I Was Still Asleep
My coworker offered me her spare room for the night. She even said I could stay longer if I needed to.
The relief hit me so hard I nearly cried right there in the parking lot.
For the first time in days, I thought maybe I would finally feel safe enough to sleep.
Before leaving my apartment, I set everything up one last time. The camera is recording through the entire night now, not just between 3:00 and 4:00 a.m. I left my laptop open on the bedside table with the sleep recording app running too.
If something happens in that apartment tonight, I want proof of it.
My coworker agreed to come back with me in the morning to collect everything. Neither of us wanted me returning there alone.
Maybe a full night’s sleep somewhere else is all I need.
Maybe exhaustion has just been twisting my mind into something paranoid and ugly.
God, I hope that’s true.
It’s 4:03 a.m.
Something woke me.
I think it was a noise.
I sat upright instantly and turned on the lamp beside me, blinking hard while my brain struggled to catch up.
And then my stomach dropped.
I’m in my bedroom.
My bedroom.
Not the spare room.
Not my coworker’s apartment.
Mine.
I don’t understand how that’s possible.
I remember falling asleep at her place. I remember locking my car. I remember her telling me goodnight through the guest room door.
So how am I here?
I’m too afraid to move.
My laptop sits beside the bed exactly where I left it earlier tonight. The tiny red recording light on the camera glows from across the room, pointed directly at me.
Watching.
My phone is gone.
I searched the blankets, the floor, the nightstand—nothing.
My hands are shaking so badly I can barely type this.
I sent my coworker a message through my laptop, but deep down I know a notification sound probably won’t wake her up.
I’m alone.
Completely alone.
And the worst part?
The apartment doesn’t feel empty tonight.
It feels occupied.
I can hear faint movement somewhere beyond the bedroom door. Slow dragging sounds crossing the hallway carpet.
Stopping.
Then continuing.
I don’t know what to do.
Do I try to sleep?
Can I even sleep?
Or do I check the recordings and find out what brought me back here?
It’s 8:07 a.m. now.
I don’t remember falling asleep.
One moment I was sitting upright against the headboard, staring at the bedroom door and listening to something move through my apartment.
The next—
Morning.
Four hours gone like they never happened.
I’m still here.
Still in my bed.
Still too afraid to move.
The sunlight coming through the curtains should make this feel safer, but it doesn’t. The apartment feels wrong in daylight too now, like something poisoned the air overnight.
I keep thinking about waking up here.
How did I get back into this apartment?
Why don’t I remember leaving my coworker’s house?
And why hasn’t she answered any of my messages?
I finally forced myself to get out of bed long enough to lock the bedroom door before sitting back down with my laptop.
I’m going to watch the recordings now.
If I disappeared from her apartment and somehow ended up back here, then the camera had to catch something.
It had to.
The footage starts normally.
At 1:13 a.m., I’m asleep in my coworker’s guest room.
The camera in my apartment records nothing except darkness and the faint glow from my laptop screen.
Hours pass.
Nothing moves.
Then, at exactly 3:12 a.m., the bedroom door in my apartment slowly opens.
Not quickly.
Not violently.
Slowly.
Like whoever opened it already knew they were welcome.
The tall figure enters first.
Right behind it is the smaller one—the twitching thing that moves in sharp, unnatural jerks.
But there’s something else now.
A third shape.
Low to the ground.
Crawling.
I had to pause the video when I saw it.
Its limbs bend wrong.
Its head drags sideways across the carpet as it moves.
The taller figure approaches the bed and tilts its head toward the empty blankets.
Then all three suddenly stop moving at once.
Like they hear something.
The sleep recording captures it next.
A door opening somewhere far away.
My coworker’s voice.
“Hey… are you awake?”
Then my own voice answers.
Only it doesn’t sound like me.
“She can’t stay there anymore.”
My blood went completely cold hearing that.
Because I never said those words.
And according to the timestamp—
I was still asleep in her apartment when the voice answered.
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