The Man Who Lives Above You The man who lives above you is the quiet type. How lucky you are to live in an apartment underneath someone so courteous! It seems he never drops anything, seeing as how you never hear any loud thumps coming from the rooms above yours. He is even kind enough to keep the volume on his radio and TV too low to disrupt you. Come to think of it, had you not seen and spoken to him, you would think no one lived up there. Quite a big change from living below a batch of rowdy teens. He is terribly kind as well. Within the first week of you living there, he invites you up to dinner and offers his services as a plumber in case you have any leaky faucets. The maintenance crew at this complex is awfully incompetent. You can't have it all, I suppose. He didn't even get offended when you told him you were far too busy and didn't know him well enough to dine with him. He simply smiled, gave you his number, and let you know the offer stood as long as you lived below him. One night, you decide to take him up on his offer, seeing as how you're tired of the Hot Pockets your busy schedule allows. You call, uncertain about whether or not he is home due to the utter silence from above, and he answers and invites you to join him upstairs; he has made far too much chicken piccata to eat himself. You climb the stairs and enter his apartment. It's impeccable. You've already managed to spili some Coke Zero on your carpet. In his six years living there, he has left no stains. Dinner smells delightful. He already has a place set for you, almost as if he was expecting you sooner. Astounded by his kindness, you seat yourself and begin eating. Almost immediately, you feel a bit drowsy. Overworked, perhaps? He smiles and watches your muscles slowly fail you, the sauce dribbling out of the mouth you can't hold closed. You start to slide from your chair, you can almost feel the floor meeting your body, but no. He catches you. No sound is made. He carries you down the hall, ever so quietly. You're growing too unconscious to worry, so rest assured, no one will hear a thing; you won't even hit the floor.

r/shortscarystories 5 yr. ago TeslaToth ♡ Our daughter was born dying. Childhood leukaemia, they said. Just a bad draw of the cards. The white blood cells inside her, designed to protect her from harm, instead began attacking her, from the inside out. Her mother and I, also designed to protect her, could do nothing but watch as she slowly passed away. We named her Viv, short for Vivienne, French for alive. Defiant. But, ultimately, not prophetic of her fate. We buried Viv on her fifth birthday. After five years of constant heartbreak, our friends and family hoped we would feel some relief when she finally passed. Instead, the heartbreak continued, as omnipresent and suffocating as ever. We hosted seances, burned incense, used Ouija boards… Anything to try to keep her, or some small part of her, alive. It was all a waste of time, really, and we knew that. But we never gave up. Until one morning, getting out of the shower, I noticed something drawn in the steam on the bathroom mirror: ♡. I assumed my wife had left it for me, but when I entered the bedroom, I found her fast asleep. I kept the loving image to myself for the time being, assuming I’d dreamt it. But then I began to see it elsewhere. ♡. Drawn in the fresh-fallen snow, with no footprints anywhere nearby. ♡. Written in ballpoint pen on a new yellow legal pad I’d just unwrapped from the plastic. ♡. Arranged in string beans on top of the meatloaf in my microwave dinner. Viv had died before we’d properly taught her to write. But she knew what that symbol meant. Love. I took it to mean many things. That she was safe. That she was happy. That she was still with us. She still loving us. Finally, I gathered the courage to tell my wife. She didn’t take it well. It began with disbelief. Then anger. I showed her pictures I’d taken of the symbols, but of course, there was no proof of where they’d come from. I could have drawn them myself, she said. She became certain that I was toying with her emotions. I understood how she felt – she didn’t want to get her hopes up, and have them be crushed. It didn’t stop me from yelling back at her. It didn’t stop me from throwing the dinner plate at the wall. She stormed out of the house, and I didn’t stop her from going. It was then that I felt it. Shortness of breath. Numbness in my left arm. A shxrp paın in my chest. I collapsed to the floor, realising my mıstakes. ♡. Viv hadn't been saying she lòved me. Viv had been trying to warn me.