“Here, have this!” My new neighbour beamed, holding a pink, flowery biscuit tin.

“Wow, thanks!” I said, smiling back. Excitably, I prised open the lid and peered inside. Chocolate chip cookies were piled on top of each other, still steaming, fresh from the oven.

“No problem!” His smile grew. “Welcome to Flumpletuff flats!”

He held out his hand. I shook it, nodding and smiling, as he did the same. What a lovely man.

“I’m your upstairs neighbour,” he said, “Don’t worry, i’ll try to tiptoe and not make too much noise!”

I felt a polite chuckle escape my mouth, to his pleasure. The nice little man checked his watch, and said, “Goodness, I must hurry off now, good day!” He grinned again. However, this time, I saw something different this time. There was something sinister there, something dark. I tried to ignore it, removing it from my mind, as the ecstatic fellow scuttled frantically down the hall and hurriedly went into the elevator.

The lights were dark, but just light enough for me to see the inside of my flat. It was a dull room, with a few plain chairs, stacks of boxes, and a potted houseplant my mom had bought for me as a housewarming gift. Life just felt so dull in this tiny cramped flat. I shuffled in my bed, unable to sleep. I was hot, uncomfortable and my thoughts swirled around my head as if they were trying to escape. No matter how close I was to sleep, my mind would inevitably flick to the strange man from earlier. He made some good biscuits, I’ll give him that, but when he smiled, there was darkness in his eyes, that I had never seen in a person before. Pure evil. I did think that it was strange, how nice he was to me. Of course that wasn’t a bad thing, but he seemed almost too nice. And when I saw his eyes, I was sure of it, that this was no ordinary man.

It was then that I heard the noises from upstairs. First, a screech, then hum, and then the chanting began. I couldn’t make out what he was chanting, but it definitely wasn’t the English language, or any language I had ever heard before. Eventually, I was going to go upstairs to either, investigate, make sure he was okay, or politely ask him to stop.

What happened to trying not to make too much noise, I thought as I stumbled drowsily out of the door and into the elevator. It rose, then stopped with a PING, as the doors opened automatically. After walking down the corridor, and wondering how the carpet got so dirty, I arrived at my upstairs neighbour’s room. The chanting was much louder now, and it grated against my tender ears in an unforgiving rant. I was now fuming. If he didn’t make those biscuits, then I would be really angry, I thought. I knocked on the door.