I got scammed by a rental agent and moved into a "columbarium apartment" – a place where people store urns instead of living. To my surprise, there was already a tenant: a young, handsome, and tsundere ghost. I took a closer look, and hey! Turns out, we’re old acquaintances.I got scammed by a rental agent and moved into a "columbarium apartment" – a place where people store urns instead of living. To my surprise, there was already a tenant: a young, handsome, and tsundere ghost. I took a closer look, and hey! Turns out, we’re old acquaintances. 1 The doctor gave me six months to live. So, I quit my job, moved out, and planned to spend my remaining time in peace and quiet. I found a rental agent online. I told him my only requirement was a quiet place with few people. The agent took me to see a place that same day. The complex was called "Moonlit Gardens," located in the scenic suburbs. It was an upscale community with high property values, yet the rent was suspiciously low. The agent told me he was the building manager and the owners were an elderly couple vacationing abroad who asked him to rent it out. When I asked why the rent was so cheap, he hemmed and hawed, explaining that the owners were rich and didn't care about the money; they just wanted someone to look after the place. I bought it. The interior decoration was right up my alley, so I signed the lease on the spot. As if afraid I’d change my mind, the agent made me pay the deposit, rent, and a finder's fee right then and there. The next day, I moved in. I arrived in the evening, unpacked my stuff, and went to sleep. That night, a storm hit. I was woken by thunder and lightning. Behind the billowing curtains, I saw a faint silhouette. It looked like a man. At first, I was terrified, thinking someone had broken in. But after watching for a while, I realized the shadow flickered in and out of existence. Was I hallucinating? I stared at it for a moment and shivered. The wind was freezing. I got out of bed, went to the window, and shut it. The sound of the storm muffled instantly, and the shadow disappeared. I turned off the lights and went back to sleep peacefully. The next morning, the sun was shining. I sat up, stretched, and opened the curtains to bask in the warmth. Then I saw it. A bloody handprint on the pristine window glass. My blood ran cold. I remembered clearly—when I cleaned yesterday, the glass was spotless. But I calmed down quickly. I grabbed a rag from the bathroom, opened the window, and tried to wipe the handprint from the outside. But no matter how hard I scrubbed, the handprint remained. That’s when I realized—the print was on the inside. Okay, so this place has issues. A supernatural thought crossed my mind. But hey, I’ve accepted death; what else can’t I accept? I wiped the inside, and the blood came right off. As I washed the rag in the bathroom, thinking about the shadow last night and the handprint this morning... I concluded the place was haunted. I wrung out the rag and looked up at the mirror. My reflection, previously expressionless, slowly cracked a wide, creepy smile. But I wasn't smiling. I watched as my reflection’s mouth stretched wider and wider, almost reaching my ears. While grinning like that, it raised a hand and used a finger to write my name on the mirror, stroke by stroke— Riley. The letters dripped with blood. It was horrifying. How did it know my name? I frowned and asked the mirror, "What are you doing?" My reflection froze. The creepy grin vanished, replaced by a cold, menacing glare. Then, fine cracks appeared on the glass. It seemed the thing in the mirror was pissed. I stepped back, shielding my face with my arm. Good call. Two seconds later, the mirror exploded. Crash! Shards littered the floor. I looked down, and countless fragments reflected countless versions of me, all staring back coldly. Then, everything returned to normal. 2 I wanted to confront the agent, but I knew he wouldn't admit anything. The money was gone, and getting it back would be harder than climbing to heaven. But I didn't want to move out. Renting such a nice place at this price in this city was a pipe dream. Aside from being far from downtown, it had no flaws. And since I only needed to go to the hospital occasionally, the location didn't matter. This was the perfect place for my final days. As for the haunting? I'm a dying woman. I'll be a ghost soon enough. What's there to be afraid of? I called a home goods store to order a new mirror. As soon as I gave the address, the owner refused to come. First, he said it was too far, then he said they were short-staffed. I didn't buy it. I offered double the price, and he reluctantly agreed. That afternoon, the doorbell rang. It was the delivery guy, a middle-aged man looking nervous. He installed the mirror quickly. He was sweating buckets, so I handed him a tissue. "Sir, are you hot?" I asked. He wiped his sweat, looked at me hesitantly, and asked, "Are you renting this place?" "Yes." "Have you seen anyone else around here?" he asked, his voice trembling. I shook my head. "No." