The Stain

It started as a water stain above my bed.

A small brown mark in the ceiling corner shaped vaguely like a face.

Two dark spots for eyes.

A stretched oval mouth.

I noticed it during a thunderstorm three weeks ago.

At first, I thought it was funny.

Then I realized it kept changing.

The Shift

Every morning, the stain looked slightly different.

Closer.

The eyes became deeper.

The mouth longer.

I even took pictures because I thought I was imagining it.

I wasn’t.

The stain moved nearly two inches in four days.

Always toward my bed.

My landlord blamed old pipes.

But there are no apartments above me.

Only an attic sealed shut since the 1980s.

The Noises

A few nights later, I woke up around 2 AM to a wet clicking sound above the ceiling.

Not scratching.

Not rats.

It sounded almost human.

Like someone trying to imitate the sound of teeth chattering.

Then came the whispering.

Too muffled to understand.

I buried myself under the blanket and stayed there until sunrise.

In the morning, the stain had changed again.

The face was smiling now.

The Attic

Yesterday, I finally asked the super to unlock the attic.

He refused immediately.

Said the previous tenant already tried that.

When I asked what happened to them, he got quiet for a long time.

Then he said:

“They stopped sleeping.”

That night, I heard footsteps above me for the first time.

Slow.

Heavy.

Directly over my bed.

The ceiling creaked under the weight.

Dust drifted onto my blanket.

Then everything went silent.

A few seconds later, something knocked from the other side of the ceiling.

Three slow knocks.

The Hole

I barely slept.

At around 4 in the morning, I looked up and saw a small crack running through the stain.

The face looked clearer than ever now.

Not like a stain anymore.

Like skin pressing thinly through fabric.

The crack widened while I watched.

Plaster crumbled onto my chest.

And something pale slowly pushed one finger through the ceiling.

Right where the mouth used to be.