“It’s just the wind,” I whispered as the footsteps mirrored mine in the empty hallway. The power flickered out, leaving the glow of my dying flashlight as my only ally.
I turned slowly nothing. But the dust on the floor showed fresh footprints, leading straight to me.
The power flickered out, leaving the glow of my dying flashlight as my only ally. Behind me, the old radio crackled to life, playing a lullaby I hadn’t heard since my brother disappeared ten years ago.
In my trembling hands, the photo album flipped open on its own to a page I had never seen, showing me asleep last night. I locked the door and backed away, but a handprint bloomed fresh on the inside of the window glass.
The clocks all stopped at 3:33, the exact minute the whispers began.
And when my phone lit up, the message read: “I’m home now… open the door.”
