The next few days were a blur of paranoia and silence. Jake hardly spoke to me, and when he did, his words were clipped, his eyes hollow. I couldn’t shake the sense that something darker was brewing inside him.
One night, I woke to the sound of whispering. At first, I thought it was a dream, but when I turned over, Jake wasn’t in bed. The soft murmurs seemed to echo from the living room. Heart racing, I crept out of bed and tiptoed down the hall.
There, in the dim glow of the streetlight filtering through the curtains, was Jake—sitting on the couch, talking to himself. His back was to me, but I could see him holding something in his hand. It glinted in the faint light.
A knife.
My breath caught in my throat. He was whispering in a low, broken voice. “I had to… I had no choice… It was him or me…”
The words sent a shiver down my spine. I backed away, trying not to make a sound, but the floor creaked beneath my feet. Jake’s head snapped around, his eyes wild, like an animal cornered.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice unnervingly calm.
“I—I couldn’t sleep,” I stammered, trying to mask my fear. “What’s going on, Jake? What are you doing with that?”
He looked down at the knife in his hand as if he hadn’t even realized he was holding it. Slowly, he set it on the coffee table and stood up. “I’m just… thinking,” he said, but there was a coldness in his voice that chilled me to the bone.
“Thinking about what?”
His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw the man I once knew, buried deep beneath the layers of guilt and fear. But then it was gone, replaced by something darker. “About what needs to be done.”
I backed away, my heart pounding in my chest. “What do you mean, Jake? What are you talking about?”
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The homeless man… he wasn’t alone.”
A wave of nausea washed over me. “What are you saying?”
Jake’s expression twisted into something unrecognizable, something sinister. “Someone saw. Someone knows. And they’re coming for me. For us.”
I stared at him, unable to comprehend what he was saying. Was this paranoia, or was he telling the truth? My mind raced, but before I could respond, there was a knock at the door.
Both of us froze. The knock came again, louder this time, more insistent.
“Who is it?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
Jake didn’t answer. He just stood there, staring at the door, his face pale, his hands trembling. Slowly, he picked up the knife again.
“Stay here,” he said, his voice flat.
Before I could stop him, he moved toward the door, the knife clenched tightly in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched him unlock the door, my legs frozen in place.
The door creaked open, revealing a figure standing in the shadowed hallway outside. I couldn’t see their face, but the moment Jake opened the door fully, they stepped forward.
Jake’s grip on the knife tightened. “What do you want?” he demanded, his voice low and threatening.
The figure stepped into the light, revealing an old, weathered face—one that I recognized immediately.
It was the homeless man.
Or at least… it looked like him. His skin was pale, his eyes hollow, like he had been dragged up from the depths of the grave. He smiled, a twisted, lifeless grin.
“You can’t escape what you’ve done,” the man rasped, his voice like the wind through dead leaves.
Jake took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief. “No… no, this isn’t real. You’re dead. I killed you!”
The man stepped closer, his grin widening. “You might have killed me, but death doesn’t forget. It never forgets.”
I wanted to scream, to run, but my body wouldn’t move. I could only watch in horror as the ghostly figure reached out toward Jake.
And then, just like that, the lights flickered out, plunging the room into darkness.
There was a sound—a terrible, choking sound—and when the lights flickered back on, Jake was on the floor, his eyes wide open, staring lifelessly at the ceiling. The knife lay beside him, covered in blood.
But the homeless man was gone.
I stood there, frozen, as the reality of what had just happened sank in. Jake was dead. And whatever had come for him… wasn’t finished.
Because as I stood there, I felt a cold breath on the back of my neck.
And a voice, low and guttural, whispered in my ear:
“You’re next.”
