A massive snakeskin appeared in the building’s hallway. I immediately posted in the residents’ group chat, warning my neighbors to be careful. “Lock your doors and windows! A snake can swallow something several times its size. This one is huge, and after shedding, it will be hungry and hunting!” My neighbors were dismissive, mocking my paranoia. The building manager quickly followed up: “There are no snakes in this building. We ask certain residents to refrain from fear-mongering.” Hiss. Then what was that sound, slithering in the hallway right now? 1. I grew up with my grandfather in the mountains, so I knew a snakeskin when I saw one. When the cleaning crew found it, everyone else thought it was a prank, a cheap rubber prop. How could a real snake get into a luxury high-rise like this? But I could tell. This was a fresh shed. The snake that left it behind was now even bigger. I had to warn them again. “Lock your doors and windows! A snake can swallow something several times its size. This one is huge, and after shedding, it will be hungry and hunting!” The response was a wave of ridicule. We were in the heart of the city, miles from any real wilderness. If there was a giant snake on the loose, someone would have seen it by now. Mom_from_606: “908, stop being so dramatic, you’re scaring people! This is a luxury apartment building, not a shack in the woods. Where would a snake even come from?” She had a point, but what if someone was keeping it as a pet? It wasn’t unheard of. I typed again, unable to let it go. Me (908): “Maybe it’s someone’s pet. Just please be careful.” The chat flooded with snake emojis. No one was taking me seriously. Only the resident in 707 seemed to show a flicker of concern. Resident_707: “If someone was keeping a snake that big, don’t you think its owner would have been eaten by now?” That quieted the chat for a moment. The building manager stepped in with a placating, yet passive-aggressive tone. BuildingManager: “There are no snakes in this building. We ask certain residents to refrain from fear-mongering.” Just then, my food delivery arrived. I went to the door to grab it. A blood-curdling scream echoed from the hallway, followed by silence. I tried calling the delivery guy. The call wouldn’t go through. A primal fear rooted me to the spot. I crept to the peephole. A moment later, I saw a single foot being slowly, unnaturally dragged out of my line of sight. I pressed my ear against the door, my heart pounding. Over the frantic beating in my chest, I heard a clear, distinct sound. Hiss. No snakes? Then what was in my hallway? 2. The delivery guy was probably gone. Whatever was out there had taken down a grown man in seconds. This snake wasn't just big; it had to be venomous. I immediately called Animal Control, then frantically typed in the group chat: Me (908): “DO NOT LEAVE YOUR APARTMENTS! Something happened to the delivery guy. Wait for the professionals to arrive!” Mike_1008: “Is this some new kind of prank? Maybe the delivery guy is just messing with you.” Resident_707: “I can’t stay in, I have a package to pick up.” Mom_from_606: “I have to take my baby out for his daily walk in the sun!” You can lead a horse to water… Fine. Let them be idiots. I couldn't save people who didn't want to be saved. They would have to face the consequences themselves. All I could do was lock my doors and windows and wait. Then, a horrifying thought struck me. My best friend, Beth, was supposed to come over in two hours. I quickly started a video call to tell her to stay away. She answered with a huge grin. “Surprise! I’m already in your lobby! Aren’t you going to come down and greet me?” “Don’t come up! Get out of the building! There’s a snake!” The video feed froze. From the background, I could see she was already in the elevator. The signal had dropped. If she just stayed in the elevator and went back down, she’d be fine. I sent her a flurry of texts, praying she wouldn’t step out. At the same time, the once-jovial group chat exploded. The building manager posted a grainy screenshot from a security camera. A massive, shadowy serpent was slithering through the halls. Their nonchalant attitude vanished in an instant. An official notice went out telling everyone to remain in their apartments. They started demanding to know if anyone was keeping a pet snake. The chat filled with accusations and panic, but no one confessed. If this snake was wild, it would be even more aggressive. I could only hope the professionals would get here in time. My phone buzzed. A new message from Beth. “Almost on the ninth floor! Come out and help me with my bags!” My warning had arrived too late. She hadn't seen it. Her chat bubble showed she was typing… Then, a frantic knocking echoed from my front door. Was it her? 3. “Beth, is that you?” I yelled, inching toward the door. No answer. Just more knocking, louder and more desperate now, as if something was chasing the person on the other side. