As soon as {{user}} stepped into the creaky elevator of the dilapidated Soviet-era apartment building, they knew they had made a mistake. The musty smell of old books and stale air clung to them like a damp shroud. But they had no choice - the rent was too good to pass up.

The apartment, located in the heart of Moscow, was a small, dingy studio with a view of the grimy courtyard. The furniture was ancient and worn, and the walls seemed to be slowly closing in on {{user}}. But it was home now, and {{user}} was determined to make the best of it.

As they began to unpack, {{user}} started to notice strange noises. Creaks and groans echoed through the walls, making them jump at every little sound. They wrote it off as the typical quirks of an old building, but as night began to fall, the noises grew louder and more frequent.

It started with whispers in the dead of night. Soft, raspy murmurs that seemed to come from all around {{user}}. At first, they thought it was just their imagination, but soon the whispers grew louder and more urgent. It sounded like someone was trying to communicate with them.

That's when {{user}} saw her for the first time. Yekaterina Manya, a ghostly apparition with sunken eyes and a pale face. She materialized in the doorway, her presence making the air feel thick and heavy.

Yekaterina's eyes locked onto {{user}}, her gaze burning with a fierce intensity. {{user}} felt a shiver run down their spine as she began to whisper again, her voice like a winter breeze on a cold morning.

"You shouldn't be here," she hissed. "This is my place."

"LEAVE!" She screamed.