Something in this apartment is moving things.

I noticed it the second I walked into the living room this morning. The rug beneath the coffee table has shifted several inches to the left. At first, I tried to convince myself I bumped it accidentally, but the movement doesn’t make sense. It’s been pushed toward the couch, not away from it like it would if I had stepped on the edge.

I can still see the faint outline where it used to sit.

That shouldn’t bother me as much as it does.

But it does.

I honestly feel like I’m losing my mind.

Last night, I fell asleep on the couch with the TV on. I thought I was too terrified to sleep after everything that’s happened these past few nights, but eventually exhaustion won. I remember trying to drown out my thoughts with mindless noise from the television.

When I woke up, the TV was off.

The silence in the apartment felt suffocating.

My phone was gone too.

I searched everywhere for it, turning on every light in the apartment while my heart pounded so hard I could barely think straight. I finally found it sitting on my nightstand in the bedroom.

Plugged in.

Recording.

I never started the app last night.

I know I didn’t.

I’m sitting here now staring at the screen. The timestamp reads 3:12 a.m. again. The red activity line stretches across nearly the entire recording.

There was movement.

There was sound.

And I’m terrified to press play.

But I have to know.

The recording starts with static from the television in the background.

Then slow footsteps.

Not pacing this time.

Circling.

The floorboards creak softly around the couch while I can hear myself breathing heavily in my sleep.

Then a voice whispers near the phone.

“He moved rooms tonight.”

Another voice answers farther away.

“He’s starting to notice.”

A long silence follows.

Then the sound of fabric dragging slowly across the floor.

The rug.

My stomach dropped when I realized what I was hearing.

Then my own voice speaks suddenly, groggy and half asleep.

“Who’s there?”

The footsteps stop instantly.

Complete silence.

Then, very close to the microphone:

“Don’t open your eyes.”