Chapter 11: The Sound of Silence

It started with a single click—a barely noticeable sound, like a tap of a finger on glass. I had been sitting in the corner of my room, the dull light from the desk lamp casting faint shadows on the walls. The room was quiet, save for the hum of the city in the distance, but this sound was sharper, intentional, and I couldn't shake the feeling that it was meant for me. It was the kind of sound that burrows itself into your subconscious, embedding in your thoughts like a splinter.

At first, I brushed it off. It was probably the pipes or maybe the ancient heater clanking in the walls again. But then I heard it again. This time it was louder—a deliberate knock, as if someone was rapping their knuckles on the window. My heart skipped, and a strange chill ran up my spine. The window was closed. No one could be out there, not on the third floor of an apartment complex with nothing but cold concrete outside.

I tried to focus on my work, staring blankly at the lines of text on my screen, but I couldn't concentrate. The knock came again, and now there was no mistaking it. I was no longer alone in my space.

I stood up, trying to rationalize the noise, but something about it made my skin crawl. It was too rhythmic, too purposeful, like someone or something was trying to get my attention. I walked slowly toward the window, my bare feet brushing against the cold floor. There was nothing there. I peered out into the night, seeing nothing but the shadows of nearby buildings and the faint glow of streetlights far below. The world outside was dark and still, but the air inside felt heavy, thick with something I couldn't name.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it—just a flicker, like a reflection in the glass. A shape, human-like but indistinct, standing behind me. I spun around, my pulse racing, but there was nothing. The room was empty. Just me and the silence, thick and oppressive now, pressing against my chest.

I exhaled, shaking my head. This had to be exhaustion, stress from too many nights without proper sleep. I went back to my desk, telling myself it was just my mind playing tricks on me, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching me. I sat down, trying to convince myself that there was nothing wrong. Just a knock. Just a flicker. Nothing more.

The knock came again—louder this time, more insistent. I stared at the window, heart pounding. I didn't want to go near it again, but I couldn't ignore it. Something was out there. Or was it inside? I couldn't tell anymore.

Suddenly, the light flickered, plunging the room into momentary darkness. Panic gripped me. I reached for my phone, but when the light returned, it was dimmer, weaker. My reflection in the window stared back at me, distorted, but I noticed something—someone else in the reflection.

A face, twisted and wrong, with sunken eyes staring directly at me from behind my own image.

I gasped, stumbling backward, nearly knocking over the chair. The face vanished as quickly as it had appeared, but the memory of it clung to me. My reflection, once familiar, felt foreign now, like the person I saw wasn't me. There was something in the room with me, something unseen but undeniably present.

I backed away, heart hammering in my chest. The air around me felt charged, as if the atmosphere itself had turned against me. My vision blurred for a moment, and in that instant, I could swear the room darkened even more. The shadows on the walls seemed to stretch, reaching toward me, flickering in unnatural patterns.

And then it happened.

The knock transformed into a loud, thunderous bang that echoed through the room. The glass on the window cracked, a spiderweb of fractures spreading across the surface, and with it came a sound—soft at first but unmistakable. A voice. Whispering my name.

My legs moved on their own. I grabbed my jacket, phone, keys—whatever I could reach—and bolted out the door, slamming it shut behind me. My breath came in short gasps as I fled down the hallway, barely glancing at the shadows lurking around each corner. The sound of my name continued to echo in my ears, now louder, relentless. It wasn't in the room. It was inside me.

I burst out of the apartment building and into the freezing night air, clutching my arms to my chest. The city looked the same—lights, people, cars passing by—but something was off, as if the world had shifted just slightly out of place. I couldn't shake the feeling that the distance I'd put between me and the apartment wasn't enough.

The face. The eyes. The voice.

I couldn't go back. I couldn't face whatever that thing was, but I didn't know where to go. My mind raced, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Maybe I was going crazy. Maybe I had imagined the whole thing. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't convince myself it wasn't real. I had seen something—something unnatural, something wrong.

I wandered the streets for hours, aimless and shaken. Every reflection I passed—a window, a puddle—seemed off, like they were watching me. Waiting. I could feel their eyes, following me wherever I went.

And then, as dawn began to break, something clicked. The realization was slow, creeping over me like a cold hand. The sound, the knocks—it hadn't come from outside.

It had come from within.

My thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of my phone in my pocket. I pulled it out, the screen lighting up with a message. My breath caught in my throat as I read the words.

"I'm waiting."

No name. No number. Just those words.

I looked around, but the streets were empty now, the morning still quiet. My hands trembled as I slipped the phone back into my pocket. I knew, deep down, that this wasn't over. Whatever it was, it wasn't done with me yet.

And neither was I.