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Beth. “Oh my god, Shawna!” she gasped, out of breath. “I heard your voicemail just as the doors opened! I slammed the button and got the hell out of there!” If Beth was out of the building, then who was at my door? My stomach churning, I crept back to the peephole. It was the young woman who lived across the hall. Her lips were blue, her eyes darting around in terror. We exchanged pleasantries sometimes; she seemed nice enough. She’d been texting in the group chat just a few minutes ago. What was she doing out here? “Help me!” she screamed, her voice cracking. She started pounding on my door with her fists, the sound booming through the hallway. “I locked my keys inside!” Her cries were so pitiful, so desperate. My heart went out to her. My hand was on the deadbolt when I heard her whisper to someone else, her voice trembling. “Don’t bite me… I’ll find you more food… I promise…” Then a terrified shriek. "No!" Hiss. Silence. I didn’t have the courage to look through the peephole again. I could imagine the gruesome scene all too well. When the initial wave of terror subsided, a cold realization washed over me. The girl across the hall… she was trying to feed me to the snake to save herself. If I had opened that door, I would be dead. Another victim in the serpent’s path. But wait. The snake had already taken the delivery guy. Why was it still hunting? Unless… there was more than one. 4. I relayed what happened to the building manager, telling them to check the cameras and pinpoint the snake’s location. The group chat was in chaos, residents demanding action. But the management was useless. They claimed the situation was too dangerous to send anyone in; we just had to wait for the professionals. Then came another update. The snake that had been on camera had vanished. They had searched every feed and couldn't find a trace of it. Someone offered a wild theory: “What if this thing is supernatural? It knows how to avoid cameras.” The chat descended further into panic. [Unknown User]: “Is someone in this building raising this thing? It seems to know the layout of every floor so well.” I suspected the same thing. Someone was hiding it. Suddenly, the Mom from 606 turned on me. Mom_from_606: “Maybe it’s 908! The thief crying ‘thief’!” After everything I did to warn them, this was the thanks I got. I decided to stay quiet. A moment later, the manager posted a photo of the first snakeskin again, asking everyone to confirm it wasn't from their pet. I zoomed in on the image. At first glance, it looked the same. But the patterns… they were completely different. My theory was correct. There wasn't just one snake. And the snake that shed this second skin was even bigger. I was still debating whether to say anything when a new message popped up from the manager. The snake had been caught. They attached a video of a small python being wrangled by a man in uniform. It was obvious the snake in the video was far too small to have shed either of the massive skins. But the residents didn't care. They were just relieved. The chat filled with thumbs-up emojis, praising the management for their efficiency. I didn't know what to do. I still had to live here. If I exposed their lie, they would make my life hell. More importantly, I had already decided to stop getting involved. But my conscience won. I laid out my reasoning for them all to see. The manager was the first to attack, calling my claims nonsense and insisting the snake was caught. The property manager himself called me directly, and the moment I answered, he unleashed a torrent of abuse, even threatening me. “You residents are nothing but trouble! I’m warning you, if you want to keep living here peacefully, you’ll shut your mouth!” I recorded the entire call. Just in case. The group chat split into two factions. One side believed me and urged caution. The other trusted the management and was already preparing to go about their day. I messaged Beth, telling her to go home and not to linger around the building. She loved drama, and I was terrified she’d get too close and get bitten. But she hadn’t replied since she sent me an emoji twenty minutes ago. I remembered my balcony overlooked the front of the building. I rushed over and peered down. She wasn't there. Maybe she'd gone home? Then my eyes caught something. A massive, scaled tail, dangling from the balcony of a unit below me. And the sliding glass door to that apartment was wide open. 5. I snapped a photo and posted it in the group chat, warning the residents on the floor below. The Mom from 606 exploded. She recognized the baby bib hanging on the balcony railing. It was hers. A stream of frantic voice messages flooded the chat. “That’s my apartment! Someone help my baby!” “My mother-in-law and my son are the only ones home! Why didn’t she close the window?!” The chat went silent. Everyone knew that responding meant getting involved. No one was willing to take that risk. The Mom tagged the building manager over and over, but they had gone silent again. I couldn't stand it. I messaged her privately, telling her to call home immediately and tell her mother-in-law to hide somewhere safe until the snake left on its own. Ten minutes later, she sent me a friend request. Then she started spamming me with video calls. I didn't answer. In a situation like this, it was every man for himself. I didn't want to get dragged any deeper into this mess. She then took