Chapter 6: Nowhere Left to Hide

It staggered toward my door, moving like a broken puppet—knees bending backward, elbows twisted, joints jerking. I scrambled into my bedroom, locked the door, and curled up in the closet, surrounded by the scent of laundry detergent and old sneakers. My phone’s glow was the only light, and I wrapped myself in a blanket, praying it would muffle the sound of my heartbeat.

*Bang, bang, bang*

The knocking was heavier, more desperate. How did it know I was home? I’d never made a sound.

Suddenly, 502 messaged me. 502? Wasn’t he dead?

I opened the messages, and almost puked. The first was a selfie—a skinned face, raw and twitching, glaring at the camera. Then came the voice messages:

502: [Aubrey, I know you’re home. Didn’t expect that, did you? I put a camera in your place to watch your slutty livestreams.]

[Now, it’s coming for you. I want you to feel what it’s like to be skinned alive.]

He sounded like he was using his last breath. Then, silence.

The knocking stopped. I heard a soft *click*—my front door lock turning. How did it know my code?

I remembered last week—502 "accidentally" bumping into me, insisting on carrying my stuff, lingering by my keypad. He’d memorized my password.

But this monkey—how could it remember numbers? How could it even try?

*Beep—Verification successful.*

The cold electronic voice sliced through the quiet. Footsteps thumped, circled my living room, then stopped at my bedroom door.

*Bang, bang, bang*

I clamped my hand over my mouth, tears burning my eyes. The knocking stopped. Then—

*Bang!*

The bedroom door exploded inward. A pair of blood-red eyes pressed against the closet door, searching.

The closet door creaked. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying it liked new skins better than old ones.