Good. Second person means the reader is trapped.
Then we begin now.
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You look back.
You don't mean to.
Your body does it before your thoughts catch up, the way people flinch from sudden noise. Just a quick glance over your shoulder.
There's nothing there.
The street is empty in the way streets only get after midnight—too quiet, too clean. The lamps buzz softly, casting pale circles on the pavement. Your shadow stretches forward, long and thin, pointing the way home.
You tell yourself you imagined it.
You keep walking.
Your footsteps sound wrong.
Not louder. Not softer.
Just… delayed.
You stop.
The sound stops a fraction of a second after you do.
You wait. Your chest tightens. The air feels thicker, like it's being held in someone else's lungs.
You take another step.
Again—your foot hits the ground, and the sound follows late. As if the street needs time to remember you're there.
You laugh under your breath. Nervous habit. You've always done that when things feel off. The laugh echoes strangely, flattening against the buildings instead of bouncing back.
You walk faster.
Your shadow doesn't.
It lags behind, still stretched too long, still pointing forward even as your pace quickens. For a moment—just a moment—it looks like there's a second shadow, slightly darker, overlapping the first.
You don't look back again.
You already feel it.
The sensation isn't touch. It's pressure. Like standing too close to someone in an elevator. Like breath against the back of your neck that isn't warm enough to be human.
Your phone vibrates in your pocket.
You don't check it.
You know better than that.
The pressure moves closer.
You reach your building and fumble with your keys, hands shaking. The lock resists, just for a second too long, before turning.
Inside, the door shuts with a heavy click.
The pressure doesn't leave.
You stand there in the dark hallway, listening.
No footsteps.
No breathing.
Just the faint sound of something settling, as if it has finally arrived where it belongs.
Behind you.
You don't turn around.
You never should have looked back.
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