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "That's because... every apartment in this complex is a columbarium." "What's a columbarium?" I asked. He looked around the living room warily. "Google it. I've said too much already." With that, he fled as if his life depended on it. Now that he mentioned it, I realized I hadn't seen a single living soul in the complex since I moved in 24 hours ago. But I asked for "quiet," didn't I? I liked quiet. But now, it felt... dead. I also realized that despite it being summer, there wasn't even the sound of cicadas. I Googled "columbarium apartment." A slew of news articles popped up. Turns out, these are apartments bought specifically to store cremation urns. Usually for two reasons: Cemeteries are too expensive. People want their deceased loved ones to "live" in better conditions. Given the property values here, it was definitely the second reason. This place was luxurious. According to the agent, the owners were an older couple. So the urn stored here probably belonged to their child. But if it's a shrine for their kid, why rent it out? Aren't they afraid of disturbing the spirit? I was certain now. There was something else in this house besides me. I thought for a moment, then shouted into the empty room: "I know you want me gone, but I paid rent! Your parents rented this place out, so don't blame me, okay?" Silence. Where was he hiding? How do ghosts live, anyway? I was getting curious. 3 That night, I turned off the lights and lay in bed. I heard footsteps in the living room. I closed my eyes tight. Not because I was scared, but because I was worried he might look gruesome. In movies, ghosts are always terrifying. My heart is weak. If he scares me to death, I lose my last bit of time. In the pitch black, I heard only my breathing and the slow, eerie footsteps outside. They stopped at my bedroom door. A bone-chilling cold wrapped around me. The warmth of my blanket vanished, replaced by the damp chill of a grave. The footsteps didn't continue. Was he blocked by the door? Why was it so cold? I reached down to pull the blanket tighter and touched something icy. It was hard, but slightly soft. Like... A human hand. I snapped the bedside lamp on. The soft light filled the room. The hand under my blanket slowly retracted to the foot of the bed and vanished. But I saw it clearly. It was big, with distinct knuckles and long fingers. A man's hand. I was furious. If he's a male ghost, doesn't he know boundaries? He was groping me on purpose! 4 For the next few days, I walked around with a scowl, slamming doors and throwing things. Maybe my bad mood suppressed him, because the ghost seemed to chicken out. He stopped scaring me. Instead, he started messing with my food. Everything I bought spoiled within minutes. And it tasted weird—like burning paper money. Since he couldn't scare me away, he decided to starve me out. I bagged up the spoiled food and put it outside the door. As I tied the bag, the door slammed shut behind me with a loud bang. I barely pulled my nose back in time. I looked down at my slippers and patted my empty pockets. No phone. No keys. It was late at night, and I had nowhere to go. That ghost finally found a chance to lock me out. Not only does he have no ghost-ethics, but he also hits below the belt! I pounded on the door, yelling for him to let me in. Of course, he wouldn't. So I decided to make his life hell. I banged on the door for half an hour. Suddenly, I heard a creak. The door next door opened. If this whole complex is a columbarium, then the neighbor must be a ghost too. A pale foot stepped out. I held my breath and looked up. It wasn't a scary monster, but a hipster guy with a man bun and a beard. If not for his pale skin and dead eyes, I would've thought he was alive. He walked up to me. Suddenly, more ghosts appeared in the hallway. Some walked out of doors, some passed through walls, some floated down from the ceiling. I leaned against my door, terrified. The hipster ghost sniffed me. "A living person?" A woman in her thirties, looking like a cool corporate boss, frowned. "I felt a disturbance recently. So it was you." An old grandpa ghost smiled kindly. "Miss, who sent you here? Were you tricked?" I nodded vigorously. "Yes, Grandpa. The agent said the owners were on vacation and asked him to rent it out. I moved in and found out..." I didn't want to finish the sentence in front of them. The ghosts started chattering indignantly. "It must be that Dave guy!" "Yeah, he's a piece of trash!" "Remember last year? My son went out of town and left the keys with him, and he rented it out immediately!" "This girl was definitely scammed! We buy these places for our peace. Who would rent them out? Especially that family—they don't need the money." I was stunned. So I was scammed. The hipster ghost stared at me intently. It made my scalp tingle. "Are you dying?" he asked. Silence. Every ghost stared at me. I lowered my head. "Yes. I have less than six months." The boss lady looked at me with pity. "No wonder you can see us." She looked at my door. "I heard you banging for a while. Are you locked out?" The grandpa ghost looked angry. "That boy in there is bullying you!" He walked up and banged on my door. "Hey, you in there! Open the door for the girl!" The hipster ghost pointed at my apartment. "The guy in there is new. He's a loner, doesn't talk to us much. But we'll help you." He turned and shouted, "Kiki! Mimi!" Two twin girls, about seven or eight, skipped over, giggling. They passed right through my wall. A moment later, the lock clicked. The twins opened the door from the inside and skipped out. The boss lady patted my shoulder. "Go on in. If he bullies you again, tell us." "Thank you," I bowed deeply. The ghosts watched me enter, then dispersed. I looked through the peephole. In two seconds, the hallway was empty.
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