“Later, as he sat on his balcony eating the dog, Dr Robert Laing reflected on the unusual events that had taken place within this huge apartment building during the previous three months.”
― J.G. Ballard
Sarah had always prided herself on finding good deals, but the rent at 47 Maple Court seemed almost too good to be true. The three-story brick building sat wedged between a laundromat and an empty lot, its red paint faded to the color of dried blood. When she’d called about the vacancy, the landlord’s voice had been oddly eager.
“Second floor, apartment 2B,” he’d said quickly. “Move in whenever you like. First month’s free.”
The building housed only six units, two per floor, and Sarah noticed immediately how quiet it was. No footsteps overhead, no muffled conversations through thin walls, no television sounds bleeding through. Just silence, thick and oppressive.
Her neighbor across the hall, Mrs. Chen from 2A, was the first sign something wasn’t right. The elderly woman would peer through her peephole whenever Sarah passed, the brass fixture going dark as an eye pressed against it. But when Sarah knocked to introduce herself, no one answered, despite the shadow of feet visible beneath the door.
The first week passed uneventfully until Sarah began hearing the sounds. Late at night, a rhythmic scratching would emanate from inside the walls—not mice, but something deliberate, almost like Morse code. When she mentioned it to the superintendent, a gaunt man named Eddie who seemed to live in the basement, he just shrugged.
“Old building,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “Pipes settle.”
But pipes didn’t explain the soft weeping that drifted down from 3B, or why the woman in 1A stood at her window every night at exactly 3:17 AM, staring out at the empty lot with unblinking eyes.
Sarah started keeping a log. The scratching always began at 2:45 AM and lasted exactly thirteen minutes. The weeping started at 3:00 AM sharp. And at 3:17, she would see the silhouette in the first-floor window, motionless as a statue.
Three weeks in, Sarah finally encountered another tenant in the hallway. The man from 3A was tall and pale, wearing clothes that seemed decades out of style. When she said hello, he turned toward her with eyes that held no recognition, no life—just empty sockets that seemed to look through her rather than at her.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said in a voice like rustling leaves. “We tried to warn you.”
That night, Sarah understood. The scratching wasn’t random—it was spelling out messages in the walls: GET OUT over and over again. The weeping belonged to someone who’d ignored the warnings. And the woman at the window wasn’t looking out—she was looking in, watching for the next victim to take her place.
Sarah packed her bags before dawn, but when she tried to leave, Eddie stood blocking the front door, his smile revealing teeth like broken glass.
“Lease says one year minimum,” he whispered. “Building’s got to stay full. That’s the arrangement.”
Now Sarah understands why the rent was so cheap, why the first month was free, why the landlord had sounded so eager. 47 Maple Court needed exactly six tenants at all times. The building fed on their despair, their isolation, their slow descent into madness.
She’s been here eight months now. Sometimes she scratches warnings in the walls for the next tenant, weeps for the life she’s lost, or stands at her window watching for someone new to take her place.
The building is patient. It always gets its six.
And there’s a “For Rent” sign in the window again.
With this map you get:
- grid & gridless variations
- PNG files, low (70 PPI) & high (140 PPI) resolutions
- splatter & abandoned variations
- floor plan
- dd2vtt files for FoundryVTT & Roll20
- High-resolution WebP files
Small Apartment Building – Day
Small Apartment Building – Night
Small Apartment Building – Splatter – Day
Small Apartment Building – Splatter – Night
Small Apartment Building – Abandoned – Day
Small Apartment Building – Abandoned – Night
Small Apartment Building – Floor plan
