A Legacy in Loneliness

By A R Hurst

When Lena moves into her first apartment on her own, she's filled with a mix of fear and hope. Apartment 2B is supposed to be a fresh start—a place where she can build a new life away from her troubled past. But on the very first night, fear tightens its grip when Lena hears a strange, rhythmic thumping coming from the walls. She tries to convince herself it's just the quirks of an old building, but the noise only grows louder and more relentless with each passing night.

Already on edge, Lena's unease turns to dread when she discovers a stack of dusty journals left behind by a previous tenant. The disturbing entries speak of sleepless nights, strange rituals, and a haunting legacy tied to the apartment itself. As Lena delves deeper, she realises that the secrets of Apartment block are entangled with her own past.

Her nightmares are only just beginning when she uncovers the tragic history of her family—a dark, twisted tale that she has unknowingly been part of all along. As the thumping grows more violent and the shadows close in, Lena must confront the horrifying truth: her bloodline is cursed, and the apartment wants her to carry on the sinister legacy.

Now, Lena must fight not only to save herself but to break the cycle of evil that has claimed so many before her. But with reality slipping and the thumping echoing in her mind, can she escape the darkness, or is she destined to become its next victim?

• Language: English
• Publisher: A R Hurst
• Release date: Mar 31, 2025
• ISBN: 9798230153580

A R Hurst

A R Hurst is a writer drawn to the eerie edges of storytelling—where horror breathes just beneath the surface and nothing is quite as it seems. Fascinated by the quiet dread that lingers in empty hallways and forgotten places, A R Hurst crafts stories where every creaking floorboard and flickering light builds toward something darkly inevitable. With a passion for plot twists that leave readers breathless and characters who evolve as much through the landscapes they traverse as the choices they make, A R Hurst believes that setting is more than just backdrop—it's a living force. Whether it's a decaying mansion with secrets in the walls or a fog-choked town that seems to remember more than it should, their stories use location as a mirror, reflecting and distorting the minds of the people within.

Book preview

-1-

Lena gripped the steering wheel, her fingers pale from the cold. She was tall and slender, with sharp features softened only by the tiredness in her dark eyes. Her long, chestnut hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, stray strands clinging to her damp forehead. A faded hoodie and worn jeans hung loosely on her frame, clothes that had seen too many restless nights and hurried escapes. She was exhausted, her body weighed down by the past she could not outrun, yet there was something determined in the set of her jaw.

Her car, an old navy-blue saloon, had seen better days. The engine rattled every time she started it, and the heater barely worked, leaving the interior just as frigid as the storm outside. A single duffel bag sat in the passenger seat—her only real belongings after the fire had taken everything else. She hadn’t been sentimental about leaving her old apartment behind, but the memory of waking up to smoke and the suffocating heat still clung to her, a ghost she couldn’t shake.

The heavy rain drummed against the windshield, each drop blurring the world outside into a dark, shifting smear. Lena pulled into the back lot of the old apartment building, her tires splashing through deep puddles that had formed in the cracked asphalt. The structure loomed over her, its brick exterior blackened with years of neglect, its windows dark and lifeless. The few flickering streetlights barely illuminated the narrow alleyway leading to the entrance, their dim glow swallowed by the storm. The building seemed to crouch in the shadows, waiting.

She cut the engine, but for a moment, she didn’t move. The silence inside the car felt safer than the world outside. Her hands lingered on the steering wheel, her breath fogging up the glass. She reached for the scrap of paper tucked into the cup holder and traced her fingers over the numbers—the code for the key safe. Her new home. The words felt hollow. This wasn’t a fresh start, not really. She had wanted to move on after what happened—the fire, the smell of smoke that still clung to her memories, the feeling of waking up to heat and panic. But sitting here, staring at the looming building, she wasn’t sure if she had truly escaped anything at all.

With a deep breath, she forced herself out into the rain. The downpour was relentless, drenching her within seconds as she hurried to the rusted metal box mounted beside the entrance. Her fingers trembled as she punched in the code, the lock clicking open with an almost reluctant snap. She retrieved the key, its cold weight settling into her palm like a finality she was not ready for. As she turned toward the entrance, a single thought settled in her mind, uneasy and persistent—this place felt strange.

