Alice woke up with a jolt, her heart racing for no reason. The red glow of her alarm clock flickered 2:59 AM. She sighed, her throat dry as sandpaper. Reluctantly, she slid out of bed, her bare feet meeting the cold wooden floor. The air was thick, heavy… suffocating.
Something felt off.
As Alice stepped out of her room, the hallway seemed darker than usual—too dark. She reached for the switch, but when she flicked it, nothing happened. The power was out.
She swallowed hard, trying to push away the unease creeping up her spine. Using her hands to feel her way through the darkness, Alice made her way to the kitchen. The silence wasn't comforting—it was watching.
Then, as she poured a glass of water, Alice heard it.
A soft tap... tap... tap.
The sound was distant, but sharp enough to slice through the stillness of the house. Her grip tightened around the glass. It was probably nothing… just the wind, or maybe the house settling.
Right?
Alice hurried back to her room, shutting the door behind her. As she sat on her bed, trying to steady her breathing, a hush fell over everything. The world outside seemed to vanish, and in its place was a feeling.
A presence.
She wasn't alone.
Then—the knock came again.
Tap… tap… tap.
But this time, it was right outside her door.
Alice yanked the blanket over herself like it could shield her from whatever was out there. Her body stiffened as she listened, barely breathing.
Then—the door creaked open.
Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Inside her room.
Alice shut her eyes, praying that whatever it was would leave. But then, a voice—soft, raspy, unnatural—whispered from the darkness:
"I won't repeat myself... come out right now."
A chill ran through Alice. It was neither a request nor a threat. It was a command.
She didn't want to, but her body moved on its own. Trembling, Alice slowly peeked over the blanket.
No one was there.
Instead, she heard them—muffled screams, distant but all around her. They weren't coming from outside. They were coming from inside the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Trapped. Suffocating. Begging.
Alice stumbled back, her chest tightening in fear. She had to get out.
She ran.
Alice threw open the door and sprinted down the hallway, her heart pounding against her ribs. The air was thick, like running through a nightmare. Behind her, the footsteps followed. Fast. Hungry. Almost playful.
She reached the front door and yanked it open—only to find herself back in her bedroom.
No.
No.
Alice spun around, but the hallway was gone. The kitchen was gone. The exit was gone. The house had swallowed her whole.
Alice collapsed to her knees, her breath shaky. The whispers started again, but this time, they were right behind her.
A hand—cold, decayed, unnatural—rested on her shoulder.
Alice turned.
And she screamed.
That was the last of Alice, no one saw her again.