Chapter Four: Echoes in the Dark
313 Words
I started hearing things.
Not just creaks or footsteps—those, I could rationalize. Pipes. Wind. An anxious mind. But this was different.
I would hear a voice. Low. Familiar. Whispering my name.
Sometimes in the shower, just behind the sound of rushing water. Sometimes in my sleep, dragging me out of dreams I couldn’t remember. Sometimes, when I was completely awake—walking down the hallway of my apartment building or waiting in line for coffee. I’d hear it.
“Zariah.”
Always soft. Always close. And always gone by the time I turned.
My world was shrinking. Everything once routine now felt staged. The people I worked with had begun to whisper behind my back—thinking I couldn’t hear. HR had "kindly" offered me two weeks off to rest. I said no. If I stayed home, I might lose what little grip I had left.
Or worse… he might come inside again.
That night, I bought a knife. Small. Foldable. Easy to carry in my purse. It felt ridiculous—until I realized that it gave me something obsession had slowly stolen: a sense of control.
Still, it didn’t help me sleep.
The whispers came again—this time right in my ear. A breath. A name. Then silence.
I woke with sweat running down my back. My knife was under my pillow. I reached for it blindly—and felt something else.
A note.
I didn’t remember falling asleep. I didn’t remember anyone entering. But there it was.
Taped to the inside of my pillowcase.
> “You twitch when you dream. I think it’s cute.”
That’s when the tears came. Not loud sobs. Just silent, hot tears that leaked from the corners of my eyes and soaked into my sheets. I wasn’t safe. Not here. Not anywhere.
He wasn’t just watching me anymore.
He was with me.
- Writer
