This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Relative-Obscurity on 2024-07-02 22:30:09+00:00.
I met my roommate online, when he answered my ad looking for someone to take my friend Allison’s recently vacated room in our two bedroom apartment.
And while I initially had some concerns about living with a guy, what with me being a girl and all…
…We ended up being the perfect roommates. For at least a little while.
I kept to myself in my room, reading, binging content, snuggling with my cat, and going to bed at an unhealthily early hour.
While he… did the opposite, spending most of his time outside, partying, always returning home in the wee hours of the night. Often with a lady friend.
And despite his sometimes weekly one night stands, which I did my best to drown out…
…He didn’t bother me.
After all, he could have been so much worse. Caused drama. Left dirty dishes in the sink. Done drugs openly. Thrown parties at our apartment. But he never did any of that. He just liked to bring home strangers. It was his thing. And who was I to judge him for having a little fun?
So I continued to ignore his one night stands, throwing on my headphones, or blasting ambient rain sounds, every time I’d hear him and his guest of the week having sex for hours on end.
And for a little while, all was well…
…Until one day, when I heard him leave his room by himself, and I realized that, after months of living together, I had never once, heard or seen a single one of the women he brought home leave the apartment.
Now normally, one could chalk that up to me leaving for work early and just not being there when they left, but the thing is… I work from home. I’m there, all day every day.
So after having that realization, I began to grow…
…Suspicious.
And from that point forward, every time he’d bring a girl home, I’d make it a point to wake up early the next morning and listen carefully all day, for any sign of her leaving.
But time and time again, whenever he’d bring a woman home, I’d never hear, or see her leave.
Eventually, I worked up the courage to ask my roommate about it.
“Hey, did that girl from last night ever leave?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s funny, I didn’t hear her.”
“Oh she left in the morning.”
“I was up in the morning and didn’t hear anything.”
“Oh, right. Maybe it was in the middle of the night. I don’t remember.”
His answers were dismissive and suspicious, to say the least.
I thought about calling the police, but realized I had no proof that any of these women were actually disappearing, or that any fowl play was really going on.
So I did what any right minded roommate would do, and rather than call the cops, I decided to investigate myself.
So one day, after my roommate left the house, I installed a tiny surveillance camera that I’d ordered online in the hallway, aiming it at his bedroom door.
Sure enough, the next time he brought a girl home, and I reviewed the footage, she never left his room the next day.
So I confronted my roommate again.
“Weird, I didn’t hear the girl from last night leave?”
“No? Well she definitely left.”
“I didn’t hear anyone in the hallway.”
“Oh. Um. She went out through the fire escape.”
“The fire escape?”
“Don’t ask me. She gets off on sneaking out.”
“Right.” I replied, not buying his excuse.
So I did the next thing any right minded roommate would do, and ordered another tiny surveillance camera. This time, aiming it at the fire escape.
And sure enough, the next time he brought a girl home and I reviewed the footage from both cameras, neither one captured the girl exiting his room.
Left with no clues, I decided to forget about the mystery altogether, once again donning a pair of headphones or turning up my speaker whenever my roommate would have someone over.
Until one night, when I just so happened to fall asleep without any music… and heard screaming coming from his room.
And not like, sex screaming. Like, someone getting killed screaming.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
My roommate opened the door, shirtless, and annoyed.
“What’s up?”
“Everything okay in there? I heard screaming.”
“That’s embarrassing. We were just… you know. I’ll tell her to keep it down.”
I tried to peek in to see if the girl was alright, but before I could look over his shoulder, he had already shut the door.
And once again, I never heard her leave the next day.
So later that week, I waited for my roommate to leave the house, and snuck into his room…
…Only to find…
…Nothing. Just a messy bedroom, and an unmade bed.
It just didn’t make sense. If the girls he was bringing home weren’t leaving his apartment, where did they go?
But ultimately, I resolved to give up my investigation again, reasoning that I must have been overlooking something obvious that could explain it all away…
…Until one night, when my roommate came home piss drunk by himself, while I was in the kitchen, and I seized the opportunity to have a conversation with him.
We talked for a while, before he offered up something very strange.
“I’m a bad, bad man.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You know. You hear what goes on.”
“What goes on? I’m not following you.”
“I’m not a good person.”
“Oh, come on. Yeah, you are.”
“No, I’m really not. I have a problem.”
“A problem? Like a sex addiction?”
“No… something… else.”
“What else?”
“Well if I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
I laughed nervously, waiting for him to crack a smile…
…But he never did.
He just walked over to the sink and threw up, before turning back to me.
“And if you ever tell anyone I said any of that. You’ll end up like them.”
My heart stopped. He wasn’t kidding. And I had been right about what was going on in his bedroom all along.
My palms started sweating, my heart began to race, and I grew short of breath, as I waited to see what he’d do next…
…But he simply turned around, walked to his bedroom, and closed the door behind him.
I could barely sleep that night… and the next morning… I ran into him in the kitchen again.
He looked like shit, clearly hungover from the night before.
“Hey. Did I say anything weird to you last night? I know we were talking, but I can’t remember what about?”
“I don’t think so. Just small talk.” I lied, before excusing myself to my room.
That’s when I realized that he must have blacked out, and had no recollection of the ominous things he had told me the night before.
In theory, that meant I was safe. But I didn’t care to risk it. And after what he had told me, I couldn’t bear to live in that apartment anymore.
So the next day, I packed my bags, and moved out.
I know in that moment, I should have called the police. Or told someone. Anyone.
But for whatever reason. Maybe trauma. Or fear. I didn’t.
I simply found a new place, in another borough of the city, and tried to start anew.
But no matter how hard I tried to forget what I’d experienced in that apartment, I couldn’t help but wonder. Where did all of those girls go? What had he done to them? And most importantly, what had he done with them?
Still obsessed with the mystery, I sometimes even found myself watching through the footage from the two security cameras I had installed in the apartment, hoping that I’d see a girl leave his room. Or crawl out of his window and down the fire escape.
But once again, I came up empty handed and, emotionally exhausted, decided I had no other choice but to block it all away.
Weeks became months. Months became years. And I finally found myself, forgetting about what I’d heard in the apartment…
…Until today… when I matched with my old roommate on a dating app.
I’m not exactly sure how it happened. I must have just swiped on him accidentally. But all I know is, he left me a message.
“Hey! Been a while! Miss having you around the house. To be honest, I had a crush on you back then. Let me know if you’d want to come back over sometime.”
My hands began to shake as I read the message, and considered my options…
…Visit him, maybe armed, and find out once and for all, what’s going on over there…
…Finally, after all these years, report him to the police…
…Or…
…Just unmatch him.