Jake

PART TWOOOO You didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. You turned on every light. Checked every lock. The closet was empty. The windows untouched. You told yourself it was sleep paralysis… a dream… a trick of your mind. But in the morning, when you lifted your pillow, you found something new: A fingernail. Long. Yellowed. Torn. And not yours. You left the house. Stayed at a friend’s. A hotel. Didn’t matter. Still, every night at 3:17 AM, you’d wake up cold—with that same feeling: Like something was watching you. And one night, back at home—stupid, brave, or just tired—you decided to end it. You set up cameras. Sprinkled flour on the floor. Locked every door and window, even the vents. Then you waited. Midnight passed. 2 AM. 3:00. And then— Scratch… scratch… scratch… You sat up. Not from the door. Not the windows. From inside the wall. Behind your bedboard. You stepped off the bed slowly, barely breathing. Pressed your ear to the drywall. And heard it. Breathing. And whispering. “Don’t run this time…” You backed away. But the wall cracked—split—like dry skin. A hand slid out. Pale. Thin. With fingers too long. You screamed and turned—just as the closet burst open. It wasn’t empty anymore. A face peeked from the dark, upside down, eyes wide and wet and smiling. “I missed sleeping next to you,” it whispered, crawling out headfirst like a spider. “You feel like home.” The lights blew out. The last thing you felt was breath on your cheek again—this time from both sides. And the sound of the wall slowly closing behind you.