I had been grinding away at my 9 to 5 job, living a mundane life as a corporate cog, and all I was looking forward to was a quiet evening, just me, my whiskey, and some old jazz records. I stumbled through my front door, carrying the weight of another thankless day. The hallway was dark, save for the dim glow creeping from the slats of the blinds in the living room. I felt around the wall for the light switch, but my fingers brushed against something warm, something alive. Another hand was already there.
My heart skipped a beat. I jerked back, spinning around, but the hallway remained shrouded in darkness. “Who’s there?” I stammered. Silence echoed back. I reached into my pocket for my phone, turned on the flashlight and scanned the room, but there was nothing amiss. Had I imagined it?
Still trembling, I reached again for the switch and flooded the hall with light. With a surge of relief, I figured it was just my tired mind playing tricks on me, my fingers must have brushed against the coat hanging next to the switch. I rubbed my temples, trying to shake off the cold dread that had briefly seized me.
Pouring myself a stiff drink, I tried to push the incident out of my mind. Yet, the sense of unease lingered. My apartment, usually a sanctuary, felt alien. The shadows seemed to crawl along the walls, the silence felt oppressive, and every creak and groan of the old building set my teeth on edge.
Sinking into my couch, I tried to lose myself in the melancholy notes of Miles Davis’ trumpet, but my eyes kept darting around the room, searching the shadows. Each passing minute, the apartment felt smaller, the air thicker. Was it always this quiet? Was that shadow in the corner always that big? The whiskey, usually warming and comforting, turned to lead in my stomach.
Suddenly, the music screeched to a halt. The abrupt silence jolted me upright. The record player, old but reliable, had never acted up before. The room plunged into an even deeper silence. That’s when I heard it, a soft, almost inaudible, scratching sound coming from my bedroom. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I wanted to dismiss it as the wind, or the old building settling, but deep down, I knew it was neither. My sanctuary was breached, and I was no longer alone.
Cautiously, I approached the bedroom door. My hand on the knob, I took a deep breath, and stepped inside.
The room was drenched in darkness, the only light was the sickly glow of the street lamp filtering through the threadbare curtains. I flicked the switch. No response. The power was out. My skin prickled with fear. The scratching sound had stopped, replaced with an unnatural silence that seemed to absorb all sound.
Drawing from every ounce of courage, I used my phone’s flashlight to scan the room. My gaze froze on the sight of my closet door slightly ajar, a sliver of blackness against the grey gloom. Had I left it open?
With a dry mouth, I approached the closet, each footfall on the hardwood floor echoing through the crushing silence. My hand trembled as I reached for the door handle, the cold metal biting into my palm. I held my breath, pulling it open.
Clothes. Just clothes. My relief was fleeting as I noticed something out of place. My shoebox, usually tucked away on the top shelf, was on the floor, its lid ajar. Inside, I found an old photo of me, one I didn’t remember taking. My face was crossed out with a series of violent scratches.
A cold shiver ran down my spine. This was no longer a matter of nerves. There was someone in my house, a real, tangible threat. I wasn’t safe. My eyes darted around the room, catching on the window. It was open, the curtain billowing in the cool night breeze. I never left it open.
Panic surged through me. I sprinted back to the living room, every shadow seeming to twist into grotesque figures. I had to call the police, had to get help. I grabbed my phone, fingers trembling, I dialled 911.
Suddenly, the call dropped, my screen blank. The battery was dead. I was cut off from the world, trapped in my own home with an unwelcome intruder. The once comforting solitude of my apartment now felt like solitary confinement.
That’s when I heard it, the low, guttural chuckle, coming from the hallway. The sound was inhuman, filled with sadistic pleasure. I felt a cold dread, unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I was not alone, and whatever was with me was enjoying my fear.
My mind raced. I couldn’t stay here. I had to leave, but the only way out was through the hallway. I clutched a whiskey bottle from the counter, my only weapon, my only chance. Taking a deep breath, I moved towards the source of the sound.
Stepping into the hallway felt like stepping into the mouth of a beast. My hand was slick on the whiskey bottle, every nerve in my body screaming at me to run. But there was nowhere to run. The only way out was forward.
I tiptoed down the corridor, the wallpaper seeming to leer at me, the patterns morphing into distorted faces. The low, guttural chuckling had stopped, replaced by an almost deafening silence. But this silence was different, it was expectant, like the hush before a storm.
I turned the corner and there he was. A man, standing in the shadows. I could barely make out his silhouette against the dim light coming from the living room. His back was turned to me, his head cocked at an unnatural angle. “Who are you?” I croaked, my voice barely a whisper. The man didn’t move.
Summoning my courage, I took a step forward, my grip tightening on the bottle. “Answer me!” I demanded. My voice echoed around the empty apartment.
Without warning, he spun around. His face was hidden by the dark, but his eyes… his eyes glowed with an unholy light, reflecting my fear back at me. His mouth twisted into a grotesque grin. It was like looking into the face of madness, a chilling realization of my most primal fears.
“Who am I?” His voice was a mockery of my own, a chilling parody that twisted my stomach into knots. “You don’t remember, do you, Dave?” The use of my name sent a jolt of terror down my spine. “We used to work together, you and I. Until you… took everything from me.”
Memories flooded back. A disgruntled coworker I had reported for harassment, subsequently fired. Threats I had brushed off as empty. My blood turned to ice. He had followed through.
His grin widened, a macabre display of satisfaction at my realization. “Now it’s your turn to lose everything.” He lunged.
Adrenaline surged, fight or flight instincts taking over. I swung the bottle. There was a sickening crunch, followed by an animalistic howl. He staggered back, clutching his face. Seizing the chance, I ran.
My heart pounded in my chest as I sprinted for the door. I could hear him behind me, his footsteps thundering in my ears. I reached the door, flinging it open. The cool night air hit me like a slap, jolting me into reality. I was out.
Glancing back, I saw him standing in the doorway, the light from the living room casting a demonic glow on his face. Our eyes locked, his filled with hatred, mine with terror. Then, he stepped back, the door slowly closing between us.
I stood there, in the quiet of the night, the horrifying reality sinking in. I had come face to face with a nightmare, a living, breathing terror. My sanctuary, my home, had become a house of horrors. And it was still out there, lurking in the shadows. Waiting.
I knew then that the nightmare was far from over. It had only just begun. The terror of the unknown, of what he would do next, hung over me like a specter. But for now, I was alive, out in the open. I turned, moving into the night, knowing I had survived… for now.