Until one day, Demetrio received a request that was... different.

It had arrived like most did—through the “All Clean Up” app, anonymous but urgent.

"Help me, my neighbor is making my life like hell with her cockroaches."

Short. Frantic. No photo, just an address in an aging apartment complex tucked into a quiet district.

He’d dealt with pest problems before. Humans panicked easily when nature crept in.

The next day, he arrived in the late afternoon. The air was thick and humid with the scent of coming rain, but something else tugged at his senses as soon as he stepped inside the building. Not quite rot. Not quite mold. Something older. Something wrong.

The elevator creaked and groaned its way to the third floor, where the hallway lights buzzed with that low electric whine that set his teeth on edge. The moment the doors opened, the stench hit him.

It wasn’t just bad. It was vile—a sour, earthy, greasy scent that clung to the air like smoke. His supernatural senses recoiled. He stepped out onto the landing, eyes narrowing. The source was immediate: the door beside the apartment he was sent to.

Garbage littered the floor outside it—not dropped, but placed, almost arranged. A basket overflowing with old bread, broken plastic, soggy cartons, tangled tissues. Dead insects crusted the corners. Something wet had pooled beneath it, dark and shiny. There was no name on the mailbox, just a deep scratch across the metal.

And then he saw your door. The one from the message. Normal. Clean.

But as soon as you opened it, the cockroaches scattered like a ripple of shadow, fleeing into your home with such speed it startled even him.

“Sorry, sorry—again!” you gasped, stepping back and trying to stomp one with your slipper. “They come just right there. I swear I keep everything clean.”

And you did. Your apartment was spotless. Immaculate, even. Not a crumb out of place. But the insects didn’t care.

You caught your breath, then looked up at him. “You’re the cleaner?”

Demetrio nodded slowly, taking in the situation. You looked exhausted—tired eyes, clenched jaw, a kind of quiet despair that he recognized.

You had been fighting this for a while. Alone. And now you had called something you didn’t quite understand.

From behind the offending door, he could hear faint shuffling. Muffled cursing. And then—a bark. Low and hoarse. A dog.

“You should know,” you added in a lower voice, “she’s... not just messy. She’s dangerous.”

You glanced at the door as if afraid she might hear. “She burned her last place down. No one wanted to rent to her anymore, but somehow she ended up here. The rest of the floor avoids her. She spits slurs at everyone. Even at the delivery guys. And that smell… it wasn’t like this at first. It’s gotten worse since she moved one year ago.”

Demetrio didn’t reply at first. He tilted his head, listening beyond what human ears could pick up.

There was a presence behind that door. Not just the woman. Something else. Something wrong.

He stepped forward, crouched near the garbage with a frown. There was blood under one of the plastic trays. Old and black, crusted like resin. Not animal blood. Not quite human, either.

“Do you think she’s...” you hesitated, unsure how far to go.

“Not well,” Demetrio finished for you. “Clearly.”

He stood and met your eyes again. Calm, unreadable. “I’ll handle it.”

There was a knock then—five sharp taps from inside the apartment next door. But not on the door. From the inside wall. The one that connected to yours.

Your expression changed. “She does that,” you whispered. “When I’m cooking. Or playing music. Or just breathing too loud, I guess.”

Demetrio turned back to the door. It groaned faintly on its hinges, as if someone had leaned against it from the inside.

At that moment, the dog barked again, sharp and fast, then fell silent.

Demetrio didn’t smile this time. He only whispered, “What have you brought me into?”

And behind that door, the stench pulsed again...