She thought house-sitting her friend’s Toronto apartment would be the perfect post-travel crash pad—until the key jammed like someone was holding it from the other side. Within days, the power started dying every time she touched a hair dryer, phantom hammering echoed through the walls, and neighbors filed midnight noise complaints no one could explain. But the terror peaked the night shuffling footsteps patrolled the hallway, and an unseen figure dropped onto the mattress beside her. What haunts a unit tucked at the end of a long corridor, staring straight at a century-old cemetery?

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