Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - The Sealed Apartment 4B Dark Secrets, Unseen Horrors, and a Deathly Cold Presence #63

Episode Date: July 17, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales#hauntedapartment #sealedroommystery #paranormalpresence #urbanhorror #coldentity  The Sealed Apartment 4B: Dark Secrets, Unseen Horrors, and a Deathly Cold PresenceWhen a curious tenant hears strange sounds from the supposedly sealed apartment next door, they decide to investigate. Apartment 4B had been locked for decades, with no record of a current resident. Inside, time feels frozen, the air bites with unnatural cold, and something invisible watches. Every attempt to leave is met with whispers, moving shadows, and a presence that drains warmth... and sanity. Some doors were locked for a reason—and some secrets are still alive.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, hauntedapartment, sealedroomhorror, urbanparanormal, coldentity, apartment4B, ghostnextdoor, unseenhorror, terrifyingneighbor, cursedbuilding, paranormalmystery, frostbittenroom, entityinshadows, hauntedurbanlegend, lockeddoorterror

The game represents the values and the communities we play for. He was God. We didn't just love him. We trusted him. Most people have no idea what a bad person that man is. How can you do that to somebody? It's a time in everything in the court to be, anybody could be so divies to tell somebody to have a cancer. I would hate to think that I went through a career

that I pulled a dirty stroke on anyone. Streaming now on RTE player. There's so much rugby on Sports Exeter from Sky, have asked me to read the whole lad at the same speed I usually use for the legal bit at the end. Here goes. This winter sports extra is jam-packed with rugby. For the first time we've met every Champions Cup match

exclusively live, bus action from the URC, the Challenge Cup, and much more. Thus the URC and all the best European rugby all in the same place. Get more exclusively live tournaments than ever before on Sports Extra. Jam-packed with rugby. Phew, that is a lot of rugby. Get Sports Extra on Sky for 15 euro a month for 12 months. Search Sports Extra.

New Sports Extra customers only. Standard Pressing applies after 12 months, further terms apply. I won't give my name or the city. Let's just say it's an old, working-class neighborhood in a city that seemed better days. The kind with old brick buildings crammed together, streets barely wide enough for one car to squeeze through. I'd lived in this particular building pretty much my whole life, or at least as long as I can remember. It was an old walk-up, definitely older than me, older than my dad. Cracked plaster, stairs worn unevenly, lights that flickered on their own schedule,

and water pressure that was more of a suggestion than a guarantee. Standard stuff for the area. The building had its quirks, things we'd all gotten used to. You'd hear odd thumps in the night, the hallway light on our floor would sometimes flare bright then dim for no reason. The cat belonging to a woman on the second floor would occasionally hiss at one specific spot on the third floor landing and refuse to pass. You know, the kind of stuff people chalk up to, the house settling, or old wiring, or whatever

explanation lets you sleep at night. Life's got enough real scares, right? But all those little oddities were one thing. Apartment 4B, directly across the narrow hall from ours, was something else entirely. That apartment, it was sealed. Sealed shut since before my family moved in. We're talking over 20 years, locked with a heavy-duty, rust-caped padlock on a thick hasp, bolted into the door and frame. The wooden door itself, was weathered, paint-peeling, showing the scars of time and damp, but it was firmly closed, and nobody ever went near it. When we first moved in, my dad, God rest his soul, asked the old man who owned the building then, about 4B. Why was it locked up tight, not rented out like all the

others? The landlord at the time was elderly even then, but still sharp. His face clouded over, and his voice, usually gentle, became stern. That apartment is my business, son. And I don't keep it locked to rent it out. You mind yours. That was enough for no one in the building to ever bring it up with him again. The old landlord himself was a bit of a recluse, lived in the ground floor unit, rarely spoke, barely seen. When he got too frail, his son started coming by to look after him and, eventually, the building.

