Night One – The Whispers
Nina had always loved the quiet of her historic apartment until the HVAC unit started whispering.
At first, it was just rattles and groans. She chalked it up to age, wind, or the usual creaks of an old building. But late one night the lights flickered and the temperature dropped. It was in that moment when she heard it: a faint, almost pleading murmur from the vent.
“Help… help…”
She pressed her ear to the cold metal. The voice was there, but faint, like a memory of someone screaming underwater. Shaking, she slammed the vent cover closed, but instead of the vent cover muffling the sound so she could go back to sleep, it echoed inside the walls, vibrating through the floorboards.
When she finally fell asleep, she dreamt of shadows crawling inside the ducts, faces pressed against metal, and mouths silently screaming. She woke with the taste of iron on her tongue, though she hadn’t bitten anything or licked any registers – not that she knew of anyway.
Night Two – The Frost Faces
By the second night, Nina could see them. Frost patterns on the vent shaped like faces. Hollow eyes, twisted mouths, and the faint outline of something trying to claw its way out from the inside.
She called maintenance. A nervous man with grease-stained hands inspected the system. “Old ducts,” he muttered. “Nothing dangerous.”
But when she returned that night, the air felt different. It was thicker, colder, and heavier. She pressed her hand against the vent. Something brushed her fingers from inside. It was then that she realized her apartment felt smaller. The walls pulsed, contracting, as if they were breathing.
And then she heard it clearly: her name.
Nina… Nina…
Night Three – The Inhaled Terror
Nina barricaded the doors and windows. She burned candles, and tried to turn the heat on, but it was no use. The HVAc system was stuck on cold, and no matter how many vents she closed, the cold found her anyway. It slithered along the walls, curling like smoke, whispering promises she couldn’t understand but felt deep in her chest.
The vent hissed, and shadows poured out. They twisted, coiling, writhing like living smoke, reaching for her, their icy touch burning her skin. The HVAC unit groaned, a deep mechanical growl vibrating in her bones.
She tried to run, but the apartment had changed. The floor warped. The walls were breathing in sync with the vent’s pulsing hum. Nina fell to her knees, gasping, only to realize she couldn’t breathe. The air itself had become solid, choking. It filled her lungs with a cold, metallic taste while sucking the warmth from her body.
Her reflection in the window was wrong. Hollow eyes stared back. Mouth frozen mid-scream. And then she heard it: dozens of voices now, whispering her name from every vent, every crack, every shadow.
The neighbors called the police the next morning. Maintenance arrived with tools in hand, only to find the apartment empty. They observed frost on the vents shaped like mouths frozen mid-scream. And if anyone listened closely, the ducts still hummed.
Something inside waited. Patient. Hungry. Alive. Ready to suck the warmth from its next victim.