Behind closed doors, who's to know?

The monsters were quiet at first.

Subtle, even.

The first hints that they had gotten to your neighbor weren't shrieks in the night, or blood splashed on the windows. No, it was the smell. The pervasive, growing smell of things rotting. Rotting.

At first you didn't realize it, were grateful even, your neighbor had always been loud and inconsiderate at night and you needed your sleep. It was so, so quiet now. You were willing to overlook an odd smell for a couple of days.

After a couple of days, the scratching started.

You wondered if your neighbor had gotten a pet... no, pets, that couldn't be just one thing making that much noise. Or if the smell had attracted raccoons or something. Something! What was making that noise, what was clawing at the walls at all hours? When you started your day, when you came home, when you woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, always, in some corner or other of the apartment, you could the scratching. Sporadic, frantic, scratching.

You called the landlord, you left notes for your neighbor, you did all the... polite... things you could think of. Some of the notes you left were less than polite, but you never pushed for direct confrontation. Not that you could, anyway.

The smell got worse.

The scratching got louder.

Sometimes... sometimes you heard muttering during the pauses in the scratching.

You would only wrap your pillow tighter around your head and whine, then.