The bright rays of sunlight hit my eyes before my alarm goes off. Somehow in all the cleaning, I had slid the curtain fully to the right of the window. 

  I let out a groan, before rolling onto my stomach and burying my face into the pillow. I lay motionless until my lungs struggle to find any more oxygen. On the bright side, an early morning is more time to continue my cleaning crusade.

  I get to work sorting the larger furniture. I don’t need to keep much really, just a bed, kitchen table, desk, a couple side tables, the couch… everything else I would sell or donate. And after that, I’ll be able to use the empty second bedroom as an office. The living room would finally have enough free space to have a few friends over. If only I actually had any.

  The sound of my alarm snaps me out of my optimistic daydreaming. The heavy weight of daily life hits me a bit less than usual. Sure, it’s time to slog through countless documents and sreadsheets. But at least there’s something to look forward to after that.

  I take a seat at my desk and open my laptop. Oddly enough, my tea mug is on my desk, full and with a hot wisp of steam trailing off its surface. I thought I had finished drinking my tea yesterday? When did I refill that?

  I gripped it with both hands to feel its warmth, and took a hesitant sip. Just how I make it, with two sugars. I really could use a vacation. A real vacation, not just taking a day off of work to play video games and order take out.

  My laptop finishes booting up, and I finally clock in. I open my schedule and request the next two days off— I’ll need as much time as possible to get rid of the larger furniture.

~~~

  The selling and donating of the large furniture only ended up taking a day and a half, thanks to a helping hand from Aurelio. And in return, he ended up one mattress richer, apparently to help furnish some other spot he usually slept.

  As I walk in through the door of my apartment with grocery bags in hand, I let out an overwhelming sigh of relief. I set down the bags of groceries onto the kitchen table, and turn towards the nearby cabinets. They would need to be organized as well. I had the bad habit of carelessly tossing boxes of cereal and bags of bread into the cabinets out of pure laziness. 

  The sudden sound of nearby footsteps stops me in my tracks and my ears perk up. The hollow thuds aren’t coming from above me. Nor from the hall outside. They’re in my apartment, I’m sure of it. And they’re walking away from me down my hallway. Towards my room.

  I inhale sharply, eyes wide. Twenty years in this city, and no one had ever broken into our apartment. Why would they? Whoever it is must have heard me enter the apartment and drop the bags on the table. They weren’t running away or sneaking quietly. Which means they might have a weapon of some kind.

  I weigh my options for a second. 

  Before I can second guess myself, I grab a dirty pan from the stove. I pointlessly attempt to shake off the dry flakes of a long-gone egg, and creep toward the hallway. With the pan gripped tightly in my hand, and my arm wound back, I slowly tilt my head to look down my hallway. They’re not there.

  My heartbeat is louder now, rhythmically stomping in my chest. My vision dances frantically around the empty hallway. I stand motionless for a minute. Ears practically twitching for any sound. Nothing.

  The extended silence gives me a moment to gather the fortitude to push forward, despite the gnawing anxiety. I tiptoe down the hallway. I glance into the dark bathroom as I pass it. 

  Then my grandparents’ empty bedroom. 

  Then my bedroom.

  I see nothing but shadows.

  Peeking into every room isn’t enough though, I know I heard something. And no one has attacked me, so maybe I was wrong to think they would be dangerous.

  Starting from the bathroom, I rush through a full inspection. I throw open the shower curtain, then pivot to grab and swing the bathroom door closed and look behind it.

  I rush to my grandparents’ bedro— not their room, my new office. I shove clothes out of the way in the closet, whip open the curtains, and check behind the door.

  Rushing to my bedroom now— dropping to my hands and knees to inspect under the bed, move more clothes in my closet, behind the curtains, behind the door… nothing. 

  No one in my apartment. 

  I slide to the floor with the crusty egg pan in hand. Just my imagination? The upstairs neighbors somehow?

  I groan and push myself to my feet and make my way to the kitchen, then wearily set the pan down in the sink. My eyes dart over to the front door, and I stride over to check the lock… still firmly latched. 

  I start the short walk back to my bedroom. The unfounded panic had drained my elated energy, and I just want to call it a day. Just a quick glance around my bedroom one more time, before I turn away from my bed and free fall back onto the mattress. 

  Maybe it was the nearly constant silence I now found myself in, which I was wholly unaccustomed to, that caused me to imagine the footsteps. And the knocking. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I had always thought I was the kind of person that would be comfortable living alone. Perhaps the far away sounds were being pulled closer by my subconscious, trying to tell me something I didn’t want to hear.

  Sometime long after I started to stare at the ceiling, my eyes drift close and my thoughts drift away.

