Fear made flesh

“Is our Home truly our Fortress?”

We’re all used to thinking that our home is our fortress, but now I can say with absolute certainty that this saying is as true as it is false. We all lock our doors when we come home and put bars on our windows if we live on the first floor, fearing that someone might rob or even kill us. We unplug appliances when they’re not in use, afraid of short circuits and potential fires. We do many things to strengthen our “fortress.” But sometimes, we forget that the enemy might be lurking somewhere behind our backs — where we would never think to look, where we wouldn’t even consider defending ourselves — and this enemy could be far more terrifying than anyone suspects.

My name is Lilya, and I’m a third-year medical student. A couple of months ago, my parents gave me an apartment as a birthday gift. We’re not a wealthy family, so this was an incredibly valuable present for me — both financially and emotionally. Sure, the apartment wasn’t big or newly renovated. It was a small, worn-out one-room unit on the first floor of a residential area in my already small town. But I wasn’t even the slightest bit upset, because I had long dreamed of having my own place, no matter what it looked like. I wanted to finally live apart from my parents, to be independent, and, as they say, to feel like an adult. However, my education—even though I was on a scholarship — was far from cheap. To put it mildly, despite receiving a stipend, I couldn’t even save up for a decent phone, let alone an apartment. So when my parents handed me the keys to my long-desired freedom, I was ecstatic!

Although my new home barely had any furniture — just a table and two chairs — it became much cozier once my parents helped me move in. I decorated my room’s walls with posters, pictures, artificial green leaves, and LED lights, arranging every corner of the apartment exactly as I liked. In short, I turned it into my perfect little nest.

The first month of living on my own went was well. My parents sent me a bit of money whenever they could, I saved what I could from my stipend, and life was fine. Well... as fine as it can be when you’re a medical student. To be honest, studying medicine feels like a constant uphill battle. But I’m an optimist by nature — I always try to find something good in situations where it seems impossible. So even though I had long forgotten what a normal, restful sleep felt like and was constantly stressed and anxious, I tried to stay upbeat and keep my head above water.

I had important exams coming up in two weeks, so I was trying to dedicate myself entirely to studying. And I would have succeeded if not for one — how should I put this — interesting and amusing, yet utterly frustrating incident. My upstairs neighbors flooded my apartment. Something burst or broke in their place, and as a result, all my ceilings got soaked — except for the ones in the bathroom and toilet. The worst damage was in my bedroom, where I slept and spent most of my time! To this day, I don’t know exactly what happened, but they never compensated me for the damage. Can you believe it? And they probably never will.

So, instead of preparing for my exams, I spent an entire week calling specialists to dry out the mess with an air dehumidifier. The following week, I tried to cram all the study material, depriving myself of sleep and pushing my stress levels through the roof. Not only did I fail to learn much, but I also wrecked my health and nerves in the process. And that smell of dampness... it irritated me to no end, making my vision blur. But how do you explain all this to a professor who’s probably heard every excuse under the sun, including “the dog ate my homework”? I couldn’t. They failed me, giving me two more weeks to prepare for a retake.

That day, I remember coming home absolutely furious. I collapsed straight into bed — I wasn’t hungry or even bothered to take a shower. And let me tell you, that night turned out to be the most terrifying of my life…

Let me clarify something first: in my apartment, the pipes constantly make this humming sound. You can hear it only if you really focus, though; otherwise, the noise is faint enough to ignore. But one night, I woke up to the sound of the pipes humming — only it wasn't the usual hum. It sounded more like... you know when a plane flies directly overhead? That wild, head-piercing roar that builds and intensifies. That’s exactly what I heard. It was this sound that woke me up in the middle of the night. The hum would swell and fade in waves, almost as if it wasn’t real, like it was all in my head. But as soon as I’d try to relax, it would surge back with such force that my ears would start to pop. And all I could do was lie there... too scared to move. I’m not one of those heroines from American movies who march straight toward the creepy noise. I’m the type who, when faced with a “fight or freeze” scenario, always chooses to freeze.

So there I was, lying under my blanket, facing the dark hallway, staring into the impenetrable shadows of my once-cozy apartment, and I never imagined it was just the beginning.

I must have stayed like that for ten minutes — though it felt longer than eternity. Two thoughts pulsed through my mind: “Hurry up and let it be morning already” and “I need to call a plumber tomorrow to check the pipes because this is not normal.” Then it happened—something I’ll never forget.

I was lying there, staring into the darkness, when amidst the fading yet still-present hum, I started hearing something else... faint and squelchy. My first thought was that a pipe had burst, and water was leaking. I was about to get up and check when suddenly, my bed began to shake. I swear, my heart stopped right then and there.

My bed isn’t one of those with a solid base — it’s open underneath, large enough to fit a grown man. Terrified, I backed toward the center of the mattress and tried not to breathe. But the shaking continued. For a moment, I thought it might be an earthquake, but nothing else in the apartment was moving — just my bed.