Alone In the Shadows

The rain outside was coming down harder, the sound of it relentless against the windowpanes. The glass trembled under the combined assault of the downpour and the wind's howling shriek. I clutched my phone tightly, my hands trembling."Cough… so, uh, why is he helping me check on my car?" My voice faltered, growing smaller, until the last syllables snagged in my throat, trapped by an unnameable dread. I already knew the answer, but denial lingered, stubborn as a shadow at dusk."Don't worry, ma'am," the voice on the phone was steady, like an anchor thrown into a stormy sea. "How about I come over and accompany you to check? Would that help?"In that moment, his calm assurance was like a lifeline, something solid to cling to in the rising flood of unease."Yes, please come! I'm in Building 3, Unit 304. I'll wait for you!"I ended the call and moved to the foyer, sitting on the edge of the shoe bench. The silence in the apartment stretched unbearably, every faint noise from beyo

I propped myself up and walked to the door."Who are you? I've already called the police!"The other side went silent.I waited for what felt like an eternity, but there was no sound, not even a whisper.Had they left?Straightening up, I pressed my face against the peephole to check.But the peephole was pitch black, as if someone had deliberately covered it.I couldn't see a thing, couldn't hear anything either.Fear clung to me like a shadow, coiling tighter, ready to devour me whole.Suddenly, a faint light seeped through the peephole.Had they really left?I leaned in closer, my breath catching in my throat.And then—an enormous eyeball appeared, pressed firmly against the door!The person on the other side was watching me too!A horrifying thought flashed through my mind: I'd read online that people outside could judge whether someone was inside by the shifts in light through the peephole.They knew I was looking at them!"We're from property management, ma'am," a

After a few days of rest, I returned to work. On the surface, life appeared to have regained its calm rhythm, but I often woke in the middle of the night, startled, my mind replaying that phone call over and over—the final words of that woman, lingering like a shadow I couldn't shake.My boss must have noticed something off in my demeanor because she called me into her office."You haven't told your parents, have you? You probably have your reasons, but have you thought about how they'd feel? Parents always want to protect their children. They must be worried sick about you," she said, her tone a mix of concern and gentleness.Tears welled up in my eyes. "Thank you," I said, voice trembling.Before I left, she handed me the contact information for a psychologist. I visited a few sessions, and, for a time, it seemed to help. But as the days stretched on, I couldn't shake the persistent feeling of being watched, as if countless invisible eyes were locked onto me.There was also

I moved into my best friend's apartment complex, hoping the change of scenery might ease the weight pressing on my chest. But as soon as the lights went out, the fears came creeping back, lurking in the knocks at my door and the sound of rain against the windows. They followed me everywhere, a shadow I couldn't shake, and my productivity at work plummeted. Mistakes piled up one after another.One night, after what felt like the hundredth bout of sleeplessness, my heart seized in sharp pain, and I ended up in the hospital. Coincidentally, my boss was in the room next to mine, though her situation seemed worlds apart from mine. She was admitted to the urology department and had her daughter by her side at all times. In contrast, I was alone most of the time, save for the occasional visit from my best friend after her shifts.The middle-aged detective stopped by sporadically, reminding me to stay local for now. "We've assigned someone to protect you," he said. "If you leave the city

In the blink of an eye, I had reached the ninth floor.The footsteps behind me were just one flight away.What was it again? What was the number?Suddenly, a flash of insight struck me.I remembered—913!Lloyd had mentioned the room number earlier, saying ours was similar, how coincidental.I turned, hurried down the hallway, and knocked on the door of 913."Lloyd, open the door! It's Valerie! Please, open up! Help me!"My voice trembled, losing strength until it was nothing but a whisper.But then I heard it—footsteps coming closer behind me, echoing from the stairs.The door still didn't open.He couldn't have gone out, could he?What do I do? What do I do now?The footsteps were closer—only a few meters behind!I couldn't stop now. I had to keep running.Just as I was about to turn, the door suddenly creaked open."What's wrong?"He spoke just as the figures behind me were nearly on top of me—less than a meter away."Let me in, they're going to kill me!"The words