Chapter 2: Ghost Stories and Hidden Wires

Recently, my friend’s been hunting for a new place to rent. She’s got her eye on a duplex up on the seventh floor—the very top.

But she’s hesitant, on the fence about whether to commit.

She knows I’ve got a good head for this stuff, so she wanted my take.

She shot me the floor plan, and we started texting:

Friend: "Ever heard of Lincoln Prep?"

Alex: "Yeah, that fancy private school uptown, right?"

Friend: "Lincoln Prep goes around poaching top middle schoolers with big scholarships—trying to up their college admission stats. You know about that?"

Alex: "Yeah, I’ve heard."

Friend: "So, my coworker just moved here from out of state. Her son was number one in their city’s middle school exams. Three years back, Lincoln Prep snagged him with a huge scholarship, so he boarded at school. But after two months, his grades tanked. She flipped out—she and her husband both quit their jobs, moved here, and rented a place to support him."

I blinked, trying to follow.

Alex: "Wait, what’s this got to do with renting an apartment?"

Friend: "Everything. The coworker I’m talking about is the current tenant."

Still not seeing the angle, I waited for her to elaborate.

Friend: "Rent’s paid up front, yearly. They moved in November 2018. Now it’s June 2021—five months left on the lease. If they bail early, they lose the deposit and don’t get refunded for the unused rent. My coworker’s hoping to cut her losses by finding someone—like me—to take over."

Now it clicked.

Alex: "Oh, so if you move in, you’d be the subletter. But what if there’s trouble with the landlord at the end? Is that what’s bugging you?"

Friend: "Nah, subletting and renewing is common. Landlords love a smooth transition—no gap in rent. Most are happy if you find your own replacement."

I paused, surprised.

Alex: "So is it the size? Five bedrooms is a lot for one person. Rent and empty rooms could be a pain."

Friend: "Nope, I’ve got friends who want to move in too. We’d split the rent—it’s actually perfect."

Alex: "Then what, the seven flights of stairs? No elevator sounds brutal."

Friend: "Seven flights is just cardio. I call it my daily workout."

Alex: "Alright, so what’s the real issue?"

Friend: "Honestly? There are rumors it’s haunted."

Alex: "Haunted? Like, actually haunted? What makes you say that?"

Friend: "Yeah. My coworker loves to gossip, always telling me about weird stuff in the place. Some of it really creeped me out."

Alex: "She actually said stuff that freaked you out?"

Friend: "Yep."

Alex: "Like what?"

Friend: "Here’s one. There’s a UPS drop-off downstairs. On her first day, the package shop owner told her the building was haunted. She asked why, and he said a few months back, someone heard ghostly wailing while using the bathroom. It was faint but definitely human—and it wasn’t coming from outside, but from somewhere inside the building. A bunch of neighbors heard it, freaked everyone out for a while, but it only lasted a few hours and was gone by the next day."

Alex: "So the ghostly wailing lasted just a few hours, then stopped?"

Friend: "Yeah."

As she said it, Alex wrinkled his nose, picturing the bathroom swarming with black dots. He felt a shiver crawl up his spine, remembering how weird things can get in old riverfront buildings.

Alex: "Did you catch the exact date when it happened?"

Friend: "Not really. July or August, maybe? But after that, people figured it was a prank by some kids and moved on."

Alex: "Just your building, or the whole complex?"

Friend: "Just ours, I think."

Alex: "Alright, I’ll jot that down. Anything else weird?"

Friend: "Yeah. Her family’s super tidy. When they moved in, no bugs, no mice, nothing. But the next spring and summer, the bathroom was full of flies, and sometimes there were signs of mice. Her kid was studying for finals, so she called pest control. It worked for a bit, but then the flies came back—always in the bathroom. From June to October, it was like something out of a Stephen King novel—flies buzzing in the bathroom, no matter how many times they cleaned. By November, they were gone and never came back."

Alex: "Flies that won’t die off? That bad?"

Friend: "Really bad. She’s got photos—dozens flying around in that tiny bathroom."

Alex: "Both bathrooms? I see there’s one on each floor."

Friend: "Yeah, both."

Alex: "Could it be open windows or doors? The first-floor bath has a window to the hall, second-floor one opens to the balcony."

Friend: "No way. Windows have screens, and who’s ever heard of a hallway or balcony breeding that many flies? She even asked neighbors—only her place had this problem."

That was more than weird. I made a note: one year, crazy fly problem—nowhere else.

