Soft
261 Words
Darkness swallowed the room before she could even breathe.
The light above her bed flickered once—then died, leaving her in absolute black.
Aily froze. She didn’t move, didn’t blink. Her hands clutched the blanket, knuckles white, as silence stretched long enough to feel alive. Then came the sound—soft, deliberate. A step. Another. Slow, steady, unhurried.
Her throat tightened. “Who’s there?” she whispered, but her voice cracked, barely more than air.
No answer.
Only the faint creak of the floorboards drawing closer.
The scent of vanilla returned—thicker now, mixed with something metallic beneath it. It filled her lungs until breathing hurt. And then, a low voice—right beside her ear, almost tender, almost cruel.
“I told you,” it murmured, the words brushing against her skin, “you can’t hide from me in the dark.”
Her pulse thundered. The warmth of breath lingered near her cheek, though no one was there.
She reached trembling fingers toward the bedside lamp, but it wouldn’t turn on. The switch clicked uselessly, the bulb dead, as if something—or someone—had drained the life from it.
Somewhere across the room, near the window, she heard the faint scrape of metal—like a nail dragging slowly down the glass. Then silence again.
Her heartbeat filled the dark.
And from that silence, his voice came once more—low, echoing, closer than before.
“You locked me out last night.”
A pause. A soft, humorless laugh.
“But tonight… I’m already here.”
- Writer
