The Empty Apartment in Prague (a Korean horror story)

Okay so this is a Korean horror story set in Prague and I cannot stop thinking about it. Buckle up.

Minjun was an art history exchange student from Korea, and the apartment he found in Prague was honestly a steal. 4th floor of an old stone building in Malá Strana. Way too spacious, way too cheap for a broke student. Quiet alley off the tourist zone, and from the window you could see the spires of Prague Castle in the distance. Dream setup.

The landlady was this old woman with a Czech accent so thick he could barely understand her English. She handed him the key (heavy iron thing shaped like a rusted eagle's claw) and stressed ONE thing.

Never leave the door open. Not even for a second.

Minjun just nodded. Old Eastern European lady being superstitious, whatever.

The first month was magical. He crossed the Charles Bridge every day, sketched the astronomical clock tower, filled his sketchbook with the moody romantic vibes of the city. His apartment felt like a secret pocket of time, creaky floors, old furniture worn smooth by hands that weren't his, soot on the fireplace. He loved every inch of it.

Then small things started happening.

He'd come home and something would be *slightly* off. A book he left on the desk would be back on the shelf. A teacup he dumped in the sink would be washed and sitting on the rack. At first he blamed himself. New country, jetlag, whatever. But it kept happening.

One night he woke up to piano music. Faint, coming through the wall from next door. Chopin's Nocturne. Clumsy, amateur playing.

Problem. The landlady had told him the apartment next door had been empty for YEARS.

He got up, looked through the peephole. Pitch black hallway, nobody there. But when he pressed his ear to the door, the piano was still playing. Clear as day. Right through the wall.

After that, the piano became a nightly thing.

He started feeling watched. Constantly. In the shower. Falling asleep. That creepy cold-air-behind-you feeling where you keep whipping your head around. He googled it. Found a bunch of posts about exchange students getting "isolation-induced paranoia." Told himself it was just loneliness playing tricks.

Then the sketchbook thing happened.

He had this habit of flipping through his drawings before bed. One night he found a drawing he did NOT remember making.

A self portrait. Him, sitting by the window, looking out with zero expression. The linework was his. The composition was his. But the *feeling* of it was cold. Empty. Like someone had drawn a mannequin wearing his face. He stayed up all night trying to remember drawing it. Nothing.

A few days later, another new drawing. The interior of his apartment this time. Him asleep in bed. And a black figure standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at him.

His heart stopped.

This wasn't paranoia. Someone, or something, was coming into his apartment. Touching his things. Drawing in his sketchbook. Watching him sleep.

That evening his girlfriend back in Korea video called him. Furious.

"Minjun, what is WRONG with you lately?"

"What? Nothing's wrong??"

"Don't lie. I saw the messages you sent this morning. If you want to break up just SAY it, why are you being so cold???"

He had no idea what she meant. He'd been buried in assignments all day, hadn't even touched his phone. She sent him screenshots.

He froze.

The conversation was from that morning. His exact texting style. His emojis. His little verbal tics. Everything identical. But the words were things he'd never said. Cold. Cruel. Detached.

And that's when it clicked.

Something in this apartment was wearing his face. Using his voice. Slowly eating into his life piece by piece. The piano next door. The self portrait. All of it. Traces of the *other him*.

He needed to LEAVE. Right now.

He threw on his coat, ran to the door, jammed the key in, turned it. Too hard. Too fast.

*Snap.*

The old key broke. Half of it stuck in the lock. He was trapped.

He almost collapsed right there. And then.

From the OTHER side of the door, he heard the other half of the key slide into the keyhole. The lock turned slowly. The door creaked open.

Standing in the hallway was a man with his face. Holding the other half of the broken key. Smiling faintly.

And in Minjun's own voice, flat and empty, he said:

"It's your turn to be inside now."

Two months later.

Minjun is on a video call with his parents. He looks great. Healthy. Smiling.

"Don't worry Mom, I've totally settled in. My drawing has gotten so much better."

He grins and tilts the laptop around the room. Clean desk. New sketches on the wall. Peaceful view of Prague through the window. Picture perfect.

Then he turns the camera back to his face. The screen glitches for just a second. Flickers.

And in that flicker.

On the old wallpaper behind him, you can see marks. Sharp, fresh scratches. Like someone had been clawing at the wall. Desperately.