11:59

11:59. My chest seizes. My phone vibrates across the sheets. I can’t move.

The screen is glowing in the dark, pale and sickly. One new message waits.

Don’t.

The word stares back at me, frozen on the screen. I lie in bed staring back at it. My legs are stiff under the blankets.

My fingers really want to swipe the screen. But for some reason, I can’t. The blanket clings to my legs, heavy and suffocating.

My chest tightens. Each breath scrapes in and out. The light from my phone warps the ceiling above me. I want to look but I just cannot do it.

I stay under the blankets, rigid as if the mattress has swallowed me whole. The house is making noises that I usually ignore. I can hear the pipes creaking and the refrigerator humming. The ceiling fan whirs above me.

The shadows on the walls are moving like fingers. They seem to be reaching for something. I don’t know what it is. The mattress trembles as the phone rattles against the wood frame.

Don’t.

I pull my knees up to my chest. The blankets smell like detergent. Also something else. It smells like fear. My thoughts trip over each other. I think someone is outside my house. I imagine them watching me, waiting for me to make a mistake.

The night feels like it is breathing through the walls. It is whispering secrets that I cannot hear. I am trying to tell myself that it is a joke. My gut is telling me that something is wrong.

Something is waiting. It knows I can feel it. The quiet isn’t empty—it’s listening back. Soon as the clock says 11:59 I stare at it. I am counting every second.

A low buzzing crawls up my arm and into my chest. I put my hand over the phone. It does not stop vibrating. It feels alive and scary.

Then it stops. The house is silent. I try to breathe. A cold pressure settles behind my ribs.. My eyes are stinging from tension.

I cannot sleep. I cannot ignore the message. 11:59. The minutes are crawling towards 12. The seconds are stretching out like rubber.

Then I hear a sound. A small metallic snap.

Click.

It is soft and deliberate. At first I think it is just the floor creaking. Then it happens again. Click. Click. It is coming from the hallway.

My legs are already off the bed. My fingers are curled into the sheets. My heart is pounding against my ribs.

Click. Click. Click. The sound is getting louder. It is more deliberate. Something is walking outside the door.

Every click vibrates through the floor, and it goes right up to my toes. My skin is getting all prickly. My hair is standing up like someone is lightly touching it. I can hear the heater humming and the shutter creaking. It is like someone is walking towards me one step at a time.

It’s coming from the hallway. The sound is pulsing through the floorboards and the walls. It is like a rhythm.. Then it stops. It is outside my bedroom door.

A weight presses on my sternum, making each breath a fight.

I stay under the blankets, rigid as if the mattress has swallowed me whole as the shadows crawl across the floor, stretching and twisting. The walls seem to breathe, and the dark… grows closer. The ceiling seems to be breathing. My bedroom does not feel like mine anymore. Click. The door handle is moving. It is turning slowly.

I press myself against the wall behind the bed. I am holding my breath. The sound is moving along the floor. It is passing my door. Coming closer. I lock in place, eyes burning, breath trapped halfway in my lungs. My mouth is dry. My chest is tight. My body wants to run.

Then there is silence. My phone is vibrating again. 11:59. There is a shadow on the screen. It is moving slightly. It is like liquid darkness. It is pulsing with intention. I jerk back. The shadow disappears. The lights flicker. Click.

It hits me.

Whatever it is… it is inside the walls.

Not outside. Not under the floor. Inside the walls. Behind the plaster and the wiring. Something is waiting inside the walls. Something that knows me.

My mind is going crazy. The noises—are they real, or is my brain inventing them? I know every creak and groan in this house… yet none of them sound like this. The drywall shifts almost imperceptibly, like something inside has just leaned against it.

Every time my heart beats it is, like a warning. I feel like someone is watching me even though I do not see anyone. I can feel their eyes on me. It is like they know everything I am doing.

The clock says 12:00. The vibration stops. The shadow vanishes. I exhale slowly. My body is trembling. My throat aches. My hands feel numb. I think it is over.. Then I hear it. Breathing.. Controlled. Not mine.

My body freezes. I cannot make a sound. Click. The walls are shivering. Something is pressing through the drywall. It is subtle. I can see it. Something is reaching through.

Fingers.

Long, thin fingers pressing through the drywall.

I press my hands against my face. I try to scream. My voice does not come out. My mind is racing. This is impossible. No one can live in a wall. Click. The hand is pressing again. It is closer this time. It is testing me. Waiting for me to flinch.

The shadow recedes. The wall smooths itself out. My bedroom is empty and quiet. Moonlight is stretching across the floor. My heart is hammering. My phone is vibrating again. 12:01. No message. Just silence.

I know I cannot stay. I grab my jacket and my shoes and my keys. I step into the hallway. The house is silent. The air tastes metallic. The floorboards are solid, beneath my feet.

Click. The sound is moving above me.. Deliberate.. Waiting. I run. I run fast. I run out the door. Into the night.

The cool night air hits me. My lungs expand, my chest heaves. I glance in the rear view mirror. A shadow flickers—but the street is empty.

I did not catch a glimpse of the thing that caused terror throughout my body. But, I know it saw me.

The phone buzzes again.

I look down.

The screen lights up.

Too late.

For a moment I think it’s another message.

Then I notice the reflection in the black glass.

Something behind me.

Inside the car.

The air is colder—not just tonight, but in the spaces I didn’t notice I’d been avoiding. I know now that some fears don’t leave, even when the shadow does.