"The evil one wants to kill you."

This was the message I received two days ago. But the strangest part is that it did not arrive on my phone; it was sent via mail.

"Who still uses mail to communicate these days?" I scoffed.

The message was clearly very strange: "The evil one wants to kill you."

What is this?

The sender was an unknown person. Therefore, naturally, I couldn't send a reply.

My response would have been, "Who are you, and what are you rambling about? You seem like a crazy person..."

Thinking about it now, while lying on my bed, I had been hearing a strange and frightening sound coming from outside the window for the past two days. At first, I thought I was imagining it, but on the second day, I confirmed that it was indeed a real sound.

Since I am used to horror stories and the like, I can keep my composure in such situations... But I will wait until nightfall because I honestly do not believe in these superstitions. When I said that this sound is real, I meant that maybe my dad is watching horror movies again, or my brother has returned to his old habit of coming home late.

"I will ask them later..."

I got out of bed and left the room, then headed to the kitchen. I was really hungry. And since my parents wouldn't be home for another week—they traveled this morning to visit my grandmother—I didn't go with them. I decided to visit her in a month; I had to cook for myself.

In fact, I love cooking, and I don't understand why some people think that men shouldn't cook and that it is shameful or whatever they mean by that...

I peeled the potatoes, filled the pot with water, and added a little salt. I cut the potatoes into smaller pieces and placed them in the pot with the water, then put the mixture on the stove.

Well... it was just ordinary boiled potatoes, but I tend to overthink things...

After eight minutes, I turned off the heat and took the pot, then grabbed a flat plate and emptied the potatoes onto it.

I took a can of liquid cheese from the fridge and added a couple of spoons on top of the potatoes and mixed them together. I started eating with a spoon since I had run out of bread.

...

At ten o'clock in the evening, I got ready for bed and lay down on my mattress.

...

In the middle of the night.

I woke up startled by a knocking sound on the door, but today I was able to see that black hand with the pointed nails.

"Who's there?!" I shouted in tension.

A terrifying voice replied in a slow tone, "Open the door; it's cold outside."

"Wha—who are you?!"

"Who... am I?"

"Yes, you...!"

"I am a monster!"

He emphasized the word "monster," which only increased my fear. I composed myself and said, "Monster? What do you want, Mr. Monster?"

At that moment, the monster lunged towards the window and slammed his black head—which I couldn't see anything of except for his oval eyes and sharp, large teeth—hard against it.

"I said open the door!" he said quickly, in an even more terrifying voice.

I was frightened by that and rushed out of my room, ran into the bathroom, which was the furthest place from that window, and shut the door tightly, then sat terrified in the corner.

I began to hear footsteps inside the house, accompanied by the monster's voice saying, "Come out, my friend..."

'How did he get in?' I thought to myself, closing my mouth with my hands.

From the monster's side, the sound of my increased breathing was so clear that the monster stopped in front of the bathroom door and said, "You're here..."

"Are you taking care of business?" His tone became faster.

Then he continued in the same tone.

"Let me know when you're done!"

"Umm!"

"Oh, are you done? I'll come in then."

"No! No!" I shook my head.

The door opened even though I had locked it, and that terrifying monster stood in front of me and said, "It's too late..."