Prologue:
Something in the room felt… off.
I stood at my vanity, fumbling with my necklace clasp. My fingers tremble just slightly. I blame the lack of sleep. Or the coffee I hadn’t had yet. My black sheer skirt swayed a little when I shifted, the hem brushing my knees.
I bent down to pull on my boots—knee‑high, polished black leather.
The TV was already on, its glow stretching across the room. Even now, delivering grim news, the anchor looked polished, composed, almost unreal.
“Authorities in Burbank are investigating a string of late‑night robberies committed by a masked man. Police confirm that three women were brutally attacked. One victim managed to escape and is now assisting investigators.”
I froze halfway into my sweater. The blue knit hung off one shoulder. I’d been on edge ever since the news alerts started popping up on my phone last night—another attack, another woman, another masked man slipping away before anyone could get a good look at him.
The screen flashed with police lights and yellow tape. I recognized the corner store behind the reporter. The alley next to it was only a few blocks from my place. Seeing those familiar spots turned into crime scenes made my chest tighten.
“Residents are urged to remain vigilant. The suspect is described as wearing a dark mask and black clothing and having a thin build. Detectives believe the crimes may be connected.”
I turned the volume down. Tried to focus on getting ready—fixing the sweater, checking my reflection—but the spokesperson’s voice kept echoing in my head even after I muted the TV.
“We ask anyone with information to come forward. The police have increased safety patrols in the area.”
That’s when I saw him.
In the window beside me, under the streetlights, another shape appeared—not from the TV, but outside.
A figure stood there, head tilted slightly
Faceless. Still. Watching.
At first, I tried to brush it off as a shadow or a trick of the light. But the longer I looked, the more obvious it became that someone was actually there. A silhouette pressed into the darker part of the building, too still to be random. Too intentional to be harmless.
The anchor kept talking about vigilance and patrols, but I barely heard any of it. My eyes were locked on the window. On him. He didn’t move—just the slightest shift, like breathing. Like waiting.
The scene on the TV and the scene outside blurred together. The faceless man from the news wasn’t just a story anymore.
He was right there, framed in my window.
I pulled my sweater tighter. My reflection overlapped with his shadow—me inside, him outside—only a panel of glass between us.
I wanted to look away as he moved, to break whatever this was, but I couldn’t.
And that’s when the deadbolt twitched.
Just a tiny shift. A soft scrape of metal.
A slow chill slid down my spine.
And then—movement.
A face leaned into view through the frosted glass panel beside the door. Not a real face. A mask. Matte black, smooth, expressionless… except for the eyes.
Two pink crosses, hand‑drawn, uneven, almost childish—except nothing about the way he watched me felt childish.
The deadbolt twitched again. Then it turned—slowly, deliberately—until it clicked out of place.
I stumbled back, pulse hammering, eyes locked on the door as it eased open an inch… then another. The hallway light spilled in, cutting a sharp line across my floor.
He stepped inside.
The masked man with the pink‑cross eyes.
He didn’t rush. He didn’t lunge.
He simply crossed the threshold, closing the door behind him with a soft, final click.
I backed up until my shoulders hit the wall.
He leaned in, the mask brushing my cheek, his breath warm against my skin.
“You should’ve checked the door,” he murmured, almost like he was disappointed.
This is the part where everything fades into darkness.
And if you’re reading this…
then you already know.
I want to tell you I ran from the apartment, or fought as he raped me, or screamed as he strangled me.
I want to tell you I survived…
But I didn’t…
When I hit the floor, the world was already slipping away.
He left without looking back, almost bored.
The door opened, a thin blade of hallway light cutting across the room—catching my pretty blue fingernails, pale and stiff on the floorboards.
Then the door eased shut, and the light vanished…
