Chapter 6: The Ceiling’s Secret

I rushed out to her place. The door was half open, and Lauren was curled up under her covers, trembling and sobbing. Her apartment was small but cozy, with a wall of succulents, a faded poster of the Brooklyn Bridge, and a stack of unread library books on the coffee table. The only light came from a lamp in the corner, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor.

Seeing her like that, I almost thought she’d been attacked. My heart hammered in my chest. For a second, I wondered if I should call the cops or an ambulance—my thumb hovered over the 911 button on my phone.

Just as I was about to call, Lauren saw me and suddenly threw herself into my arms, crying that something was following her. She practically leapt off the bed, clutching my shirt so tight her tears soaked through the fabric. “It’s here, it’s following me, I swear!” she sobbed, her whole body shaking.

I was stunned. "Are you out of your mind?" I tried to steady her, but she just kept crying, her words coming out in frantic gasps. Her nails dug into my shoulder, and she looked over her own shoulder as if expecting something to lunge from the shadows.

But Lauren didn’t respond, her eyes wide with fear as she glanced behind the door. Then she leaned in and whispered in my ear that the thing was right behind the door. Her breath was hot and shaky on my ear as she whispered, “It’s right there, behind the door. Don’t look.”

A chill ran down my spine, and for a split second, I almost believed her. I gripped my phone tight, ready to hurl it at whatever might jump out. My palms were slick with sweat.

But there was nothing there. I closed the door and tried to comfort Lauren, telling her she was just under too much pressure and having hallucinations. I checked every corner, flipped on every light, and even peeked under the bed. “You’ve been under a lot of stress, Lauren. Sometimes our minds play tricks on us.”

But Lauren wouldn’t listen, mumbling nonstop: "There really is something, you have to believe me, it crawled out from the office ceiling..." She kept repeating herself, rocking back and forth. “It’s real. It came out of the ceiling at work. You have to believe me.”

Ceiling? I frowned. That ceiling again. It was like she was fixated on it, convinced it was the source of everything. She’d mentioned it so many times now, it was starting to get under my skin. I wondered if something had happened there that she wasn’t telling me.

I spoke gently, trying to ground her. “Let’s check together. See? Nothing here. You’re safe.” I made a show of opening closets and peeking behind the curtains. Lauren trembled as she looked around, her terrified expression finally easing a little. She wiped her eyes, took a shaky breath, and nodded. The tension in her shoulders eased just a bit.

I sat next to her, speaking softly. “Tell me what happened. Start from the beginning.”

She said she’d been working overtime at the office, dealing with receipts, so busy she lost track of time. When she finished, only the light above her head was still on in the big open office. The building was empty, the kind of quiet that makes every sound echo. She was the last one left, hunched over a pile of receipts, the office bathed in that cold, blue fluorescent light.

She turned off her computer and was about to leave when the ceiling suddenly started dripping dirty water again. The first drop landed on her desk, leaving a greasy, dark stain. She looked up, and another drop splattered on her keyboard. It hadn’t dripped for several days, and now it finally did.

She stared at the spreading stain, heart pounding, realizing it was the same foul-smelling water from before. At first, she didn’t think much—just felt she finally had evidence to confront Old Jerry from maintenance. She actually smiled, thinking, “Finally, proof!” She even took out her phone to snap a photo.

But then something weird happened. She heard it—a faint, scratching sound, like nails dragging over concrete. It started soft, then got louder and sharper, echoing through the empty office. She actually heard fingernails scraping inside the ceiling. At first, the sound was faint, but it grew louder and sharper, as if someone was clawing through the concrete, trying to crawl out.

She described it in a whisper, her hands shaking. “It was like someone was trapped up there, clawing to get out. I could hear every scrape.”

She was so scared she dropped her bag and ran out as fast as she could. She didn’t even bother to grab her things—she just bolted, sprinting down the hallway, her footsteps echoing behind her. At that hour, there was no one else in the building. She finally managed to get an Uber home. The lobby was deserted, the night guard half asleep. She practically dove into the backseat of the car, locking the doors as soon as she got in.

Once home, she felt something was following her, so she called me, since I lived closest. She said she kept glancing over her shoulder, convinced something was right behind her. That’s when she called me, her hands shaking so badly she could barely dial.

I swallowed nervously. Lauren described everything with vivid gestures and detail. In the middle of the night, even I felt spooked listening to her. The way she told it, her eyes darting around the room, it was almost contagious. I found myself glancing at the ceiling, half expecting to see a stain spreading there, too.

But then I thought, how could this be possible? I tried to snap myself out of it. “Come on, this is nuts,” I thought. “There’s no way.”

A person hiding inside a concrete ceiling—impossible even with a jackhammer—and making fingernail scraping noises? I’ve worked at the company longer than Lauren, stayed late countless times, and never encountered anything like this. I remembered all the late nights I’d spent in that office, walking those same halls. Not once had I heard a sound like that.

Hallucinations! I told myself she was just exhausted, stressed out, and her mind was playing tricks on her. Dirty water, fingernails scraping the ceiling, something following her! It sounded straight out of The Ring or Stranger Things, not real life.

It all sounded just like a horror movie. The kind of thing you watch with the lights off and a bowl of popcorn, not something that actually happens to people you know. It had to be hallucinations! I tried to convince myself, even as goosebumps prickled my arms.

I did my best to comfort Lauren, telling her not to overthink it, just get a good night’s sleep, and everything would be fine tomorrow. If not, she could take a few more days off, or change desks when she returned. I patted her shoulder, speaking softly. “Get some rest. If you’re still feeling weird, take a couple more days. Or talk to HR about switching desks, just in case.”

Seeing I was about to leave, Lauren grabbed me again, refusing to let me go, insisting I had to stay with her overnight no matter what. Her grip was desperate, her eyes pleading. “Please. Just for tonight. I can’t be alone.” The fear in her voice made it impossible to say no. I sighed, kicked off my shoes, and settled in for a long, uneasy night.