Eyes of the Unseen

Chapter Two: The Forgotten Promise (Part 2)

I looked around. The apartment was empty and echoing. Somewhere, a door swung open with a loud bang. I remembered what Yan Fei once said—this place looked like the perfect set for a horror movie.

I had been the one to choose this apartment. The rent for condos in the bustling district was outrageously high, and people were constantly coming and going, making it impossible to feel at peace. But now, I silently vowed that once Duan Yan came back, we would move—somewhere smaller, a one-bedroom, one-living-room place would be enough.

With visions of a new home in my head, I drifted off to sleep on the sofa. Another night passed under glaring lights, restless and haunted by vivid, unsettling dreams.

At dawn, I staggered toward the bathroom, catching sight of myself in the mirror—eyes swollen, face haggard, almost unrecognizable.

It was impossible to focus at work. I moved like a drunk, my steps unsteady. Several files I simply couldn’t finish, so I had to ask Yan Fei for help.

Exhausted by people and their endless complications, I let the memories of the previous night slip away. But when the quiet returned, my heart felt hollow. Duan Yan still hadn’t contacted me. Not even a single text.

By the time I rushed home, night had fallen. There was no one strange standing downstairs. I breathed a sigh of relief, climbing to the fifth floor. The hallway was empty; my steps felt lighter.

I went inside, locked the door, then peered through the peephole. My heart almost leapt out of my chest—she was there again. That woman, standing outside my door. Her bloodless face, her eyes like glass marbles catching a harsh light, reflecting a bright, piercing gleam. She stared and stared at my door.

I stumbled backward until I hit the wall, hands trembling uncontrollably. My knees buckled and I slid down, pressing my back to the cold plaster, glancing wildly around, terrified she might pass through the wall and follow me in.

The phone rang. I lunged for it, babbling incoherently, tripping over my own words. On the other end, Duan Yan sounded flustered. “Hey, hey… what’s wrong? Are you overthinking things again?”

I couldn’t explain everything—the woman drawing closer and closer, Duan Yan’s silence, the calls that never went through, the doors that never opened. I sobbed, breath hitching. “Duan Yan, it feels like someone’s following me. When are you coming back? I saw someone with cat’s eyes!”

As I spoke, I heard something on the other end—a cat meowing. Soft, drawn-out, unnervingly clear. Like a female cat calling in spring, laced with a sly undertone.

“Duan Yan, is there a cat in your room?” I stopped crying.

“No. Go to bed early. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Before I could say another word, he hung up. When I tried to call back, the phone was off.

Outside, the moonless night felt heavy and sharp. I thought I could hear weeping—a child’s sobbing, or maybe a woman’s—low, broken cries that wouldn’t stop. Cold air passed in and out of my nostrils. All I could hear was the sound of my own breathing, louder and louder.

Fear pushed me to my limit. And then, strangely, I felt calm. Perhaps when people are driven to despair, they become brave. Death, after all, lasts only a moment.

I switched off every light, throwing myself into the dark, trembling as I waited for whatever would come. The motion-sensor light outside the door stayed off; I couldn’t see, but I knew she was there in the darkness, her eyes ready to flare like twin sparks.

A shrill scream sliced through the silence. The light outside flicked on. No one was there. Looking down, I saw a cat—its entire body black, except for four snow-white paws. Sweat poured from my forehead, my back, my palms, every pore, sliding down in cold beads.

The meowing came from all directions—at first soft and scattered, then growing into an unending chorus, louder and louder. From behind every closed door, from every crack, the sound seeped out. Then came the scratch of claws against wood—scritch-scratch, scritch-scratch—a chaos of noise gnawing at my nerves until it almost devoured me.

I began to wonder if I’d lost my mind. Instinctively, I fumbled for some way to save myself. I turned on the lights, the TV, hoping normal sounds would drag me back to reality.

But the television was a blur of static, then slowly, an image emerged—a hotel room. The picture sharpened: warm orange lighting, two naked bodies twisting and entwining, dripping with greedy desire. Closer, closer, closer—so close I could hardly breathe.