Duong Nghich Luu woke up.
The room was dark.
He sat still.
He couldn't remember what he had just dreamed.
Beart pounded.
Breathing was shallow, broken.
Bloodshot eyes swept over the wardrobe, the wall, the crack in the door.
Nothing was wrong.
That was exactly why something was wrong.
—Not this.
TING—
The alarm tore through the stillness of the room.
A heavy sound answered.
—Thud.
—Thud... Thud...
His hand slammed down.
Once.
Then again.
Silence.
He looked down.
Blood ran through the gaps between his fingers.
Muscles tightened.
But he felt no pain.
He stared at the blood for a moment, then let his hand fall.
The cramped room.
Only the sound of running water.
He pulled the piece of plastic lodged in his skin free.
A thin thread slid through.
He stitched the wound.
The water kept running. The blood thinned.
Shoulders sagged. His back bent slightly.
Checked the clock. Three a.m.
Too early.
A strange sound came from outside the door.
Very faint.
As if it were only imagination.
—Mother?
No reply.
He stood still for a few seconds.
Then turned back to the sink.
Twisted the toothpaste cap.
Leaned down to brush.
Not his teeth.
The bristles scraped against soft flesh.
Blood spread. But his rhythm did not change.
The light shone from behind him.
On the bathroom wall.
Behind him.
There was a shadow.
It did not move. It only stood there.
Watching him.