My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom - Chapter 10: Chapter 10
You are reading My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom, Chapter 10: Chapter 10. Read more chapters of My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom.
That voice—it hit me like a punch to the gut.
Vincent Lowell was dead. Probably.
There had to be a hidden space behind that bathroom mirror. I couldn't tell how big it was, but one thing was clear—someone was back there. His missing body? Probably dragged right next door.
Then it clicked. A face flashed in my mind.
Pale, hollow-cheeked, with delicate features and tired eyes. I'd only seen him once before—late at night, when I'd rushed downstairs for tampons. We passed each other in the hallway. Striking, sure, but there was something off about him. The way he carried that heavy gloom like a second skin.
On my way back, I'd noticed the trash bin overflowing with discarded paintings.
He'd been standing right there.
An artist. In this dump of an apartment building. Who'd have thought?
At the time, it was just a passing observation. Now, those pieces snapped together into something horrifying.
The missing corpse. The voice behind the mirror. Only one explanation fit.
That artist had been watching me.
The realization crawled down my spine like ice.
But if I wanted to survive this nightmare, I had to follow the breadcrumbs.
The night Vincent died, the artist must've hauled his body through that hidden passage. He cleaned up the bathroom, erased any signs of a struggle. Took the security camera. Then, using Vincent's phone—linked to the feed—he found the footage of me killing him. With my contact info and that leverage, he sent those threats, mimicking Vincent's tone. Keeping me trapped. Feeding whatever sick obsession he had.
Know your enemy. That was my only way out.
But how?
After digging, I found his name in an old exhibition catalog from the local art museum.
Tristan Langley. Born 1995. Twenty-seven.
His work had surfaced briefly years ago before vanishing completely.
Now, he was the third roommate—the one who was never supposed to exist.
This wasn't enough. I needed more.
Vincent Lowell was dead. Probably.
There had to be a hidden space behind that bathroom mirror. I couldn't tell how big it was, but one thing was clear—someone was back there. His missing body? Probably dragged right next door.
Then it clicked. A face flashed in my mind.
Pale, hollow-cheeked, with delicate features and tired eyes. I'd only seen him once before—late at night, when I'd rushed downstairs for tampons. We passed each other in the hallway. Striking, sure, but there was something off about him. The way he carried that heavy gloom like a second skin.
On my way back, I'd noticed the trash bin overflowing with discarded paintings.
He'd been standing right there.
An artist. In this dump of an apartment building. Who'd have thought?
At the time, it was just a passing observation. Now, those pieces snapped together into something horrifying.
The missing corpse. The voice behind the mirror. Only one explanation fit.
That artist had been watching me.
The realization crawled down my spine like ice.
But if I wanted to survive this nightmare, I had to follow the breadcrumbs.
The night Vincent died, the artist must've hauled his body through that hidden passage. He cleaned up the bathroom, erased any signs of a struggle. Took the security camera. Then, using Vincent's phone—linked to the feed—he found the footage of me killing him. With my contact info and that leverage, he sent those threats, mimicking Vincent's tone. Keeping me trapped. Feeding whatever sick obsession he had.
Know your enemy. That was my only way out.
But how?
After digging, I found his name in an old exhibition catalog from the local art museum.
Tristan Langley. Born 1995. Twenty-seven.
His work had surfaced briefly years ago before vanishing completely.
Now, he was the third roommate—the one who was never supposed to exist.
This wasn't enough. I needed more.
End of My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom Chapter 10. Continue reading Chapter 11 or return to My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom book page.