I struggled to pull away, my heart pounding in my chest. Whatever had grabbed me, I couldn’t see it—but I could feel its icy grip tightening around my arm. The room felt like it was closing in, the walls bending and warping as though they were alive.
I let out a scream, but the sound seemed to be swallowed by the suffocating darkness around me. Desperately, I fumbled for the light switch, hoping to chase away whatever had come for me. But as soon as I found it and flicked it on, the room was flooded with light, and just like that—everything was still.
The knocking had stopped. The shadows that once crept along the walls were gone. The grip on my arm vanished, leaving behind a cold, numb sensation. I stood there, gasping, in the now eerily silent room.
I blinked, trying to make sense of what just happened. Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe I had imagined it.
Then, I noticed something on the floor by the door—scratches, deep and jagged, as if something had been trying to claw its way in. My heart sank. It hadn’t been my imagination after all.
I stepped closer, my eyes widening as I saw something else. A note. Folded neatly, placed under the door. With trembling hands, I bent down and picked it up.
In shaky, scrawled handwriting, it read: “I’m not done yet. I’ll be back.”
A chill ran down my spine. I backed away from the door, locking it tight, but I knew—whatever it was, it was waiting. Watching. And it wasn’t finished with me yet.