"The Third Footstep"

 

Thunder Over the City

The rain was battering against the tall apartment windows like an impatient visitor demanding entry. Lightning carved jagged silver veins across the black sky, and the rumble of thunder rolled in moments later, shaking the glass ever so slightly. Somewhere deep in the room, a kettle whistled — cheerful and completely out of place in such weather.

“Do you have to stand there like a tragic poet?” Eli muttered, peeking from the kitchen. He was holding two mugs of steaming coffee, his brow furrowed, his sweater looking like it had lost a battle with laundry shrinkage.

Zane Faulkner, in his long black overcoat, was leaning against the window frame, one hand in his pocket, eyes fixed on the storm outside. “Tragic poets are overrated. I’m more of a… comedic philosopher,” he said with that half-smile that seemed to mock everything, including himself.

“You’re a comedic pain in the neck,” Eli replied, placing one mug on the desk beside Zane’s leather-bound notebook.

“Neck, heart… depends on where you feel it,” Zane murmured, taking the coffee and sipping. “Storm’s bad tonight.”

Eli looked out the window too. “Well, it’s London. Rain is like a needy ex — always coming back.”

Zane chuckled softly. “Except this time, I think it brought company.”

The Uninvited Sound

It began so subtly that Eli didn’t even notice it until Zane raised a finger. The storm filled the air with noise — rain against glass, wind whistling through narrow gaps, the occasional deep groan of thunder. And yet, there was something else.

A faint tap. Then another. Footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Coming from inside the apartment.

Eli’s eyes widened instantly. “Tell me you’re hearing that.”

Zane tilted his head. “Two steps. Yours and mine… but there’s a third.”

Eli froze. The sound came again — a soft thud of a shoe sole against wooden floorboards, as if someone else was pacing the apartment with them. “We’re on the fifth floor,” Eli whispered. “Windows locked. Door locked. Nobody else here.”

“And yet,” Zane murmured, setting his coffee down, “our invisible guest is very polite. Matching our pace exactly.”

Following the Footsteps

Zane began walking slowly across the living room. Eli followed reluctantly. And there it was — every time they moved, a third step followed, perfectly timed, always a fraction of a second after theirs.

They reached the center of the room. Zane stopped. So did Eli. Silence, apart from the storm.

Zane took one step forward.

Tap.

Eli’s breath caught. “Okay. Nope. I’m officially creeped out.”

“Good,” Zane replied casually. “Fear sharpens the mind.” He crouched down, running his hand over the polished wooden floor. “No sign of loose boards, hollow spots, or mechanical trickery. Whatever this is, it’s not hiding under us.”

Eli backed toward the sofa. “Maybe it’s… you know, supernatural?”

Zane looked up at him with mock seriousness. “Eli, if a ghost is this obsessed with synchronized walking, I think it needs therapy.”

The First Clue

It was then that Zane’s eyes caught something — a faint smear on the floor near the hallway entrance. He touched it with his fingertip, rubbing it lightly. “Dust,” he muttered. “But here—” he leaned closer — “someone brushed against the wall recently. See this pattern? Very faint, but consistent.”

Eli squinted. “That could be from me cleaning.”

“You? Cleaning?” Zane smirked. “Now that would be supernatural.”

Before Eli could retort, the third footstep sounded again — but this time, neither of them had moved.

Both froze. Zane’s gaze snapped toward the hallway.

Into the Dark Hall

The hallway stretched into shadow, the single lightbulb flickering faintly above. The storm outside made the windows rattle, but the air here felt… still.

Zane stepped forward slowly, Eli trailing behind with the enthusiasm of a man walking into his own funeral. Their own footsteps echoed softly — but there it was again, the third. A half-beat after them, always in sync.

They passed the closed doors to Eli’s room, the bathroom, the storage closet. Zane’s eyes lingered on the storage door. “When was the last time we opened this?”

“Months ago,” Eli replied. “Mostly junk in there.”

Zane reached for the handle.

