The Reminder

The first note appeared on my bedroom door three days after I moved in.

It wasn't threatening.

It wasn't even creepy.

It just said:

"Remember to lock the window tonight."

I thought it was a joke.

I had just moved into an old apartment building, and I assumed maybe the previous tenant left something behind or one of my neighbors was messing with me.

I ignored it.

That night, I locked my window before going to sleep.

The next morning, there was another note.

"Good. You listened."

I immediately checked the hallway.

Nobody was there.

I asked my neighbors if they knew anything about it.

Everyone denied leaving the notes, but one older woman across the hall looked uncomfortable.

She asked me what the notes said.

When I told her, she closed her door without saying anything.

A few days passed.

The notes kept appearing.

Always on my bedroom door.

Always written on small pieces of paper.

"Don't answer if someone knocks three times."

"Keep the bathroom light on."

"Don't look through the peephole after midnight."

I started taking pictures of every note.

I wanted proof that someone was doing this.

But the strangest part was that the notes were always correct.

The night I ignored the bathroom light note, I woke up at 2:13 AM to the sound of water running.

I walked toward the bathroom.

The light was off.

The faucet was on.

And on the mirror, written in the condensation, were the words:

"Why didn't you listen?"

The next morning, there was another note.

This one was different.

It was longer.

"Stop trying to find me. I'm trying to keep you alive."

I finally snapped.

I waited outside my apartment all night.

I wanted to catch whoever was leaving them.

At exactly 3:00 AM, I saw someone walking down the hallway.

An old man.

He stopped in front of my door.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

I stepped forward.

"Who are you?"

The man froze.

Then he slowly turned around.

I recognized him.

It was the previous tenant.

I had seen his picture on the apartment manager's office wall.

The man who supposedly died six months earlier.

He looked terrified.

Not angry.

Not surprised.

Terrified.

He held the note toward me.

"You're not supposed to see me yet."

I backed away and called the police.

When they arrived, the hallway was empty.

They checked security cameras.

The footage showed me standing alone outside my apartment for almost ten minutes.

Talking to nobody.

The officers thought I was having some kind of breakdown.

I almost believed them.

Until the apartment manager called me the next morning.

She asked why I had removed the old tenant's nameplate from my door.

I told her I didn't.

She sent me a picture.

The nameplate was lying on the floor.

Underneath it was another name.

Mine.

Except the date beside it was from six months earlier.

The same day the previous tenant died.

I packed my things and left that afternoon.

Before leaving, I checked my bedroom door one last time.

There was a new note waiting.

It said:

"I tried to warn you before you moved in."

"I hope the next person listens."