space. Someone is locked inside inside, it can only rely on a little bit of activity during the night to produce sound. And everything... was seen by the whole building as the "crazy" outburst of a strange disabled woman. My hands were shaking so much that I almost couldn't hold the phone. I immediately called the police yesterday, telling all about the recording, video and the piece of medicine label. The other end of the line was silent for a few seconds, the voice also changed:

"Don't provoke the other person, and don't open the door to check yourself. We'll be there right away."

As soon as I answered, there was suddenly the sound of keys hitting each other outside the door. But it made my whole body's blood run cold. Chu Thanh has returned. Ten minutes earlier than yesterday. I immediately turned off the living room lights, leaving only the kitchen light on. The room fell into darkness. The phone was still pressed to my ear, I lowered my voice:

“He's back.”

The police immediately understood:

"Lock the door. We'll be there in ten minutes."

I hung up the phone, my palms were wet. There was no sound of opening the door right away. It's a short silence. It was like someone was standing in front of my door, listening to the movements inside. I can almost imagine Chu Thanh's expression right now. The face that usually looked peaceful, reasonable, even enthusiastic, was now glued to the door, in the dark hallway, eyes no longer smiling, only calculation remained. A few seconds later, his door opened. Then close it. I don't dare breathe a sigh of relief. Until two minutes later, the always closed curtain in the opposite bedroom suddenly flashed a very small ray of light. Not the living room lamp. Like a flashlight. My heart sank. He found out. Spotted the person in the gap who gave something to me. I pushed the wheelchair back, my eyes suddenly stopped on the plaster on the floor. Right under the inspection door, in addition to the medicine label, there was also a very faint mark. Not shoe prints. It's like a piece of fabric being dragged, leaving behind brush marks. I bent down and tried a little. In the layer of white dust was mixed a dark green fiber. Like sleeping fabric. Or… hospital clothes. My chest tightened, I could barely breathe. At that moment, the phone vibrated again. Not the police. It's a strange message. Just one line —

"Don't believe what he said she went back to her mother's house."