But even the sun clamped up if you asked about 4B. That apartment was a source of silent, creeping dread for all of us on the fourth floor, especially us, right opposite. Why? The sounds. The sounds that came from it. Not loud, startling noises. No, these were quiet, faint, but persistent and deeply unsettling.

Sometimes you'd hear a soft scratching, like a trapped animal, from the other side of the door. Other times, a low, broken murmuring, like someone whispering just below the threshold of understanding. And then there was the sound that unnerved me the most, a faint, electrical hum, or a deep, resonant thrumming, like a massive, distant engine. A sound that had no business being in a sealed apartment we were pretty sure had its utilities disconnected decades ago. These sounds weren't constant. They had a strange rhythm, usually laid night, or in those dead quiet hours just before dawn when the city finally holds its breath. At first, we told ourselves it was just sound carrying from other apartments, through the old walls.

But over time, focusing, we became certain, the source was 4B. Beyond the sounds, other things were linked to that apartment. The patch of hallway floor directly in front of its door, for instance, was always colder than the rest of the landing. Even in the height of summer, When the building felt like an oven, if you stood there, you'd feel a distinct, unsettling chill, like a pocket of winter air. The stray cats that sometimes snuck into the building to sleep on the stairs, they'd never go near that spot. They'd approach, then stop, arch their backs, and either turn around or skirt wide around it,

hurrying past as if spooked. My mom would always mutter a prayer and sprinkle salt in front of our own door, sometimes reciting scripture a little louder when the sounds from 4B were more noticeable. My dad tried to reassure us, saying, it's just your imagination, or probably rats or old pipes, even though he knew, and we knew, that was nonsense. No rats could make those specific sounds, and a sealed apartment wouldn't have active pipes behaving like that. As I got older, into my teens and then my 20s, for B became more of an obsession. The curiosity was eating me alive. What was in there? Why was the original landlord and then his son, so adamant about

keeping it sealed? And those damned sounds? I started paying closer attention, trying to decipher them. The game represents the values and the communities we play for. He was God. We didn't just love him, we trusted him. Most people have no idea what a bad person that man is. How can you do that to somebody? It's a time I never even occurred to be, anybody could be so divies to tell somebody to have a cancer. I would hate to think that I went through a career that I pulled a dirty stroke on anyway. Streaming now on RTE Player. There's so much rugby on Sports Exeter from Sky, they've asked me to read the whole lad at the same speed I usually use for the legal bit at the end. Here goes.

This winter sports extra is jam-backed with rugby. For the first time we've bet every Champions Cup match exclusively live, plus action from the URC, the Challenge Cup and much more. That's the URC and all the same place. Get more exclusively live tournaments than ever before on Sports Extra. Jampacked with rugby. Phew, that is a lot of rugby. Get Sports Extra on Sky for 15 euro a month for 12 months. Search Sports Extra.

New Sports Extra customers only. Standard Pressing applies after 12 months for the terms apply. Was the whispering in any recognizable language? Was the scratching rhythmic? Did the hum fluctuate? Sometimes, late at night, after my parents were asleep, I'd crack open our door and stand in the darkened hallway, just listening. Once, I pressed my ear against the cold, ancient wood of four BS door.

The chill I mentioned seeped right through my clothes. And I heard. I heard something like a clock ticking, but incredibly slow and erratic. Tick, then a long silence, then two quick ticks, then an even longer silence, followed by a sound like a deep, shuddering intake of breath, then the ticking resumed. My heart hammered against my ribs. I scrambled back to our apartment, slamming our door, convinced and I had been watching me through some unseen crack in 4B. I started asking the older tenants, the ones who'd been there even

longer than us. One elderly woman on the second floor, a tiny lady who'd lived in the building her whole life, lowered her voice and glanced around conspiratorially. My boy, she said, her accent thick, that apartment, it was closed. up even before the old man bought this place. They say people live there, then vanished. Just, gone. And they say, God forgive me, they say it was touched by something, not good. When he bought it, he left it as it was. Said no one should ever open it, so the badness inside doesn't spread. Her words chilled me more than any draft from under that door. That old? And what did she mean, that spreads. Our next-door neighbor on our floor, a kind but jumpy woman, told me she sometimes

