True TAIWAN Horror story

My landlord’s selling the house, so I’ve only got until the 25th of this month to move out. That gives me about two weeks to prepare. I’ve already found a new place—probably the best view I’ve ever had. It’s on the sixth floor of an apartment building, not the top, but the living room looks out over a river, with green, forested hills beyond. Pretty relaxing, honestly.

The lighting’s great, and the space is huge—nearly 50 pings after subtracting the shared areas. Most of the time, it’ll just be me living there. The landlord told me he owns the whole floor, two units total. The other one was rented out just a few days ago. For the size, he says it’s hard to find anything bigger around here.

On a weekend, I borrowed two pickup trucks and got some friends and my girlfriend to help me move. It took the whole day to haul everything up. By 10 p.m., I was beat but managed to set up the TV, planning to watch while sorting small stuff. My girlfriend cooked us some late-night snacks.

While we were organizing, I suddenly heard kids laughing and running around next door.

My girlfriend asked, “Is our neighbor a family with kids?”

“Probably,” I said. “Their last name’s Chen. I saw a couple taking the elevator when I was moving in today. Nodded hello to them—thirty-something, I’d guess.”

“Oh, cool,” she replied.

She’s a tour guide for international routes, gone from Taiwan about half the month. It works out—keeps things from getting too intense. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?

A few days later, I got home from work with takeout, ate, showered, and sat at my computer checking stocks. I could hear the TV next door, along with the couple chatting and laughing. Then the kids started giggling and running around again. I figured I was probably the only one in the building home alone that night.

When I went to bed, though, the neighbor’s kid was still playing. I checked my watch—past midnight. Why weren’t they putting that kid to sleep? For several nights in a row, the later it got, the livelier that little brat became. It was keeping me up, and I decided I’d ring their bell in a couple days.

This morning, as I left for work, the guy next door stepped out at the same time. I held the elevator for him, and we nodded at each other. His face looked off, somehow. Before I could say anything, he spoke first.

“Mr. Lin, you sleep late last night? You don’t look so good.”

His tone felt smug, and it ticked me off. I shot him a glare. “Of course I did!”

The elevator doors opened, and I waved a hand, storming off. Not a great start, and I’ve still got to live here. I don’t want bad blood with neighbors. A few minutes later, I regretted not handling it more smoothly.

That night, I worked late, grabbed dinner with colleagues, and invited two of them over for drinks. We’d barely cracked a few cans when the kid next door started up again—running and making a racket.

“Listen to that,” I said. “That kid’s got to have some kind of hyperactivity disorder. It’s this late, and he’s still so wired.”

Colleague A walked to the wall. “Man, your soundproofing sucks. Ever hear anything juicier through this?”

I laughed. “Why don’t you find out?”

He pressed his ear to the wall. “Turn the TV down—I’ll see what they’re up to next door.”

I grabbed the remote and lowered the volume. The kid’s footsteps kept going—thump thump thump.

“What’s he running around for?” Colleague A said. “Where’s this wall connect to over there? What’s his route?”

Thump thump thump thump thump…

“He’s laughing while he runs,” he added. “What’s he so happy about?”

Thump thump thump thump thump…

Colleague A chuckled. “Dude! He’s running a freaking marath—”

His smile vanished mid-sentence. His eyes locked straight ahead, and he slowly pulled his head from the wall.

“What’s up?” I asked. “What’d you hear?”

He didn’t answer. His face turned toward me, growing paler by the second.

I leaned in, impatient. “Come on, what is it? What’d you hear?”

“I… I heard him running…” he stammered.

“I heard that too,” I said. “Just footsteps, right? Anything else?”

“He… he ran toward me…”

“What? What ran toward you?”

He pointed at the floor. “I heard him running like this… from over there…”

His hand moved up to the wall. “Then he ran up the wall…”

I froze. “What are you saying?”

He looked at me, panicked. “He ran past my ear!”

“What?!”

“I’m telling you!” he shouted. “He ran past my ear! Don’t you get it? He was running across the floor over there, then up the wall, right by my head! I heard his feet next to my ear!”

“You mean he kicked the wall or something?” I asked, miming a few kicks against it.

“No!” he yelled. “He was running on the wall! You get it? On the wall!”

Colleague B, who’d been quiet, finally spoke. “How much has he had to drink?”

“I’ve barely had three cans, damn it!” Colleague A snapped. “You come listen for yourself!” He jabbed a finger at B.

B glanced at me, shrugged, and said, “Alright, fine.”

He walked over, pressed his ear to the wall, and looked at me.

“Nope,” B said. “Nothing. No one’s running.”

“Are you kidding me?!” A slumped onto my couch, rubbing his temples.

“Alright, chill,” I said. “You probably just misheard.”

A looked at me, said nothing, and shook his head.

B chimed in, “Come on, let’s go. I’ve got to drive you home—don’t want it getting too late.”

They packed up, and I walked them to the elevator.

“Drive safe,” I said.

Just as the doors were closing, A jammed his hand in and looked at me. “Lin, I didn’t mishear.”

I met his gaze, exhaled through my nose, and gave a slow nod.

After the elevator went down, I turned back toward my place, glancing at the neighbor’s door. Whatever, I thought. It’s late. I’ll deal with it tomorrow if I have to.

---

The next morning was a holiday, so I slept in until past 11. I toasted some bread for breakfast. As I walked through the hallway to the living room, I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye—the spot on the wall where Colleague A had pressed his ear last night. That kid next door, keeping people up all night, I thought. I should go clear this up today.

After eating, I went to the neighbor’s door and rang the bell. Mr. Chen answered.

“Hi, morning, Mr. Chen,” I said. “I’ve got something to talk to you about… Oh, your wife’s not home?”

“Oh, she’s out shopping,” he replied. “She’s my girlfriend, actually—we’re not married yet. What about your wife? I don’t see her around much.”

I chuckled. “She’s not my wife either—just my girlfriend. She’s a tour guide, so she’s not in Taiwan half the time.”

“Wow, a tour guide? Nice gig,” he said. “Must be tough for you, though, looking after the kids. They still asleep?”

My smile froze. “What?”

“Your kid,” he said. “Pretty lively, huh? Stays up late. How old? In kindergarten yet?”

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t have any kids.”

A bad feeling crept up on me. I asked, “You… you don’t have kids either, right?”

He shook his head too. Our faces dropped. We were thinking the same thing: the constant noise of a kid next door, yet neither of us had one. Plus, there was that weird thing from last night.

I spoke first. “Could it be coming from upstairs? Maybe the building’s structure carries sound to this wall?”

“No way,” he said, looking at me. “My girlfriend and I have both listened at the wall. The sound’s definitely coming from your place.”

“Okay, how about this,” I said. “Let’s rule out upstairs or downstairs first. We’ll check if this wall’s solid concrete or has steel beams. Beams could amplify echoes.”

“Alright,” he agreed. “Let’s go to our living rooms and measure the wall’s thickness.”

I headed back home, my thoughts growing stranger and more jumbled by the second. I mean, I’d only just moved in a few days ago.

I put my hand on the living room wall and leaned out the window. Mr. Chen did the same. When our eyes met, my head buzzed, and a chill shot through me.

Our faces turned ashen.

Mr. Chen was still Mr. Chen—no missing eyes or extra horns—just pale as a ghost.

There was a window between us.

A room sat between our apartments.