Chasing The Echo

Chapter Twelve: Home Is Where the Noise Hides

Amy

The door clicked shut behind her, and Amy leaned against it, her heart still beating like it hadn't gotten the message that she was safe now. Safe. The word had started to sound like a lie. She dropped her keys into the bowl by the door, trying to ignore how her hands trembled. The apartment smelled faintly of vanilla candles and detergent — comforting, familiar — but something about the air felt so wrong. Too still. Too aware. Her phone was still in her hand, that text glared up at her like an open wound.

Unknown Number: "You still like the park, huh?"

She thought about deleting it. Blocking the number. Reporting it. But curiosity bit harder than fear. Who knew that? Only a handful of people. None who'd text her like that. "Stop," she muttered. "It's probably a prank. Wrong number. Whatever." She set the phone face down on the counter and went straight to the shower. Steam filled the bathroom, fogging the mirror, muffing the world. For a moment, she let the hot water wash everything away — the tension in her shoulders, the unease threading in her stomach, the memory of that man across the street.

When she got out, the apartment felt colder. She wrapped herself in a towel and padded to her bedroom. The city lights leaked through the blinds, thin stripes across the walls. She grabbed her phone again — one new notification.

Camera access granted

Her breath hitched. She didn't remember touching any settings. She turned it off. Restarted it. Tried to tell herself maybe it was just an app glitch. Still, she covered the front camera with her thumb before setting it down again. Dinner didn't sound appealing, but she made something anyway — microwave pasta, the same brand she used to share with him. She sat on the couch, the TV flickering quietly. Every creak from the hallway made her flinch.

By 11, she finally decided to sleep. She checked the locks twice. Drew the curtains shut. Crawled into bed with the lamp still on, comforted by the soft buzz of light. Her phone vibrated once more. She hesitated before picking it up.

Unknown Number: "You shouldn't leave your window open"

Her blood ran cold. The lamp flickered. And for the first time in a long time, Amy realized she wasn't alone in her own home — or maybe worse, she didn't know where the danger was coming from anymore.