smelled a strange odor seeping from under 4B.S door. Not just must or damp, but something else, like ancient dust mixed with the scent of burnt wood or a strange, cloying incense. An odor that made her feel sick. She said her youngest son was playing in the hall once and just froze in front of 4B, staring. When she asked what he was looking at, he said he said he said he's saw a faint light coming from under the door. She, of course, freaked out, dragged him inside, and forbade him from playing near Forby ever again. All this just fueled my morbid curiosity and my growing dread. I became fixated. I'd wait for the sounds, trying to understand them. I'd watch the door as if expecting it to spontaneously reveal its secrets. I started dreaming

about it. Horrible, oppressive dreams. I once dreamt I was standing before 4B, and the door creaked open on its own, revealing pitch blackness within. But I could feel something approaching from that darkness, something vast and shapeless. I woke up ice cold, drenched in sweat. The old landlord eventually passed. His son inherited the building. The son was a bit more approachable than his father, more willing to engage. One day, I gathered my courage. Along with two other guys from the building who were just as uneasy as I was, we decided to talk to him, to finally get some answers. We went down to his father's old apartment, now his office. He opened the door, looking surprised. We sat in the small, cluttered living room that still smelled faintly of old books and pipe tobacco.

We carefully broached the subject of 4B, the sounds, our concerns. At first, he tried to brush it off, just like his father, old building, overactive imaginations. But when we persisted, detailing the specific sounds, the cold, the smell, his face changed. The unease was clear. He lowered his voice, glancing around as if afraid of being overheard. Look, guys, my father made me swear never to talk about 4B, never to go near it. He inherited the building with that apartment already sealed. The previous owner warned him, told him never to open it, never to rent it.

Said it wasn't, it wasn't like other apartments. That it was, connected. To something else. Something very old, and very wrong. My father was terrified of it. He said keeping it locked was what protected all of us. I leaned forward. Connected to what?

What do you mean, connected to something else? He shook his head. I don't know specifics. All I know is he feared it profoundly. He said the sounds, they were from things not of this world. And he said there were certain nights of the year when the sounds got worse, the cold in front of the door became biting, and on those nights, absolutely no one should go near it. His words were like

gasoline. There's so much rugby on sports extra from Sky. They've asked me to read the whole lad at the same speed I usually use for the legal bit at the end. Here goes. This winter sports extra is jam packed with rugby. For the first time we've got every Champions Cup match exclusively live. Plus action from the URC, the Challenge Cup and much more. Thus the URC and all the best European rugby all in the same

place. Get more exclusively live tournaments than ever before on Sports Extra. Jampack with rugby. Phew, that is a lot of rugby. Get Sports Extra on Sky for 15 euro a month for 12 months. Search Sports Extra. New Sports Exter. or customers only. Standard pressing applies after 12 months for the terms apply. Don't let foot pain or discomfort hold you back.

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Clean on a fire. My curiosity peaked, but a new, deeper layer of fear was settling in. What was this something else? What about these certain nights? Months passed. Things stayed the same. Faint sounds, the cold spot, a low hum of anxiety among the tenants. Until the event that changed everything.

The landlord's son, despite his father's warnings, was struggling. The building was old, repairs were constant, and he wasn't a wealthy man. He started talking about 4B. Maybe, just maybe, he could open it, clean it out, rent it. The money would be a lifesaver. We heard whispers of this and grew genuinely alarmed. We tried to reason with him, reminding him of his father's words, the warnings. But desperation, or maybe just the lure of potential income, was a powerful motivation.

