A sharp knock shattered his spiraling thoughts.
James froze. He turned toward the door, his breath caught in his throat. It was too soon. Kyro couldn't have arrived yet—he lived clear across town, near campus, and James had only called him fifteen minutes ago.
The knock came again, louder this time.
James shot to his feet, his pulse roaring in his ears. Without thinking, he grabbed the knife from the kitchen counter—a small, sharp blade, but better than nothing. His steps were deliberate but hesitant as he approached the door.
"Who's there?" he called out, his voice firmer than he felt.
No answer.
The silence was worse than any reply. James tightened his grip on the knife and stepped closer. The peephole felt too small, too useless. He hesitated, considering whether to look or not, his breath shallow.
The knock came a third time, slower, deliberate.
James's throat went dry. He reached for the doorframe to steady himself, the knife now slick in his trembling hand. He swallowed hard, pressing his eye to the peephole.
The porch light flickered faintly, casting shadows across the narrow walkway. No one stood directly in front of the door, but just as James started to step back, something moved—just at the edge of his vision.
"James…"
The voice was barely audible, a low rasp that sent chills racing down his spine.
He stumbled back from the door, nearly dropping the knife. His mind screamed at him to run, but his legs were rooted to the spot.
"James…" the voice called again, closer this time, though the door remained shut.
It wasn't Kyro. It wasn't anyone he knew.
James clenched his jaw, forcing himself to take slow, steady breaths. Don't panic. Think. Whoever—or whatever—was out there, he couldn't let them see his fear.
Then, the voice came again, louder this time, and with a tone that sent his heart plummeting:
"James, let me in."
It sounded like Kyro.
James's grip on the knife faltered. Was it possible Kyro had made it here that fast? But why didn't he call first? And why would he try to scare him like this?
"Kyro?" he called, his voice cracking.
No answer.
His phone vibrated on the table behind him, the sound making him jump. He spun around and snatched it up, his shaking fingers barely managing to unlock the screen.
It was a text—from Kyro.
"Almost there, give me forty minutes. Hang tight. Be careful."
James's blood ran cold.
The voice outside laughed—a deep, guttural sound that didn't belong to Kyro or anyone else he recognized.
The laughter stopped abruptly, replaced by a whisper that seeped through the cracks in the door:
"You're next."
Before James could react, the lights in the house flickered and died, plunging the room into darkness.
***********************************************
The mocking laughter still echoed in his ears, low and guttural, like it had seeped into the walls themselves. His phone buzzed again on the table, but he couldn't bring himself to check it.
And then he heard it.
Creeeak.
A sound from upstairs, faint but unmistakable. The floorboards groaned, as if someone—or something—was moving above him.
James's breath hitched, his gaze snapping upward to the ceiling. The faint thud of footsteps followed, deliberate and unhurried, each one driving his heartbeat faster. He hadn't gone upstairs in days. He'd kept the door to the attic firmly shut. No one should be up there.
His legs felt like lead as he turned toward the staircase. The knife trembled in his grip, sweat slicking his palm. The house was silent now, save for the pounding in his chest.
And then it came again.
Creeeak.
This time, the sound was closer—near the landing at the top of the stairs.
"Who's there?" James managed to choke out, his voice barely above a whisper.
No reply.
He took a cautious step forward, his shoes brushing against the wooden floor. The house felt colder now, the chill seeping into his skin. He told himself to stay calm, to think rationally, but every fiber of his being screamed at him to run.
As he reached the base of the stairs, a shadow shifted at the top.
It wasn't the flicker of the light or a trick of his imagination—someone was up there. Tall and hunched, the figure stood just beyond the reach of the dim hallway light.
James's breath caught in his throat as the shadow moved, stepping forward just enough for him to see it.
The figure held a hammer.
James stumbled back, nearly dropping the knife. His legs felt like jelly, his body refusing to obey his commands. He tried to convince himself it was a hallucination, a product of his fear, but the way the figure tilted its head, almost curiously, told him otherwise.
The laughter started again, soft and sinister.
"Are you scared, James?" the voice drawled, taunting. It was the same voice he'd heard at the door, but now it seemed to echo from every corner of the house. "You should be."
James's lips moved, but no sound came out. His mind raced for an explanation, for some shred of logic to cling to, but nothing made sense.
The figure took another step forward, the hammer gleaming faintly in the darkness. James backed away, his legs shaking so badly he could barely keep his balance.
"Stay away!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "I—I'll call the police!"
The laughter grew louder, crueler. "Call them. Do you think they'll get here in time? Do you think they can save you? Okay, but if it makes you feel better, they are already on their way here."
The shadow loomed larger, descending the stairs with slow, deliberate steps. Each footfall was accompanied by that dreadful creaking sound, like the house itself was bending under the weight of whatever nightmare had come to life.
James's knees buckled as he tried to retreat further, his back hitting the edge of the dining table. The knife slipped from his grip, clattering to the floor. His vision blurred as the figure stopped halfway down the stairs, staring at him.
"You're so fragile," the voice whispered, almost pitying. "So easy to break."
James's fear reached its peak, overwhelming him. His legs gave out completely, and he collapsed to the floor, the cold wood pressing against his palms. his limbs were too weak, paralyzed by terror.
The masked man approached him silently with very calculating steps.
" How about we give your little friend Kyro a show when he arrives, shall we?"
He pulls out a rope before hitting James square in the head, making him lose consciousness almost immediately.