Alex: "Anything else strange?"

Friend: "Well, the house ‘steals electricity’."

Alex: "Wait, what?"

Friend: "Let me explain. There’s a circuit breaker on the first floor, right by the front door."

I pulled up the floor plan and marked the spot.

Alex: "Here?"

Friend: "Yep."

Alex: "Okay, go on."

Friend: "First day, both power and water breakers were off. Landlord said utilities were all paid up—told her to flip them on herself."

Alex: "Sounds normal."

Friend: "But here’s the weird part. This year, because of the pandemic, they stayed for Christmas. When cleaning before the holiday, she moved the bookshelves in the second-floor study and found another breaker—hidden behind the shelves, right next to the door."

I flipped to the second-floor plan and marked it.

Alex: "Like this?"

Friend: "Exactly."

Alex: "Why is there a second breaker there?"

Friend: "She has no clue. It’s weird because you can’t tell what it does."

Alex: "What do you mean?"

Friend: "When they moved in, they flipped the first-floor breaker and checked everything—lights, outlets, AC—both floors worked. So what’s this second breaker for?"

Alex: "Good question."

A chill prickled at the back of my neck.

Alex: "Did your coworker try to figure it out?"

Friend: "She did. Flipped it on, checked every outlet and light—nothing seemed different. But a month later, the electricity bill was through the roof."

Alex: "How high?"

Friend: "$170."

Alex’s jaw dropped. He did the math in his head—there was no way that was normal.

Alex: "$170? That’s nuts. Even with winter heat, that’s a lot."

Friend: "That’s what she thought. But then, even in the spring, the bill stayed high—$130, $140. She checked the utility app: February, March, April—1,800, 1,400, 1,300 kilowatt-hours. That’s nearly 1,000 extra every month. She’s racking her brain—can’t think of anything that would use that much juice, so she blames the study breaker."

Alex: "..."

Friend: "Hey, you still there?"

Alex: "Yeah, it’s just... really weird."

Friend: "How so?"

Alex: "A breaker’s just a switch—it doesn’t burn power. But turn on that study breaker, and the usage jumps. Feels like there’s a hidden space in the house..."

Friend: "She thought of that, but it’s not possible. She measured everything—matches the floor plan."

Alex: "Are you sure?"

Friend: "Yeah. The plan’s from the property certificate, matches exactly."

Alex: "Still, a breaker’s just a switch. Real power comes from appliances. What could be running on its own and using that much? Even a fridge only eats up 30–40 kilowatt-hours a month. You’d need, like, thirty fridges."

Alex: "Maybe a space heater? The kind that kicks on automatically?"

Friend: "That’s what she wondered, but those things would burn out in a day. Three months straight? No way."

Alex: "Could someone else be living there?"

Friend: "Impossible. No space, and it’s been two years. No one could survive that long with no one noticing."

Alex: "So what did she do?"

Friend: "Told the landlord. He bought the place from a family of three—their son had an accident, they needed cash, so they sold it cheap. Three days after closing, he rented it out. No details."

Alex: "How’d it end?"

Friend: "She just flipped off the study breaker, and the bills went back to normal."

Alex: "Anything else?"

Friend: "One more thing. She checked the utility app for previous years. August, September, October 2018—zero usage. So the place was empty for three months before she moved in."

That made my skin crawl.

Here’s what you know so far. Ready to solve it?

A few hours of ghostly wailing. A summer-long fly infestation. A hidden breaker behind a bookshelf. An apartment left empty for months.

I could imagine some wild theories, but nothing solid yet.

So I kept asking.

Alex: "Anything else wrong with the place?"

Friend: "Not really. She sometimes brags about the good stuff."

Alex: "Like what?"

Friend: "When she moved in, it still smelled a little like chemicals—like fresh paint. She thought it was the landlord being nice, but it was actually from the previous owner’s renovation. Also, top floors are usually crazy hot, but this one’s super well-insulated—even in summer, the second floor stays cool. And the rent’s dirt cheap."

I frowned. Sometimes, weirdness has a boring explanation. Maybe we’re just making a mountain out of a molehill.

Alex: "Did she ever talk to the neighbors?"

Friend: "Not really. She’s got her hands full with her kid—up at six, busy until bedtime. Never really had time to chat with anyone nearby."

Alex: "Got it... Don’t say yes to the lease yet. Give me some time to look into this."

Friend: "Alright."

But as the sun set over the Mississippi, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something about this apartment didn’t want to be found.