Horror story: the sewing machine that runs at midnight in an abandoned factory

Okay I wasn't going to post this but here we go.

Early 2022 I moved to Changsin-dong in Seoul. Mid-twenties, freelance designer, broke enough that "quiet and cheap" was my entire apartment criteria. Ended up renting a room in this area full of old single-family houses. Very chill. Very... old.

Directly across from my window was a three-story sewing factory. Abandoned. Had been for ten years. 1st floor used to be sample storage, 2nd floor was the workshop, 3rd floor is where the owner's family lived. Nobody goes in anymore. Locked up and off-limits.

Daytime? Totally fine. A little dusty and run-down, whatever. But at night that building got DARK. Like unnaturally dark. And through the grimy windows you could just barely see rows of old sewing machines sitting there. Still. Just... waiting.

About a week after I moved in, midnight, I'm lying in bed working. And I hear it.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

First thought: neighbor's washing machine. But no. The sound was coming from outside. Clear as anything. A sewing machine. Running.

Tak. Tak. Tak. Tak. Perfectly even intervals. Then this sharp little *ripping* sound, like thread snapping. I opened my window.

There was a faint light coming from behind the 2nd floor workshop window. Flickering like an old incandescent bulb. And in that light. A shadow. Sitting at a sewing machine. Moving.

Next day I asked around. The lady at the corner store got real quiet and said "that building... the owner's daughter... something bad happened a long time ago..."

She wouldn't finish the sentence. I looked it up online and found almost nothing. Just one old article. One line: "Fire at sewing factory. One dead."

After that I heard the machine almost every night. Exactly midnight. Every time.

And then other things started.

"This is my spot..."

A whisper. Barely there. But pointed directly at my window, like whatever was saying it KNEW I was listening.

The worst night was during a thunderstorm. Rain absolutely pouring, lightning going off every few seconds. And every time the lightning flashed, I could see straight into that 2nd floor window.

I saw her face.

She had no eyes.

Where the eyes should have been. red thread. Stitched in. Dense and careful. Her mouth moved like a sewn-up doll.

I called the police. They came. Found nobody inside. Power had been completely cut to the building for years.

But one of the officers found something on the workbench.

A newspaper from a few days ago, spread open. With bloodstains soaked into it. And a handprint.

For the next few days the whole block was cordoned off with police tape. I covered my window with a thick curtain and didn't look. Told myself it was over.

Then one night.

Tak. Tak. Tak. Tak.

Loud. Getting louder. Like it knew I wasn't going to open the curtain.

Like it was just waiting for me to.