Chapter 1: Knock, Panic, and Blood in the Hall

I was at home, controller in hand, deep into my video game when suddenly—everything just went black. Like, out of nowhere, I couldn’t see a thing.

The controller slipped right out of my hands, and for a wild second, I thought maybe the power had gone out. But no—the fridge was still humming, the faint glow of my PC’s fans was behind me, everything else was normal. My heart hammered in my chest as I blinked into the void. It was like my room had been swallowed up by darkness—thick, suffocating, like someone just threw a blackout curtain over my face—no, worse. I reached out, desperate, fumbling for anything familiar: my desk, the edge of the couch—anything to prove I was still here. My pulse was racing, mouth dry as dust. I’d never felt this helpless before. Not even that time I got lost in the woods as a kid. This was worse.

Then—knock, knock, knock. Someone at my door.

Three sharp knocks. Way too loud in the dead quiet. My hands shook as I tried to get my bearings, my mind spinning out. I hadn’t even wrapped my head around going blind, and now there was someone right outside? I stood there, frozen, every muscle tensed, just listening.

Then I heard a man's voice from the hallway—

"Hey, it’s your neighbor from 403. Looks like you’ve got a water leak. Mind if I come in and check?"

His voice was muffled by the door, but you know that fake-friendly tone people use in apartments, like they’re pretending not to be pissed? That was it. I didn’t really know the guy—maybe a nod in the elevator, maybe a half-hearted wave in the mailroom. Still. Water leak? At this hour? Did I leave the tap on? Did I hear anything weird? My mind raced. I hesitated, hand hovering near the doorknob.

Just as I reached for the door, my phone buzzed. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

The vibration startled me so bad I almost dropped it. I fumbled to unlock it, realizing I still couldn’t see a damn thing. My thumb slid over the screen, searching for the voice command button, kicking myself for not memorizing the damn layout. Finally, I managed to activate the voice assistant and croaked, "Play message."

A girl’s voice, high and shaking, came through:

"Everyone, whatever you do, don’t open your door!"

Her voice was thin, high, the kind that cracks when you’re about to lose it. I could hear the panic in every word. I pictured her, hiding in a closet, hands shaking around her phone. I froze, her fear echoing mine.

"There’s... there’s something out there... something not human..."

The words hung in the air like a bad omen. Not human. Jesus. A chill crawled up my arms, prickling the hair on the back of my neck. The way she said "not human"—I could see her eyes darting around her dark apartment, wild. My heart pounded even harder. Was this a prank? Or had everyone in the building lost their minds tonight?

"What’s going on?" I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice. The unreality was thick, like I’d stumbled into a horror movie I didn’t sign up for. I gripped my phone tighter, hoping it could anchor me to something sane.

And then my phone blew up.

My phone pinged over and over, a chorus of notifications. The pings came fast—everyone was freaking out. My screen reader app started reading out names and snippets—everyone wanted answers, panic spreading like wildfire. Even the quiet folks up on the top floor were chiming in. I could almost picture everyone, huddled in their apartments, clutching their phones just like me.

People started messaging, asking what the hell was happening. "Did someone call the cops?" "Is this a joke?" "Who’s out in the hall?" The building’s group chat was always a mess—petty fights over parking, trash chute complaints—but tonight, it was just pure chaos. Questions flew, words tripping over each other. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a butter knife.

Then the girl spoke again, her voice shaking:

"The neighbor from 403 is dead!"

She sounded like she was about to break. It felt like a punch to the gut. Dead? No way. I pressed the phone closer to my ear, as if that could make it less real.

"I was just at my door and heard someone open theirs."

I pictured her, peeking through her peephole, hands trembling. My own breath came short and ragged. The hallway outside my apartment felt like no-man’s land. My chest tightened.

"Right after, I heard bones snapping."

My stomach twisted. That detail—bones snapping—was so specific, so gruesome, there was no way it was a joke. Someone in the group chat actually gasped out loud, mic picking up the sound. I shivered.

"When I looked through the peephole... the guy from 403 was lying in a pool of blood..."

My brain conjured the image—blood spreading across the cheap hallway carpet, a lifeless body sprawled in front of 403’s door. My hands went clammy. I swallowed hard, fear like metal in my mouth.

A chill ran down my spine. I actually shivered, tugging my hoodie tighter even though my apartment was warm. This wasn’t just a weird night. My body was running on pure adrenaline, every nerve screaming.

