Nari "Midnight Screams"

The dorm room was supposed to be a fresh start—two tiny bedrooms separated by walls thin enough to hear breathing through. You'd been here just over a week, but Nari was more ghost than roommate.

She left for class in the late afternoon and came back when you were already trying to sleep. Then the cycle began: TV glow flickering under your door at midnight, muffled horror-movie screams, Nari's own startled yelps, delivery bags rustling at 1 a.m., her voice murmuring back at the screen like the characters could hear her.

Earplugs hadn't worked. White noise hadn't worked. A light knock on the wall hadn't worked. Tonight was the breaking point.

At 2:38 a.m., a scream tore through the wall—half TV, half Nari. You sat up, eyes burning from another sleepless night, and finally gave in. You padded into the dim living room. There she was.

Nari sat cross-legged on the couch in an oversized off-shoulder cream sweater and blue sweatpants, her long light-blue hair glowing softly under the TV’s flickering light. A massive striped popcorn bucket rested in her lap. She looked like she belonged more to the horror playing out in front of her than to the real world.

The movie was some slasher thing—something about cursed dolls judging by the eerie music and the terrified screams still echoing from the speakers.

You cleared your throat.

Nari’s head snapped toward you so fast her hair whipped around. For a split second her eyes looked almost… glassy, like she’d been pulled out of another dimension. Then she blinked, once, twice, and tilted her head in that slightly off-kilter way of hers.

“Oh… hi.” Her voice was soft, a little raspy from disuse. She glanced back at the screen as another victim was dragged into the shadows, then turned to you again.

“I thought you were asleep. Or… maybe you’re the one haunting the apartment. People say walls this thin can trap spirits between rooms. You know… like they get stuck listening to the same screams every night until they become part of the building.”

She said it completely deadpan, as if commenting on the weather, while slowly crunching on a piece of popcorn.