He said he'd get someone to, check it out properly, maybe even get a priest or someone to bless it before he did anything drastic. He had to find a solution for this dead space. And so, a few days later, he did. He brought a handyman, a burly guy with a crowbar and a power drill. It was a Friday afternoon. Most people were home from work or out. I was at my window, watching the hallway through a crack in the curtains, my seat.

stomach in knots. The handyman seemed unfazed, probably thought it was just an old, stuck door. The landlord looked nervous. They started on the padlock with the drill. It was rusted solid, clinging to the doorframe with grim determination. The shriek of the drill bit into metal echoed through the stairwell, loud and jarring. After several minutes of grinding and a final, loud crack, the padlock broke and clattered to the floor. The door was was now held only by whatever internal locks it might have had, or just by age and inertia. The landlord looked at the handyman, who just shrugged. The landlord took a breath and pushed the door.

It swung inward slowly, with a groan of ancient, protesting wood. It opened just a sliver, maybe six inches. And from that opening, at first, nothing. Just darkness. But then, suddenly, all ambient sound ceased. The distant city hum, the murmur of traffic, the kids playing in the street below, even the hum of the refrigerator in my own apartment, everything went silent. A profound, unnatural silence, like the world had been put on mute.

And it wasn't just the silence. The air itself changed. It became heavy and abiding, unnatural cold billowed out from that narrow gap. the localized chill we were used to, but a penetrating, deathly cold that seemed to suck the warmth from your bones. The light in the hallway, the weak afternoon sun filtering through the stairwell window, began to dim, as if a storm cloud had instantly blotted out the sky. This all happened in seconds. The landlord and the handyman froze, staring at that dark sliver. I stood paralyzed behind my curtains, feeling the same crushing silence, the same invasive cold, watching the

the light fade. And from within that six-inch gap, something began to emerge. Not smoke, not fog. It was like, like fine, black ash, impossibly soft, drifting out in slow, deliberate eddies, as if dancing in an air that had no current. A cold ash, matte black, utterly devoid of any sheen. It began to coat the floor in front of 4B. Then, a sound. The only sound to break that suffocating silence. Not loud, but impossibly deep and sorrowful. A sound like, like a long, drawn out cosmic sigh, or the final exhalation of a dying universe. A sound filled with all the despair, all the finality, all the loss in existence. A sound that felt like it was pulling the soul from my body. The handyman let out a choked scream and stumbled back,

dropping his crowbar with a clang that was horribly loud in the returning, yet still muffled. soundcape. He turned and fled, scrambling down the stairs, his footsteps echoing wildly. The landlord stood rooted to the spot, his face a mask of horror, eyes wide, staring into the gap as the black ash began to settle on his clothes and hair. I couldn't watch anymore. I slammed my door, bolted it, and retreated to the furthest corner of my bedroom, hands clamped over my ears, trying to block out that soul-crushing sigh, eyes squeezed shut against the image of that encroaching darkness. But the silence, the wrong silence, was still there, a pressure against my eardrums.

The cold... You didn't deserve what happened. And it doesn't have to define you. You don't have to carry it alone. I know a safe place where you can tell your story. And you'll be believed. Call the Dublin Rape Crisis Centre National Helpline on 1-800-77-888-8. Whenever you're ready to talk, they'll be ready to listen.

There's so much rugby on Sports Extra from Sky, they've asked me to read the whole lad at the same speed I usually use for the legal bit at the end. Here goes. This winter sports extra is jam-packed with rugby. For the first time we've got every Champions Cup match exclusively live, plus action from the URC, the Challenge Cup, and much more. That's the URC and all the best European rugby all in the same place.

Get more exclusively live tournaments than ever before on Sports Extra. Jam-pack with rugby. Phew, that is a lot of rugby. Get Sports Extra on Sky for 15 euro a month for 12 months. Search Sports Extra. New Sports Extra customers only. Stano Pressing applies after 12 months further terms apply. It was seeping under my door.