to the public chat, demanding I help. Mom_from_606: “908, why are you ignoring me? Just go check on my son and mother-in-law. Bring them to your apartment where it’s safe!” Are you kidding me? Even if the snake wasn’t in the hallway, there was no guarantee it wasn't still in her apartment. Going there would be a suicide mission. The best thing to do was wait. I had already done more than enough by warning her. I steeled myself and ignored her. Mom_from_606: “@Shawna_908, why aren’t you answering my calls? Are you just going to let them die?” Sensing a new target for their fear, other residents chimed in, criticizing me. [User]: “Yeah, you saw it, you have to help!” [User]: “We’re all neighbors here. Help them out! She’s a single mom with a baby, don’t be so selfish, 908!” The hypocrisy was staggering. A minute ago, they were all playing dumb. Now they were saints. I was furious. I fired back: Me (908): “Anyone who just typed, why don’t YOU go? I warned everyone multiple times to lock their doors and stay inside. They didn’t listen, and now it’s my fault? @Resident_608, you’re right next door. @Resident_605, you’re across the hall. It’s an easy trip for you. GO!” The conversation shifted instantly. The resident in 608 claimed they weren’t home. The one in 605 quickly agreed with my original point. The Mom was still frantic. Her latest private message was a desperate plea. “Please, my baby isn’t even a year old. Please help me!” She forwarded a video her mother-in-law had just sent her. The baby was wailing, his face red and scrunched up. The grandmother paced back and forth on the hardwood floor, trying to soothe him. I quickly told her to have her mother-in-law stop moving. Snakes are sensitive to vibrations. She thanked me profusely, then sent a dozen more video clips, repeatedly asking if I could see the snake. Then she suggested her mother-in-law add me on a video call so I could "keep an eye on the baby" for her. The audacity of some people. I refused, telling her to contact management and Animal Control if she was that worried. Speaking of which, where were they? It had been over twenty minutes. Suddenly, a new message from the Mom. “My mother-in-law was bitten! Go save her!” How? I had scoured the video she sent. The room was clear. A tearful voice note followed. “My mother-in-law said the baby wouldn't stop crying… I thought it would be safer for them to come to your apartment than stay in there with the snake… so I told her to make a run for it. She was bitten as soon as she opened the door.” If it weren't for the innocent child, I would have blocked her. She basically sent her own mother-in-law to her death. “She’s still breathing! She managed to crawl back inside with the baby. Please, go save her! You know about snakes, you must know how to treat a bite, right?” I’m not a doctor. Her only hope was an ambulance. Her crying intensified. “The city marathon is today! All the roads are blocked. An ambulance can’t get through! Not even a fly could get down our street.” So that’s why no one had arrived. The marathon. But why today of all days? She then sent me a screenshot from a video call. In the blurry image, I could see the shadowy form of a massive snake. I was right. And next to the snake, just for a split second, I saw a pair of sneakers. 6. I had a strong, chilling premonition. This snake wasn’t just a pet. It was being controlled. The attacks were deliberate. The grandmother in 606 was hovering between life and death, and the Mom was having a complete breakdown in the group chat. Finally, the management responded: BuildingManager: “Resident in 606, please remain calm. We are dispatching personnel to check on the situation immediately.” Strangely, a few moments later, it was my door that started knocking. I peered through the peephole but saw no one. Yet the knocking continued, rhythmic and persistent. Then it stopped. I heard it again. The soft, dry, slithering sound of a snake. Hiss. Was the snake… knocking on my door? How could it knock with such a perfect rhythm? As I was trying to wrap my head around the impossibility of it all, the management sent another update. BuildingManager: “We have confirmed the presence of two large pythons in the building. One has now been successfully captured. The resident of 606 is being transported to the hospital. We have brought in professional snake handlers who will be conducting a door-to-door search. Please cooperate and open your doors when they arrive.” They even attached a photo of a captured snake. Suddenly, the incompetent, ghosting management team was a model of efficiency. The group chat erupted with praise. But I noticed something odd. The few residents who had been actively speaking up just a moment ago had gone completely silent. My phone rang. It was Beth. The moment I answered, the knocking at my door started again, faster and more urgent this time. I was certain it was a person. A wave of relief washed over me. A man’s voice called out, impatient and gruff. “Open up! Building management! We’re here for the snake!” My hand was on the doorknob when Beth’s voice screamed through the phone. “SHAWNA, DON’T OPEN THE DOOR!”
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