~~~

  A whisper wakes me. I manage to open my left eye groggily, blinking away last night’s sleep. The remnants of a dream slip away. It was a comforting dream, and that feeling is lingering. 

  I push myself up and gather a deep breath. My legs swing out of bed on autopilot, lifting me and meandering across the hallway to my new office. My work derk and chair greet my as I stand in the doorway and look around. I hate it.

  This was the room my father was born in, my grandmother had died in, the room I had watched cartoons in every weekend, and everything in between. And now it was a hollow shell of itself, a pitiful desk and squeaky office chair positioned solitary against the bare wall.

  I step into the room and walk over to my desk. I might have enough time...

  Carefully, I swing the chair around and give it a firm push to the door. I kneel down to unplug everything and then grab my desk, pulling it out to the hall. I kick my chair a few feet down the hall, out of the way, and continue my rushed rearrangement.

  I barrel into my bedroom and yank my mattress up vertically, then slide it out the door. It takes a few shoves to get across the hall into the other room. My bed frame gets the same treatment. I bear-hug my nightstand and waddle to my new bedroom, formerly my office, formerly my grandparents’ bedroom.

  I grip the desk back in the hall and shuffle into my newest office, running back for my chair. The clothes will be dealt with later; for now, I will make do with a cluttered workspace.

  I sit down at my desk and shake my shoulders a few times. I need to hype myself up for work. It’s dreadfully boring. I didn’t want this job, it was something I just started working at after my grandfather passed—

  Knocking again.

  “WHAT?!” I yell. I can feel myself huffing, face some shade of crimson. But the constant knocking; really, it’s so childi—

  Footsteps again. Coming towards me. Picking up speed.

  I spin around in my chair and stare at the doorway in horror, into the hall. The thudding steps are so rapid, getting closer.

  How have they not reached me yet in this tiny apartment? I stumble out of my chair and scramble further into my room. Into the corner, I’m trapped.

  Suddenly it's silent again. The only thudding now is in my ears as my heart slams against my chest. I’m trembling. I haven’t blinked; gaze fixed on the same spot.

  My peripheral vision goes hazy— I’m staring at the door too hard. In fact, I feel a bit lightheaded…

  I force myself to blink a few times, then continue to stare for a second longer as if I were trying to trick it into revealing itself.

  It—

  Whatever I mean by that. This is more than just my imagination though, right?

  I stand up and hastily grab my desk again, making sure to keep my back facing the wall behind me. Every time I turn away from the door, the hairs on my neck stand up. 

  I rotate my desk to now face the hallway. I’ll feel safer if I can see anything coming towards me.

  My legs quiver as I stand motionless, thinking. My nerves are shot. I need to rest. I can’t work like this.

  I hesitantly look out of my room and into the kitchen, then scuttle across the hall to my new bedroom and accidentally slam the door behind me. I tip the bed frame back down on all four legs and slide the mattress on top. And then I push the bed against the door. Nothing is getting in.

~~~

  The dark room surrounds me oppressively as my eyes flutter open. I hadn't even realized I was falling asleep. The only light is from the street outside, peeking through the curtains, and from the ancient light bulb dimly lighting the closet. 

  Thank god I left that light on.

  I’m not sure what I would do if I woke up in a room any darker. I pushed myself up onto my elbow and examine the bed blocking the door. Pretty silly now that I want a bowl of spicy ramen and I have to push my way out. My stomach is creaking enough as it is.

  Not creaking, growling. My stomach is growling, the creaking is—

  The closet door. Peering out are a set of murky black eyes, with glowing white irises. Staring at me.

  I scream.

  My hand flounders, smashing the light switch and I hear a crack, then the room is filled with a blinding light. I fling myself back into the corner, fiercely struggling to keep my eyes open and facing the closet.

  My eyes well with tears, and I can feel a teardrop run down my face. My vision is too blurry, damn it.

  I frantically swipe at my eyes with my sleeve, and the closet door hazily comes into focus in my right eye.

  And there’s nothing.

  I can feel my fists clenched, and every muscle in my body tense. Nothing happens. My anxiety ignites into rage, as I leap up and stumble over to the open closet door.

  I peer inside to see an empty space.

  “FUUUCK! FUCK!” I let out through a clenched jaw. If the earlier scream didn’t alarm the neighbors, then this one might.

  “…watching…” a whisper right behind my ear. I jump a foot in the air.

  And then I wake up.

  My heart is in an all too familiar pounding rhythm. My eyes are wide, staring around the room. It is dark, and my closet light is dimly lit. But the door is still closed. And there are no eyes peering out.

  That voice…

  I swing my legs out of bed and tiptoe over to the closet to get a more thorough look. Still mercifully empty.

  Numbly, I walk back to the bed and sit down. I’m not going to be able to fall asleep so quickly now. 

  I grab my phone and fill the silence with funny videos and the occasional burst of music, while lighting the dark room with a comforting glow. It gives me time to settle my nerves and calm my senses. 

  Until I simply can’t hold my eyelids up any longer and I drift back into a deep sleep, my phone dutifully continuing to glow and softly fill the room with meaningless chatter.