I don't know how long I stayed like that. Minutes, maybe an hour. Gradually, I sensed the oppressive weightlifting. The normal sounds of the building and the city began to filter back in, faint at first, then growing to their usual levels. The terrifying sigh was gone. Gathering every shred of courage, I crept out of my room. I went to my front door and peered through the peephole.

The landlord was still in the hallway, alone, leaning against the opposite wall, his face pale as death. He was staring at the door of 4B, still ajar by that same six inches, the black ash thick on the floor before it. I unlocked my door and stepped out. He was trembling. What, what was that? What's in there? I whispered. He looked at me with veysed.

his voice a ragged whisper. Not, not an apartment. It's, there's nothing. Just, void, cold, and the end. Everything ends, in there. He said nothing more. I helped him stumble back to his own apartment downstairs and sat him in a chair. I went back up, drawn by that terrible, cursed curiosity.

The six-inch gap remained. The cold was still intent. and as I approached, the ambient sounds of the hallway seemed to reseed again, as if being absorbed. I stood before the opening and peered inside. At first, only darkness. A blackness deeper and more absolute than any night I'd ever known. But as my eyes struggled to adjust, I realized it wasn't just darkness. It was, emptiness.

An infinite void. No walls, no ceiling, no floor. Just an endless expanse of cold, silent black. And in that blackness, distant, faint pinpricks of light. Like stars. But these stars were, dying. I watched, horrified, as they slowly, inexorably faded, one by one, like guttering candles. I was witnessing the heat death of a universe, the final extinguishment of all light and energy.

I saw, or felt, the very last speck of light winged. out. And then, nothing. Absolute black. Absolute cold. Absolute silence. The cessation of all being. Oblivion. That silent, static view was more terrifying than any monster, any tangible threat. This wasn't the horror of something attacking you, it was the horror of ultimate, inevitable annihilation, the terror of eternal, empty, cold nothingness. I felt a sense of something. of insignificance, of cosmic futility, so profound it threatened to shatter my sanity. My existence, humanity, the earth, the sun, the galaxies, all just a fleeting flicker, destined for this. I don't know how long I stared. Seconds, perhaps. But it felt like an eternity of utter despair.

Then, I couldn't take it. I recoiled, stumbling back, hitting the opposite wall, feeling as if my soul was being siphoned away. I looked at that narrow opening, like the maw of some cosmic beast, waiting to swallow what little light and life remained in our world. In that moment, I knew. Forby wasn't just haunted. It wasn't just a place of ancient evil. It was a window. A viewport onto the end of all things. Perhaps time flowed differently in there, or perhaps it was a fixed point, forever displaying that final silent scene. I didn't know, and I didn't want to. All I knew was I had to get away.

I ran back into my apartment, grabbed a bag, threw in whatever essentials I could find, and fled. Out of the apartment, out of the building, out of the neighborhood, without a backward glance. I walked until my legs gave out, then caught a bus, any bus, heading anywhere else. I'm in a motel room now, somewhere an honor. hands shaking as I type this. That vision is seared into my brain. The blackness, the cold, the dying stars, the feeling of absolute, terminal finality. I'm terrified of the dark now, of silence. I'm afraid to close my eyes because I see it all again. I don't know what the landlord did. Did he manage to close the door? Did he sell the building? Is he even still, there? I don't

know, and I don't want to. The handyman who ran, the other tenants. I can't think about them. All that matters now is how I can possibly go on living after seeing that. How can I return to any semblance of normal life, knowing what the end truly looks like? Knowing that an old wooden door in a crumbling tenement, in a forgotten part of a city, opens onto absolute oblivion? I'm writing this as a warning, I guess. Or maybe just to get it out. to feel like I'm not the only one who knows, to feel slightly less insane. If you live in an old place, if there's a locked room nobody ever talks about, if you hear strange sounds or feel unexplained cold, please, just leave it alone.

Walk away. Curiosity won't just kill you, it can kill your soul by showing you the bleak, cold, silent truth waiting for us all. God help us. I really don't know what else to say the END.