She had almost reached the door when a sudden panic gripped her chest. The ring. Her breath hitched as she froze in place. How could she have forgotten? Her mother’s ring—the only thing she had left of her. Heart pounding, she turned on her heel and sprinted back to the car, the rain soaking through her hoodie as she fumbled with the door handle. Her fingers were stiff from the cold as she yanked open the glove compartment, her pulse thudding in her ears. The small silver band glinted in the dim light, nestled between old receipts and loose change. The second her fingers closed around it, relief flooded her, but it was quickly followed by something else—an unsettling realisation. For a split second, she had forgotten it even existed. That thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

Shoving the ring onto her finger, she slammed the glove compartment shut, locked the car, and hurried back toward the entrance. The doorway was framed by crumbling brick, the wooden door chipped and scarred with age. A flickering yellow bulb cast weak light over a scratched metal intercom, its buttons worn nearly smooth. A faded 'OUT OF ORDER' sign was taped haphazardly to the elevator beside the entrance, the edges curling with dampness.

Lena sighed, tightening her grip on the key as she pushed open the heavy door. The stairwell beyond was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of old wood and dust. The walls were a dull grey, peeling in places where moisture had seeped in over time. Each step she took up the narrow staircase creaked beneath her weight; the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence of the building. The higher she climbed, the heavier her legs felt, exhaustion settling deep in her bones.

By the time she reached the second floor, her breath was shallow, her hoodie damp from both rain and exertion. The hallway stretched before her, lined with doors that all looked the same—dark, unwelcoming.

Lena stood in front of the apartment door, the harsh, artificial light flickering above her head. The key in her hand felt heavier than it should have. 2B. The small silver tag on the keychain gleamed, almost mocking her uncertainty. She’d moved to escape her past, to find some semblance of peace, but something about this building felt wrong the moment she stepped inside. Still, the rent was cheap, the location convenient, and she had to move on.

She tried to shake the nagging feeling in her chest. The air in the hallway was too still, too quiet. The building was older, but even in its age, it felt like something more—like it had a history that it wasn’t willing to share. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she made her way to her apartment. When she opened the door, a wave of cold air hit her, unnatural for an enclosed space. It wasn’t the refreshing kind of cool, but the unsettling chill that crept under her skin, like stepping into a room that hadn’t been opened in years.

She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter. The stale scent of dust and old furniture filled the space. The walls were a dull cream, the carpet a faded tan, worn from years of use. She could tell this place had once been beautiful—before neglect set in.

The apartment was small but winding, its narrow hallway stretching out like a tunnel, leading her further into its depths. To her right, a door stood slightly ajar, revealing the dark, claustrophobic bathroom. The mirror above the sink was clouded with age, its surface speckled with something that looked suspiciously like water stains—or fingerprints. Further down, another door on the right led to the bedroom, its open doorway yawning like a mouth waiting to swallow her whole. The air in there felt heavier somehow, as if it held onto something unseen. The living room and kitchen lay beyond, blending together in an open-plan space that should have felt inviting, but didn’t. The kitchen counters were chipped, their once-white surfaces now a dull yellow, and the stove bore the ghosts of burnt meals long forgotten. A single, old armchair sat abandoned in the corner of the living room, its fabric torn at the edges, as though someone had gripped it too hard—too often. Shadows clung to the walls, stretching in unnatural ways as if the apartment itself was shifting around her, adjusting to her presence.

Lena reached for her phone and dialled her father’s number. The call rang once, twice—then went to voicemail. She stared at the screen, her stomach knotting. He always answered. Always. But now, silence. She tried again. Nothing. It was a small thing, but it reinforced what she already felt: she was alone.

The silence was suffocating. It was a different kind of quiet, not peaceful but unnerving. The kind that made her feel like someone, or something, was always watching. The apartment had an oppressive weight to it, a history of loneliness clinging to the walls. She tried to ignore it, telling herself it was just a building—nothing more.

As she moved through the apartment, her foot bumped against something. Looking down, she saw a small, tattered notebook near the radiator, its cover stained and curling at the edges. She hesitated before picking it up, fingers brushing over the rough surface. The name inside was smudged, illegible, but the pages were filled pages of frantic, slanted writing. One passage stood out, scrawled in bold, shaky letters:

It won’t let me sleep.

Lena exhaled sharply and shut the journal, her pulse quickening. Just someone’s paranoia, she told herself. But a lingering unease settled in her stomach as she tucked the book onto the counter and moved away.

