The previous tenant of my new flat left a survival guide. Something terrible happens every damn day.

One month ago I moved into a new flat.<br><br>I got the place through a friend of a friend, who happened to be the person who originally signed the contract for the place but ended up deciding to move for a partner. <br><br>The whole place is great; location is on point, price is fair, and personal favourite, I get to have the entire place to myself. <br><br>When I moved in I found a pack of papers through the letterbox. <br><br>It was a small envelope, yellowed around the edges, with my name written on in pencil. There was a handwritten note taped to the front which read “Make sure you read this. “<br><br>I opened it, and found a collection of papers inside. They were typed up neatly and appeared to be some kind of set of instructions. There was a title written across the top, “A survival guide for 344 Northcourt Avenue.” <br><br>I read it. Some of the warnings seemed outlandish, but the tone of the notes was overall sincere. I got the feeling that whoever wrote this place had gotten them out of a bad situation, and wanted other people to not meet the same fate. I felt that this person was likely the previous tenant of the flat, although some people could definitely skirt the reality, I found it hard to believe that I was dealing with a new flat and two consecutive previous tenants wrote me the same notes. <br><br>The first thing I did was Google the address. I wanted to see if the notes could extend further than just the flat, and see if whatever happened, was happening elsewhere. There was no record of anyone being abducted, or gone missing from the address itself. I then checked for the landlady, the estate agent and even the neighbouring properties but again, nothing. It did make me curious as to why nothing showed up but I figured that the internet is full of mysteries that remain unsolved, so I didn’t let it get to me.<br><br>I did notice something odd almost immediately after moving in, the other flats in the building had people in them. I could see the windows, and as far as I could tell, everyone had their full complement of inhabitants. The people to the left had an older couple living there, I saw them leaving for work in the morning, and coming home in the evening. The people to the right had a young professional type, and they had two furniture boxes in the living room, but no people. The people upstairs had two clearly pregnant, teenage girls. And the people down stairs had no one at all, the door was always locked with a chain and only ever let the landlady in. <br><br>By the third day I was starting to notice that the other flats were changing. The young girl had got up to get breakfast, I saw her, obviously just a glow in the dark, but the couple next door were firmly entrenched in their bedroom. I hadn’t seen them leave for work on my way to mine neither. The pregnant girls had moved, it was harder to tell, but their room had moved around 6ft during the night, and the girls were now huddled together, sleeping or at least pretending to be. <br><br>As far as I could tell the only person left to watch in the morning was me. The young professional didn’t show her face again, and the couple next door definitely didn’t leave for work.<br><br>I was grateful that I got to watch in peace, but I was also very confused. I went back to the notes, hoping to find some answers.<br><br>There was nothing that directly explained why the other flats were empty, but there were a few sections that did seem relevant. There was a whole section about only me to watch, and another about being grateful that I got to have the place to myself. There was also a passage about the previous flatmates, and how they had all been “taken” and how I was the only one left. I’m not sure if any of these things meant that the other people in the building were still there, or if any of it meant anything at all, but the notes did seem to answer the question of why the flats were empty.<br><br>The next section of the notes was a long list of warnings. There was a section about the oven, and another section about the shower, but most of them were warnings about specific nights of the month. I didn’t think I’d be reading these nightly, so I made a note of them, just in case.<br><br>There were also a few sections of general advice. There was a section about how to navigate the hallways, and a section about how to treat the place with respect. I felt a little odd reading the section about respect, I felt like I was sitting in someone else’s house and not supposed to walk on the furniture, but I was responsible for the place. There was a section about the previous flatmates and how they had abused the place. I got the feeling that they had treated the flat poorly, and that I was the first person to take care of the place. The last section of advice was a section of rules about when to watch out, when to be quiet, when to be kind and when to be cruel. I was a little thrown off by the last two, but I assumed that if I felt like being cruel, then I should read something mean instead, and vice versa.<br><br>The last page of the notes were a story. It told the tale of the person who wrote the notes. They had lived in the flat before me, and moved in with their partner and their friends. They had seemed happy, and the story painted a happy picture. However, as time went on their friends started to get “taken”. One night their boyfriend had gone out to get some food, and never returned. Two nights later their girlfriend had gone to sleep, only to wake up the next morning on her own. Slowly but surely their housemates had all been removed, leaving only her and her partner. As the story went on their partners habits started to change. They were kind to her most of the time, but they would moods where they were cruel. The story was ended abruptly, but I got the feeling it had a bad ending.<br><br>After reading the story I felt bad for the person who had written it. I got the feeling they had gotten here after everything they knew and loved had been removed, and they were trying to write a guide for the next poor soul to roll in here after them. <br><br>I was a bit worried, but as I had a job that I had to go to in the morning, I was able to calm myself down enough to be able to function.<br><br>I got to work on the next morning, feeling pretty normal. It wasn’t until I got home that I started to worry again. I worried about my friends, I worried I was next, I worried for no reason, and then I went to bed.<br><br>The next morning I woke up to the smell of tobacco. I don’t smoke, and I don’t like tobacco, so as I got my bearings in the morning I set about finding the source. I found it pretty quickly, as the smell was very potent. There was a cigarette burning on the windowsill, the one facing the hallway. I remember seeing it as I fell asleep the night before, but it had gone out somehow. Thinking it was odd I picked it up, and dropped it out the window. As it left my grasp I heard a voice behind me.<br><br>“Mind your manners.”<br><br>I spun round and saw an old man, dressed in rags and standing just inside my front door. I didn’t see, hear or smell him before he got here, and I had no idea how he did it, but here he was. I didn’t respond to the old man, instead I walked over to the window and looked out. The cigarette was on the floor just inside the front door of my flat. I couldn’t see who owned it, but I assumed it was the man who had spoken. <br><br>“Mind your manners.”<br><br>I ignored him again and went about my morning routine, not hearing or seeing the old man again. As I went about my morning I made sure everything was shut. I had read that this was an important rule for oven night, and I didn’t want to take any chances. Everything was closed, and I felt a little silly, but I had to take the advice seriously. It wasn’t until I was going to take a shower that I noticed the sign next to the bathroom. There was a square marked “After Dark”, with a line through it.<br><br>After Dark? What did that mean? I felt a chill run down my spine. The only time I had seen the word was in connection with films and adult content. I didn’t want to be out of bed until I had to be, and I definitely didn’t want to be in the shower after dark.<br><br>I didn’t get in the shower until I got back from work, and even then I didn’t stay in there long. I was nervous, but apart from the peace and quiet I didn’t notice anything strange. I spent the night reading a book, watching a movie and doing some work on my computer. Nothing out of the ordinary. <br><br>Oven Night had officially arrived, and it had passed with no incident.<br><br>The next day I noticed something odd. There was a patch of my carpet missing in front of the window. I’m pretty sure it was there the night before, but when I got home from work the next day it had gone. I’m not sure if it got burned by the cigarette, or if the person who threw it picked it up, but it was gone. <br><br>That night I got a knock on the door. I was on the couch at the time and jumped about a foot in the air when I first heard it. I had to count before I answered, making sure it was high enough. It was 12, so I opened the door. There was nothing there. I looked up and