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Just a few inches. Just enough to bleed darkness through the gap.

It had been shut, though. I knew it had. I’d passed it only a minute ago.

That sick feeling pooled in my gut as I once again reassured myself it was nothing.

Maybe the wind had done it. A draft through the old frame. Hinges that never sat right. A hundred explanations stacked themselves up, one on top of the other.

But the longer I stood there staring at the open door, the flimsier the excuses became. Because even though he’d just been released, and there was no way he could be here yet…

The house was too quiet. Not empty, but quiet like it was holding its breath. Quiet like it was…waiting.

I crept forward, slow enough that every step felt like it took a year off my life. The knife block sat on the counter to my right, right where it always was, ordinary and menacing all at once. My hand slid out before I could second-guess it, and my fingers trailed across the cool wooden edges until they found the handle I wanted.

The biggest blade.

My grip tightened, and I pulled the knife free as quietly as I could. The weight hit my palm with a jolt of déjà vu. His hand had pressed this same knife to my throat once, the blade so steady I’d felt my own pulse beating against the sharpened edge.

I forced my attention back to the dark slit of the open door. Inch by inch, I raised the knife and nudged the gap wider with its tip, every muscle wound tight, braced for what waited on the other side.

The hinges creaked as the door gave way, and I peeked inside.

The laundry room stretched out before me in that same muted cream color that I hated, every surface heavy with stillness. I peered into the room, my eyes locked on the back door. Still bolted. Still shut. Relief started to bleed in…

And the hallway light behind me flicked off.

The room dropped into gray, my breath seizing as I whipped around. Back to the hallway.

But I found nothing there. No watching figure, just a thick, creeping darkness that felt far too interested in me.

A small whimper escaped, and I pressed my back to the wall, fighting the urge to hyperventilate. I fumbled for the switch, and the lights blinked on again, bathing the hallway in a soft white glow. The storm roared outside, the wind battering the glass.

The lights flickered again, then died, plunging me into total darkness.

That’s when I heard it.

Steady breathing that wasn’t mine…threading through the shadows around me.

My eyes darted frantically down the hallway one way, then the other, straining to catch the smallest shape, the faintest movement. But all I could see were black walls and deeper shadows. I kept searching anyway, jerking my head from side to side, certain that if I stared long enough, something would rise out of the dark to stare back.

But nothing revealed itself.

There were no footsteps, no movement…no sounds of anyone there. Only the fridge humming in the background and the sharp, smug tick of his family’s heirloom clock above the stove, a sound I’d hated from the moment I moved in.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

I walked down the hall, one slow step at a time, keeping my back against the wall so nothing…and no one…could sneak up behind me.

The knife handle was still gripped tight in my fingers.

I wasn’t going to be a headline on the news. At least, no more than I already had been.

Not tonight.

The window over the couch rattled hard in its frame as a gust of wind crashed against it, and I jumped, my heart slamming into my throat.