Lena set her large duffle bag down on the counter and opened the fridge. Nothing inside, of course. She made a mental note to head to the store. As she moved around the kitchen, her eyes caught the window—dark and cloudy from the rain. A shadow darted across it. She paused, her breath catching in her throat. It was probably just a trick of the light, she thought, but something gnawed at her. She wasn’t alone. The moment she stepped into this apartment, she had felt it. Then the thumping started. It was light at first, a dull thud that reverberated through the walls. Or worse, her own heartbeat, amplified and echoing back at her. She paused, holding her breath. It was soft, rhythmic—like a heartbeat. Each sound pulsed through the walls, through the floor, rattling her bones like something deep within the apartment was trying to breathe.

The sound echoed in her chest, and a tightness in her throat grew as she realised it wasn’t from the building settling. No, it was something else. Something alive. She gripped the counter, her knuckles turning white. It had to be the pipes—old, fragile pipes. Right?

Lena felt the hairs on her neck rise. The sound persisted, louder now.

But the sound didn’t stop. The oppressive weight of the apartment pressed down on her, exhaustion creeping into her limbs. The day had drained her—moving, traveling, unpacking what little she had. And now this. Her body ached, her mind felt sluggish, but sleep didn’t seem like an escape—it felt like surrender.

Still, what else could she do? She couldn’t just stand in the kitchen all night, gripping the counter like a frightened child. She forced herself to move, walking slowly to the bedroom, each step feeling heavier than the last. But with each step she took, the thumping seemed to mimic her, following her pace precisely. When she stopped, it stopped. When she took another step, it resumed, just a fraction of a second after her own footfall—an echo that wasn’t an echo at all. It mocked her, teased her. The hairs on her arms stood on end as she turned abruptly, scanning the empty room. Nothing. Just the dim light filtering through the rain-streaked window.

Her breath came unevenly as she forced herself forward again. Step. Thump. Step. Thump. Her pulse quickened, and she turned again—more sharply this time—but the apartment remained still, as if waiting.

Lena charged into the hallway; the thumping sound chasing her and turned off the light before entering the bedroom. She nearly bolted the last few steps to her bed, heart hammering. The bed was cold as she slipped under the covers, her body curling inward, muscles coiled tight. She tried to steady her breathing, but the rhythmic thumping followed her, pressing into her skull, as if the walls themselves had a pulse.

Then, as she pulled the covers up to her chin, she noticed something else.

The thin sliver of light beneath her door.

The hallway light was on. But she hadn't left it that way.

Her stomach clenched as a shadow passed through the gap—slow, deliberate. The shape of two feet, moving with an unsettling patience. The floorboards in the hallway groaned softly, one after the other, as if whoever—or whatever—was out there in no rush.

She held her breath, her fingers gripping the blanket so tightly her knuckles ached. A cold wave of dread washed over her, freezing her in place. Her chest tightened, as though an invisible hand had wrapped around her ribs, squeezing the life out of her. Her heart slammed against her ribcage, pounding erratically, threatening to burst free. She gasped for air, but it felt as though her lungs were betraying her, too shallow to fill. Her breath came in ragged bursts, each one colder than the last, as a sickening, hollow weight pressed down on her chest. A sharp, gnawing pain twisted deep inside, and she could swear she felt the very air around her thickening, closing in.

The shadow hesitated. Then, after what felt like an eternity, it moved on.

The thumping continued for a few more agonising moments. Then—

Silence. The kind of silence that was almost too loud.

A silence so thick it rang in her ears. The apartment felt emptier, like something had just slipped away, retreating into the darkness.

She exhaled shakily, forcing her body to relax, trying to convince herself it was nothing. Just an old building, her nerves playing tricks on her.

But as she finally started to let herself sink into the mattress, a whisper brushed against her ear—soft, almost indistinguishable, like breath against skin.

And then—

One last thump.

Her eyes snapped open, heart hammering. She was awake now. More awake than she had ever been.

-2-

Dawn was breaking when Lena finally allowed her eyes to slip shut, her exhaustion weighing heavy on her eyelids. She had barely slept, the night spent tossing and turning in a restless battle against her thoughts of the mysterious thumping noises. The pale grey light creeping through the thin curtains of the bedroom painted everything in muted colours, but it did little to calm the storm in her mind. Her body ached from the strain, but she forced herself to stay still, willing the fatigue to swallow her whole. She wasn’t sure if it was the unsettling thumping or the strange tension in the building that kept her awake, but sleep never came easily in the still, empty apartment.

