I propped myself up and walked to the door.
“Who are you? I’ve already called the police!”
The other side went silent.
I waited for what felt like an eternity, but there was no sound, not even a whisper.
Had they left?
Straightening up, I pressed my face against the peephole to check.
But the peephole was pitch black, as if someone had deliberately covered it.
I couldn’t see a thing, couldn’t hear anything either.
Fear clung to me like a shadow, coiling tighter, ready to devour me whole.
Suddenly, a faint light seeped through the peephole.
Had they really left?
I leaned in closer, my breath catching in my throat.
And then—an enormous eyeball appeared, pressed firmly against the door!
The person on the other side was watching me too!
A horrifying thought flashed through my mind: I’d read online that people outside could judge whether someone was inside by the shifts in light through the peephole.
They knew I was looking at them!
“We’re from property management, ma’am,” a voice called out, muffled and distorted by the door.
It was so close, so hollow, the kind of sound that stretched unnervingly in the quiet of the night.
They were lying, still trying to deceive me.
But one thing I was certain of—they weren’t Wayne.
At that moment, I wished desperately for a neighbor to hear the noise and chase them away with angry complaints.
No one came.
