Anon's strange encounter while working for an apartment complex
Related: Room 412 (Part 2) , Room 412 (Part 3) , Room 412 (Part 1) , Room 412 (Part 5) , Room 412 (Part 6)
>you didn't have to watch that shit >worked in that hallway every day >could still smell that metallic stink whenever I passed by >crew sent in to deep clean 412 a week later >smell still there afterward >faint, but undeniable >start calling it phantom metal among the other maintenance guys unsurprisingly it didn't catch on and the other workers didn't wanna talk about it either > guess they weren't really the joking kind >that or my autism was shining through too hard everybody just kind of accepts that 412 is a little bit weird >a month or so goes by >get assigned to do some minor repairs on that floor >grab my toolkit, head up around noon >pass 412 without thinking about it >stop dead in my tracks >the door is fucking open >not wide, just cracked a few inches >no lights on inside >dark, totally silent >should be locked if nobody's supposed to be there >maybe the deep cleaners just forgot after they had finished up? >a little weird for them to be so sloppy though when they are like, super professionals >protocol says I should call tin >stupid curiosity says just peek real quick >I'll still be calling it in >they never said it had to be instantly yeah yeah stupid logic loophole I know >push the door open slowly >apartment is empty >no furniture, no staging >bare walls, exposed outlets >except one thing across the living room, mounted neatly where the flatscreen used to be >I spot a small black device it is square and about the size of a thermostat, with a single blinking red fight >definitely not part of any standard unit install >not Nest, not anything I recognize >teal subtle too, almost blends into the concrete wall >get this sick feeling in my gut, like I'm looking at something I'm not supposed to see >step back into the hallway, close the door quietly >pretend I didn't see anything >finish my assigned repairs on another unit