On a cold December night, the streets were silent. Snow blanketed the ground, muffling even the smallest sound. Ruby Patel pulled her coat further up around her neck as she went up the icy lane to her house, which is a small, joined-to-the-house-back two-story house at the end of a cul-de-sac. As soon as she opened the door and entered, her keys chinked in her grip. Warmth greeted her, but something felt…off.
Ruby paused, scanning the dimly lit living room. Everything seemed normal—the Christmas tree glowed softly in the corner, and her cat, Milo, lay curled on the couch. An acute feeling of fear formed in her gut, which grew more and more intense second by second.
She did, closed the door after her, and put her bag on the table. The quiet thrum of the heater permeated the air but did little to soothe her. Ruby shrugged it off. Maybe she was overstating it just too tired after work.
Having reached the kitchen, she got herself a glass of water. Moonlight through the window illuminated her, and the white form from the shadows fell onto the pane, in the middle ground between a shadow and a silhouette. A white moment she felt the light of things behind her. She spun around, heart pounding. Nothing. The living room was empty.
“Get a grip, Ruby,” she said, muttering as if it would shed the feeling off of her back.
She ended her water and climbed the stairs, her legs heavy. Every one of the steps felt to move her feet a bit as she ascended. The sound sounded louder than usual, reverberating through the house. Donning her pajamas she fell onto the bed, her cell phone resting in her palm.
A notification lit up the screen: Unknown Number: “Are you home alone?
Ruby frowned. Her fingers hovered over the screen. She typed back, “Who is this?”
The notification came almost instantly: “Check your front door.”
A chill ran down her spine. She hesitated, her mind racing. Was this a prank? Her hands trembled, and she moved as close to her phone as she could and crept towards the window. She caught a glimpse of the snow-covered lawn and the eerily silent street, through the curtains.
Gathering her courage, Ruby decided to check the door. She did not leave the house without a kitchen knife and held it tightly. The living room felt colder now, the festive lights casting eerie shadows on the walls.
With a trembling breath, she moved towards the threshold and looked into the peephole. The porch was empty. Just as she exhaled, her phone chirped once more. “Don’t ignore me.”
“I’m already inside.”
She froze, her mind scrambling for answers. Was this a joke? Was someone really in her house? Milo hissed, with back arched, hair standing on end, as he backed up. Ruby’s hold on the knife intensified as she looked following his eye movement.
Lying in the corner and out of sight behind the Christmas tree she did see it. A shadow. It shifted slightly, blending with the dark. She desperately wished to shout, but she held her tongue, her very nature crying out to be quiet.
“Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice trembling.
The shadow didn’t move. Her phone buzzed again. “Upstairs.”
Ruby’s blood ran cold. She turned toward the staircase. Her bedside lamp was currently illuminated (she, of course, should have turned it off). The creaking sound from earlier echoed in her mind.
She moved backward into the kitchen, her gaze moving from left to right back and forth between the stairs and the tree’s shadow. Milo ran past her, the claws clicking, as he bolted into another room. Ruby’s breathing grew shallow. She needed to act fast.
Calling 911 with shaking hands, she held the receiver close to her ear. Still, when one, thin voice emanated through the room, a single, tinny chuckle filled the room. It wasn’t coming from her phone. It was coming from behind her.
She spun around, her knife raised. There the man was, with his face hidden by a black ski mask. His dark clothing blended into the shadows. He winced his head (as if he found his fear amusing).
“What do you want?” Ruby demanded, her voice shaking.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he took a slow step forward. Ruby’s instincts kicked in. She came forward with the knife, but he parried it with ease and grabbed her wrist. His grip was like iron. The knife clattered to the floor.
Ruby shrieked and her legs flew out, spasmodic, wildly, not to paper Sheela, but to some damned iron returned thing, but his grip didn’t budge. Too strong. He shoved her against the wall, his masked face still a mere inch of the tower beside her.
“You shouldn’t have ignored me,” the low, menacing voice rasped, sending shivers down her spine.
Summoning every ounce of strength, Ruby kneed him in the groin. He sighed watching her wriggle out of his hold, adrenaline driving her to freedom. She retrieved the knife from the floor and made random cuts into the cut through the arm. He flinched at the pain but tightened his grip.
Ruby darted straight at the front door, batting with the latch. Heavy footsteps pounded behind her, a constant reminder of the danger closing in. At long last, the doors swung wide and she fell out screaming for someone to help. As soon as the chilled air slammed into her she stopped to visit next door and crashed into the front door.
Lights suddenly appeared inside and by the door and the door opened to show her decrepit neighbor, Mr. Peterson. His complexion [became] white as he saw Ruby, a complex of contusions and blood.
“Ruby, what happened?” he asked, pulling her inside.
“Someone’s in my house!” she cried, her voice hysterical.
Mr. As a physical barrier, Ruby closed the door to Peterson’s contact with the police, and Peterson made contact with the police at the same time, as Ruby shut the door to Peterson’s interview with the police. She looked out the window, hoping to catch the burglar, but the street was silent. Her house stood dark and still as if nothing had happened.
The police arrived, combing through the house with precision. They found no sign of the man. No footprints, no forced entry—only the crushing weight of unanswered questions. And it remained clean and untouched outside, with no footsteps, no sign of intrusion. He had gotten lost in thin air.
Ruby sat in Mr. Peterson’s living room; a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The officers questioned her, but she could barely focus. Ruby lay awake, the night’s events replaying on a loop, refusing to let her rest.
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Every second of the night Ruby could not break free from the idea that some unseen body was still looking at her. Experience it, in the dark, to see and wait, to deliver another one. And deep down, she knew this wasn’t over.