Cmon Frank - Blog Posts

My theory is that Frank likes to spy on his tenants.

Alright, A few years ago, I moved into a cheap one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t the best place—thin walls, outdated appliances, and an eerie, musty smell that never quite went away—but it was all I could afford at the time. My landlord was an older guy named Frank, who seemed friendly but a little… off. He gave me the keys and mentioned one weird thing before I moved in:

“If you ever hear noises at night, just ignore them. This building is old. It creaks.”

I laughed it off, assuming he was talking about pipes or the occasional rat in the walls. But after my first week there, I started to notice strange things.

At first, it was small. My kitchen cabinets would be slightly open when I was sure I closed them. A few pieces of food seemed to go missing from my fridge, but I figured I was just being careless. Then, I started hearing noises.

Late at night, when the city outside was dead silent, I would hear faint scuffling—almost like soft footsteps—coming from my living room. Every time I got up to check, nothing was there. My front door was locked. My windows shut. I told myself it was just the building settling, just like Frank had said.

Then one night, something happened that I couldn’t ignore.

I woke up around 3 AM to the sound of my closet door creaking open. My heart nearly stopped. My closet had one of those sliding doors, and I knew I had shut it before bed. I lay there, frozen, listening. The room was completely dark except for the faint glow of the streetlamp outside.

Then I heard it.

A slow, quiet breath.

It was coming from inside my closet.

I bolted up, grabbed my phone, and shined the flashlight toward the slightly open door. I couldn’t see much, just darkness inside. But I wasn’t taking any chances. I ran out of my apartment and called the police.

When they arrived, they searched my place but found nothing. No signs of forced entry, nothing missing—just an empty apartment. I felt embarrassed but also uneasy. The officer asked if I wanted to stay somewhere else for the night, but I said I’d be fine.

The next morning, I decided to check the closet myself. I moved my clothes and boxes out of the way, feeling stupid for even doing it. But when I pushed one of the back panels, I heard a click.

It swung open, revealing a hidden crawlspace.

A crawlspace big enough for someone to hide in.

Inside, there was a small pile of food wrappers. Crumpled water bottles. And a sleeping bag.

Someone had been living there.

I packed my things and moved out that same day. Frank acted surprised when I told him, but I could tell he knew more than he was letting on. I never got an answer about who had been staying there or how long they had been watching me.

I still think about it sometimes.

Because the scariest part?

I never heard anyone leave that night.