~~~

  I wake to blinding sunlight and a piercing alarm. 

  Shit.

  Incredibly, my first waking thought is that I had skipped work yesterday and never told my boss…

  In a heartbeat, I'm up and ripping my bed away from the door. If I’m early to work today, maybe they won’t notice.

  I speed-walk to my desk and launch into my seat, spinning too far and catching myself before spinning back to face my computer. I flip the lid open and log in to see— an email from my boss. 

  A disappointed email from my boss. Who is no longer my boss.

  I read through the email three times. 

  ...vacation request never went through... 

  ...no-call, no-show for three days in a row…

  Why is this happening to me?

  I can’t imagine what I’ve done to deserve this. This bad luck, the sleepless nights and weird noises?

  I glance at my mug. It’s full again, and steaming hot. My head tilts and my eyes well with tears. A shiver passes through me. It’s not full of tea, this liquid is pitch black.

  As I lift it to my nose, a familiar scent hits me— coffee? I hesitantly stand up with the mug in hand and walk to the kitchen. The dark liquid swirls around the sink and down the drain. 

  I stand still for another few seconds. Glancing at the beverage dispenser in curiosity, I push the mug into the coffee slot. Nothing happens. Because of course it doesn’t, I haven’t restocked it in over a year.

  My gaze is still fixed on the mug when I hear a sound behind me. Another sound from inside my home.

  I turn around. It’s coming from the wall, a scratching sound.

  I drop my mug without thinking, and the unmistakable sound of it shattering drowns out the scratching for a half second.

  There’s something in Tthe FUCKING walls.

  My mind is blank. A dull throb taps the back of my eyes and I can't think. I am a sea of thrashing emotions. Resentment, anger, longing, something darker that I cannot name.

  I suddenly lunge at the wall, and my fist swings behind me without thinking. My knuckles connect, and my fury is rewarded with a small dent and crack in the wall. The pain is immediate, and yet cathartic. Tunnel vision, watching my fingers prying into the weak spot in the wall. Clawing at the damage as the sound of scratching continues inches from my face.

  I violently rip a small, fist-sized chunk out of the wall. The scratching is moving. I glance wildly around my kitchen. My eyes land on a thin, wooden cutting board with a handle. Good enough.

  I take two hurried steps over to the cutting board. My feet move on their own, following the noise from the damn wall. I pause, looming in front of the clawing annoyance with my weapon in hand. I take a ragged breath and grip the handle firmly. Both hands above my head, I swing at the wall.

  The cutting board splinters, hhalf now stuck in a new deep gouge in the wall. The other half still in my right hand. My breath is heaving. But the noise has thankfully stopped.

  I lift my free hand to my face, grabbing myself in disbelief. There's an incredulous smile on my face. I wipe the sweat from my brow and upper lip before letting my hand fall to my side.

  I turn away from my destruction. The damage would be easy to fix, I rationalize. I needed that.

  I set the cutting board down on the table, just as I hear the same noise from behind me in the same spot.

  Scratch scratch scratch

  “YOU MOTHERF-“ I choke on my own words, nearly gargling. I take a single step towards the wall and start punching. I don’t stop when the sound stops. I don’t stop when a drop of blood hits the floor. I only stop when frustrated tears block my view of the crumpled wall and I drop to my hands and knees. And then I lay down on the kitchen floor and stare at the ceiling for an hour.