The Storage Secret

The door opened with a reluctant creak. The smell of dust and forgotten years spilled out. Boxes, old coats, a broken lamp, and stacks of papers crowded the tiny room. Zane scanned quickly, his eyes sharp even in dim light.

Then he froze.

In the far corner, a set of faint, wet footprints marked the floor. Three prints. Barefoot.

Eli swallowed. “Please tell me you’re seeing this too.”

Zane stepped inside, crouching near them. The prints were recent, the wood still damp. “Interesting. No sign of water on the floor outside this room. Whoever left these… came here directly, without tracking water through the rest of the apartment.”

“That’s not possible,” Eli muttered. “Unless they just… appeared here.”

Zane said nothing, his gaze tracing the footprints to the base of the wall — where they abruptly stopped.

A Wall That Breathes

The wall looked ordinary — pale paint, slight cracks — until lightning flashed outside, and for a split second, Zane saw it: the faint movement of air from a hairline gap near the baseboard.

He pressed his ear to it. “There’s space behind this wall. Narrow, but tall enough for someone to stand.”

Eli’s voice trembled. “You mean… we’ve had someone living in the walls?”

“Maybe,” Zane replied softly. “Or something.”

Another flash of lightning. This time, both of them heard it: a single, deliberate tap from behind the wall.

The Vanishing Footsteps

Zane straightened, his mind ticking fast. He moved back into the hallway, stepping lightly. No footsteps followed. The third step had gone silent.

Eli whispered, “Where did it go?”

Zane glanced at the window at the end of the hall — rain lashing against the glass. “It’s still here,” he murmured, “just… watching.”

They searched the apartment again, every corner, every shadow. Nothing. But twice, as Zane crossed the living room, he felt it — that prickling at the back of the neck, the unmistakable weight of being observed.

A Knock in the Storm

It was nearly midnight when the knock came. Sharp, three times, at the apartment door.

Eli stiffened. “Don’t open it.”

Zane ignored him, unlocking the door and pulling it open. Standing in the hallway was a young man, drenched from head to toe, his eyes wide with fear.

“Please,” the man gasped. “You have to help me. They followed me here.”

“Who?” Zane asked.

The man’s gaze darted behind him. “The one with the third step.”

The Stranger’s Story

They brought him inside. His name was Daniel Cross. He claimed he’d been followed for days — always hearing a third footstep wherever he went. “I thought it was in my head,” he said, shivering. “Until I saw the shadow. There were three of us walking. Only two of us were real.”

Zane listened intently, leaning back in his chair. “And tonight?”

“Tonight,” Daniel said, voice breaking, “it got inside my flat. I ran. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Eli glanced at Zane nervously. “Why here?”

Daniel hesitated. “Because… it knows you.”

An Impossible Connection

The room went still.

“I’ve never met you,” Zane said calmly. “So how does it know me?”

Daniel swallowed. “Because… I heard it speak. Just once. It said your name.”

Eli looked like he wanted to crawl under the sofa. Zane only leaned forward, eyes sharp now. “And what exactly did it say?”

Daniel’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It said… Tell Zane Faulkner the walls remember.”

Storm at the Window

Before Zane could reply, a loud bang echoed through the apartment — the window in the living room had blown open, rain and wind howling inside. They rushed to it, Zane leading, Eli and Daniel close behind.

The storm raged outside, lightning bathing the room in flashes of white-blue light. And in that moment, they saw it — a faint shape reflected in the glass. Tall. Motionless. Standing just behind them.

Eli spun around.

Nothing.

But on the floor, beside their own wet footprints… was a third. Fresh. Bare.

The Third Appears Again

The three men stood frozen in the living room. The storm outside rattled the open window, the curtains whipping violently in the wind. Zane’s eyes were locked on that lone, wet footprint on the wooden floor.

Daniel whispered, “That wasn’t there before.”

Zane knelt, studying the print. “Same as the ones in the storage room,” he said. “Barefoot. Average male size. Left foot.”

Eli shifted nervously. “And the right foot is…?”