As Lena drifted off into a brief, uneasy slumber, the sound of a knock at her door pulled her from her restless stupor. Her eyelids fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion. She groaned softly, still disoriented, and swung her legs off the bed, her bare feet meeting the cool, worn wood of the floor. The knock echoed again, she rubbed her temples in frustration and sluggishly headed for the front door of her apartment.

When Lena opened the door, Mrs. Caldwell was standing in the doorway, her small frame barely visible behind the heavy oak. Mrs. Caldwell was a woman in her late seventies with a presence that felt almost ancient. Her skin was pale and paper-thin, the kind that sagged and creased with the passage of time, and her face was marked by years of quiet observation. Her dark eyes, set deep beneath a furrowed brow, were keen and watchful eyes that seemed to have seen far too much in a lifetime. Her hair, silvered and wispy, was pulled back into a tight, neat bun at the nape of her neck, and a few stray strands framed her sharp, angular face. A pair of small round glasses perched on her nose, magnifying her gaze and making her eyes appear unnervingly large. She was dressed in a faded floral dress, its pastel colours now muted with age, and a knitted cardigan draped over her thin shoulders, as though she were preparing for an eternal chill.

Good morning, dear, Mrs. Caldwell greeted, her voice smooth but carrying an almost mechanical warmth, like a well-practiced gesture. I hope I’m not disturbing you.

Lena rubbed a hand over her face, trying to clear away the fog of sleep. No, not at all. What can I do for you?

The elderly woman smiled—a smile that reached her lips but never quite touched her eyes—and she took a half step forward, peering into the apartment as though scanning for something Lena couldn’t see.

I just wanted to introduce myself. You must be Lena, yes? I saw you moving in last night. Mrs. Caldwell’s voice was soft, yet there was an odd sharpness in it as though she had already decided to make Lena’s acquaintance. I’m Mrs. Caldwell. I live just across the hall in 2A.

Lena nodded quickly, forcing a tired smile. Yes, I moved in last night. I’m still getting settled, but so far so good.

Mrs. Caldwell’s expression softened, but there was a glimmer in her gaze that lingered too long. I can imagine. Moving in so late—such a curious time to arrive, don’t you think? The building can feel a little... quiet sometimes. But, dear, you’ll get used to it. It has its charms, in a way.

Lena’s smile flickered, but she nodded. I’m sure it’ll be fine. I think it’s just the quiet that’s throwing me off a little.

Mrs. Caldwell gave a slow, deliberate smile. Quiet? Yes, very quiet, she echoed, her voice lingering with an almost too-patient cadence. Not much happens around here. You’ll find peace, I’m sure of it.

Lena shifted on her feet, unable to ignore the subtle discomfort creeping up her spine. The strange thumping she’d heard the previous night, echoing through the floor beneath her, still lingered in her mind. She quickly brushed it aside. Just old pipes or the building settling—she told herself. It could be anything.

I did hear... Lena began, but abruptly finished her sentence because it sounded insane, ...I’m sure it’s nothing. Just the old pipes, or... maybe someone moving things around below me, Lena said, the words coming

Reviews for A Legacy in Loneliness

[evagibson.scc · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A Legacy in Loneliness by Hurst is a haunting and deeply atmospheric tale that delves into the dark recesses of isolation, grief, and the horrors that emerge when the past refuses to stay buried. From the very first page, the book drags readers into a world of chilling suspense and psychological dread.
What makes A Legacy in Loneliness particularly gripping is the atmosphere. The author has a remarkable ability to evoke a sense of oppressive solitude. The creaking floorboards, shadowy hallways, and constant feeling of being watched make the setting feel as much a character in the story as the people who inhabit it. The slow build of tension throughout the book keeps readers on edge, with each page uncovering a new layer of mystery that feels both personal and terrifying.

[hulmemillie0 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A Legacy in Loneliness by A. R. Hurst completely pulled me in from the first page. The story has this eerie, atmospheric vibe that makes you feel like you’re right there in Apartment 2B with Lena, hearing every little creak and whisper. The tension slowly builds, and the way Hurst unravels the family secrets keeps you guessing until the very end.

Lena herself is a really relatable character, and watching her navigate the strange, unsettling events around her makes the story feel personal and immersive. The writing is smooth and paints a vivid picture of both the physical spaces and the emotional weight of the story.
If I had to nitpick, some parts of the buildup feel a bit slow—but honestly, it just makes the suspense hit harder when the big reveals come.

Overall, it’s a gripping, slightly spooky read that’s hard to put down. Perfect if you like psychological tension and a touch of mystery.

I love how Hurst kept me guessing until the last minute!