That evening, Lynn tried to distract herself by working in her sketchbook again. If she kept her mind busy, maybe the apartment would stay quiet.
She drew lines. Shapes. Shadows.
When she looked down, her hand froze.
She had drawn the same faceless figure again—tall, thin, looming in the hallway.
Only this time, she had given it eyes.
Dark, hollow eyes staring straight at her.
"I didn't…" she whispered. "I didn't draw those."
Her pencil slipped from her fingers.
She slammed the sketchbook shut.
Immediately, a soft tap echoed from the hallway outside her door.
She flinched.
Then another tap.
Closer.
Slow.
Rhythmic.
She forced herself to the peephole.
Her breath stopped.
No one stood there.
But the lights in the hallway flickered—
And in the brief flashes of darkness, she saw it:
A shadow at the far end.
Tall. Still. Facing her door.
Waiting.
She stumbled back just as her phone buzzed with a new message.
Cyrus:
Don't open the door. No matter what you hear.
As if on cue—
Someone knocked.