Zane stood slowly, his voice calm. “Somewhere nearby.” He shut the window firmly, then turned to Daniel. “You’re staying here tonight. But if you hear the third step again… don’t move. Not an inch.”

Daniel nodded, pale. Eli gave Zane a look that screamed I hate this plan.

A Familiar Knock

Not ten minutes later, another knock came. This one was softer, slower — and for some reason, far more unsettling.

Zane opened the door without hesitation.

Lyra stood there, raincoat on, umbrella dripping. “You didn’t answer your phone,” she said, stepping inside. “I figured the storm would be a good excuse to drop by. Apparently, I should’ve brought popcorn for whatever this is.”

“Lyra,” Eli said with mock despair, “you have no idea how bad your timing is.”

“I always have good timing,” she said coolly, then glanced at Daniel. “And who’s this?”

Zane smirked faintly. “A guest. Don’t scare him. He’s already convinced we’re being haunted by someone who walks in threes.”

Lyra arched an eyebrow. “That’s… new. Even for you.”

The Second Clue

Zane wasted no time filling her in. Lyra listened, her fake annoyance not quite hiding the interest in her eyes. “And you haven’t tried… I don’t know… following the sound?” she asked.

Eli groaned. “Oh, sure. Let’s just invite the creepy invisible thing to lead us into a death trap. Brilliant.”

But Zane’s gaze had sharpened. “No… she’s right.” He turned to Daniel. “Next time it walks, we walk faster. Force it to keep up. If it’s physical, it’ll make mistakes.”

They waited. The rain drummed against the glass. Lightning flashed again.

Then — tap.

Zane shot forward into the hallway, Lyra right behind, Eli reluctantly following, Daniel bringing up the rear. The third step followed them… then faltered, just for a fraction of a second, near the storage closet.

Through the Wall

Zane stopped. “There.” He pressed his hand against the wall. “Hollow space, like I thought.”

Lyra frowned. “You think it’s a crawlspace?”

“Too narrow for comfort, but enough for movement,” Zane replied. “And if it connects to other flats in the building…”

Eli finished for him, “…then someone could slip in and out without using doors or windows.”

Zane nodded, then grinned. “And they’d be able to follow anyone… anywhere… as long as they’re in the same section of wall.”

Lyra gave him a sideways look. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

The Mid-Twist

Suddenly, Daniel’s voice trembled from behind them. “I… I never told you this part. But I think I saw his face.”

Everyone turned.

Daniel’s eyes were wide. “It wasn’t… human.”

Lyra blinked. “Define not human.”

“Too long. The face was too long. Eyes… black, like glass. And when I turned… he was halfway inside the wall.”

Eli let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a whimper. “Okay. That’s it. I’m moving to another country.”

But Zane’s gaze didn’t waver. “Describe the eyes again.”

Daniel shuddered. “Like… the kind of glass in old buildings. Wavy. Distorted.”

Zane’s expression shifted subtly. “Not eyes. Lenses.”

The Silent Chase

Without warning, Zane grabbed a flashlight from the shelf and marched back into the storage room. He ran the beam along the base of the wall until it caught a tiny metal hinge, nearly invisible under paint.

He pressed it. The panel swung inward with a faint creak. A narrow vertical space yawned beyond — enough for a man to stand, shoulder pressed to wood.

And inside… a faint scuffling.

“Come out,” Zane said softly. “Or I come in.”

No reply.

Then the sound of retreat — quick, agile. Whoever it was, they were moving away through the wall.

The Rooftop Clue

Zane, Lyra, and Eli raced out of the apartment, following the sound through the hall, up the stairs, all the way to the roof access door. Rain poured as they emerged into the open, wind tearing at their coats.

Near the roof’s edge, something caught Zane’s eye — a small black device, stuck to the side of the ventilation shaft. He yanked it free.

“A directional microphone,” he said, holding it up. “This is how he’s been tracking footsteps.”

Lyra’s brows knit. “But why?”

“That,” Zane said, “is the question that will tell us who.”

