I balance my laptop on my foldout table and chair-- the easiest furniture to arrange.I crack my knuckles and stare at the laptop ahead of me. The blinking screen. The tabs of research. The extra window holding my boss's email with more notes hidden behind an image of an advertisement for some movie I'm never gonna watch. 

I glare at the scrawl of text in my main word processor that's still-- I pause to check- maybe 500 words from the minimum limit. 

Then I notice the goosebumps rising along my arms and I shiver. It's so easy to forget when the sun is out how much the weather plunges when it sets. It's at least a ten degree difference from the day. And with wind chill, that number's only going to be dropping. 

I click the up arrow on reflex. Smelling the musty air of an underused heater doing its best to circulate warm air in the apartment. I sigh and force myself to type again. 

Then I hear it. It sounds like... what is that? Are those animals in the vents? It's this kind of mewling sound. No, not mewling. 

Laughter. Like a girl's laughter. 

I fall to my knees in front of the window, peeking at the street below. But the streets are empty save for a street sweeper far down the road. No people in sight. 

I rub my hands against my eyes. This move must be taking more out of me than I thought. 

I go back to typing. Then it happens again. 

Footsteps. 

I whirl around. "Hello?" Yeah. Yeah, that'll stop any oncoming intruder! 

Nobody. Nothing. Just the musty air of a heater. 

I shake my head and go back to typing. Typing furiously. Fast. I barely register anything but the word count. The looming deadline. There's always the editor to catch it, bless the editor. 

I hit send. 

"Hello."

Trouble is. That voice wasn't me...