Wasn’t the person at my door just claiming to be the neighbor from 403? My thoughts were racing. If 403 was dead, who the hell was outside, knocking just seconds ago? My mind flashed through every horror movie, every urban legend about shapeshifters and ghosts. I pressed my back against the wall, trying to steady my breathing. Hell no.

What the hell was going on? I barely recognized my own voice. The whole thing was so surreal—one minute I’m gaming, next minute it’s a murder mystery. My hands just wouldn’t stop shaking.

Suddenly, the knocking on my door got frantic. My heart jumped. Whoever—or whatever—was outside must’ve sensed my hesitation. The pounding got louder, faster, desperate. I could feel the vibrations through the thin wood, like the door was all that stood between me and something unspeakable.

The guy outside started begging:

"Dude, open up! Someone’s trying to kill me!"

The panic in his voice was almost convincing. Almost. But something was off—like he was trying too hard, or maybe he was just losing it. Either way, I wasn’t opening that door.

"Please, help me! Open the door!"

He sounded on the verge of tears, fists pounding so hard the door rattled in its frame. I clenched my jaw, pressing my back against the wall. Every instinct screamed: Don’t move.

My scalp tingled with fear. I didn’t budge. I slid down, crouched by the door, every muscle coiled tight. I tried to breathe quietly, not wanting to give away my position. My mind replayed the girl’s warning on a loop. Whatever was out there, it wasn’t my neighbor. I forced myself to stay still, fighting the urge to run to the window and scream for help.

Feeling my way, I found a chair and dropped into it, trying to make sense of all this. I bumped into the coffee table, nearly tripped, finally collapsed into my old recliner. The familiar creak of the springs was a weird comfort. My breath came in shallow bursts. I tried to organize my thoughts—girl’s message, frantic knocking, my own sudden blindness. None of it made sense. Not even a little.

Meanwhile, the knocking got more desperate, fists slamming the wood. The sound was relentless, every blow sending a jolt of terror through me. I pictured the door splintering, a hand reaching in to grab me. My grip on the armrests tightened, knuckles white. I just wanted the pounding to stop.

Finally, the guy outside nearly screamed, wild with fear:

"Seriously? You’re just gonna let me die? You’ll regret this!"

His voice cracked, words edged with anger and betrayal. Guilt twisted in my gut for a second. Then I remembered the blood, the bones snapping, Jess’s warning. Nope. I pressed my lips together, not moving an inch.

My stomach dropped. The threat hung in the air, sharp as a knife. Was he serious? Or just desperate? Either way, my skin crawled. I pressed my feet into the carpet, trying to ground myself in the moment.

Could I have made a mistake? The doubt crept in—maybe I was being paranoid, maybe I’d just let an innocent guy die. But deep down, I knew—this wasn’t a normal emergency. The fear in my gut told me: trust your instincts.

But thinking it over, I knew I’d done the right thing. In a situation like this, you look out for yourself first. I tried to steady my breathing, reminding myself I wasn’t a coward—just not stupid. In every horror movie, the ones who open the door first are toast. I wasn’t about to join that club.

Soon, I heard hurried footsteps in the hallway. The pounding stopped, replaced by the slap of sneakers on linoleum. I held my breath, listening as the footsteps faded. Was he gone, or would he come back?

The man ran off. Silence crashed down, almost deafening. I finally let out a shaky breath, my shoulders slumping. I glanced toward the window, half-expecting to see flashing lights, but everything outside was just as quiet as before.

Once the noise faded, I finally started to calm down. I slumped back in the chair, letting my muscles unwind. My heart was still pounding, but at least my brain was working again. I listened for any new sounds—nothing but the low hum of the fridge and my own ragged breathing.

Slowly, my vision started to come back. First, just a faint glow. Then, blurry shapes. I blinked, rubbing my eyes, scared the blindness would hit again. Colors crept in at the edges. After a few moments, the room snapped back into focus. Relief hit me so hard I almost laughed.

Rubbing my eyes, I felt uneasy. That blackout—one minute I’m gaming, next minute I’m totally blind, like someone threw a black sheet over my face. The memory made me shudder. Maybe it was just eye strain, or a migraine, but it felt like something way worse. I flexed my fingers, trying to shake off the dread still clinging to me.

Maybe I’d just played too long and my eyes were fried. I’d get them checked tomorrow. I tried to reassure myself, running through symptoms I’d read online. Dry eyes, headaches, temporary blindness—it all sounded possible. Still, I made a mental note: call the eye doctor, just in case.