Back to the Beginning

They returned to the flat. Daniel sat pale on the sofa, eyes darting to every shadow.

Zane placed the microphone on the table. “This wasn’t about haunting. This was surveillance. Which means Daniel…” — his gaze locked on him — “…you were the target from the start.”

Daniel shook his head. “No. I’m just an accountant.”

Zane’s smile was cold now. “Accountants don’t have hidden military service records, do they?”

Daniel froze. Lyra glanced between them. “Zane…?”

Zane leaned forward. “When you walked in, I noticed your limp. Barely there, but consistent. That’s a paratrooper’s limp. Old injury. Which means you’ve been lying to us.”

The Real Enemy

Daniel’s voice was tight. “If I tell you the truth, you’ll be in danger.”

Zane spread his hands. “Daniel, I live in danger. It’s the neighbor who borrows sugar.”

Daniel’s jaw clenched. “Fine. Two years ago, I was part of a covert operation overseas. My team intercepted something — a prototype surveillance rig. It could record movement through walls. We destroyed most of it. I kept one piece… the lenses.”

Eli swallowed. “And someone wants it back.”

Daniel nodded. “Badly enough to follow me for weeks.”

Lyra’s eyes sharpened. “So the face you saw…”

“…was wearing the lenses,” Zane finished. “Distorting the eyes. Which means whoever it is has been right here, in our building, the whole time.”

The Trap

Zane stood. “Time to end this. Lyra, lock the windows. Eli, turn off all the lights except the hallway. Daniel, sit in the living room — make yourself visible through the door crack.”

Eli frowned. “And you?”

Zane’s grin widened. “I’ll be the third step.”

The plan was simple — make the intruder think Daniel was alone and vulnerable. The narrow wall space funneled into a single exit panel in the hall. Zane waited there in darkness, listening.

The storm masked almost every sound. Almost.

Tap.

Then another.

Zane waited until the shadow moved within reach — and then his hand shot out, dragging the figure into the light.

Face to Face

The man was wiry, dressed in dark clothing, the strange glass lenses covering his eyes. Zane yanked them off, revealing sharp, calculating eyes that showed not a flicker of fear.

“Who sent you?” Zane asked calmly.

The man smirked. “You already know.”

Zane’s gaze flickered — just for a moment — with recognition. Lyra caught it. “Zane?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he tightened his grip. “Tell them I said this game’s over.”

The man’s smirk only widened. “Games never end, Faulkner. They just change players.”

Zane knocked him out with a single precise blow.

The Final Reveal

Half an hour later, the intruder was in police custody. The rain had softened to a drizzle.

Eli leaned back in his chair. “So… you gonna explain this, or let my brain melt?”

Zane glanced at Lyra, who crossed her arms in mock impatience. “Well?” she said.

Zane began pacing slowly. “The third footstep wasn’t supernatural. It was someone using the narrow crawlspaces in this building to stalk Daniel. The barefoot prints? Disguise. Without shoe noise, the sound of their step was delayed — just enough to mimic a third person following.”

Lyra nodded. “And the face?”

“The lenses,” Zane replied. “Part of that stolen prototype. Designed to see through walls by detecting movement vibrations. Distorts the wearer’s eyes in reflections.”

Eli scratched his head. “And the whole ‘walls remember’ thing?”

Zane smiled faintly. “A message. From someone who knew I’d take this personally. And yes, Eli, I do know who.”

Eli waited. “And…?”

Zane just sipped his coffee. “Some answers are for later.”

The Parting Words

Lyra stood by the window, watching the last traces of storm fade over the city. “You’re not going to tell us everything, are you?” she asked quietly.

Zane joined her, his reflection beside hers in the glass. “No. Because some truths… are safer as shadows.”

Eli groaned. “You love being mysterious.”

Zane’s smile was small, but it carried the weight of the night’s events. “Mystery, Eli, isn’t about what you don’t know. It’s about what you know… and can’t yet explain.”

The rain stopped entirely. The city glistened below. And the case of the third footstep was over.

For now.