It started as a quiet evening. I’d just settled into my chair, feeling the weight of the day lift, when my phone rang. The number was unknown, but I answered it anyway.
At first, nothing. Just silence. Then, breathing—heavy and strained, like someone was gasping for air. The sound filled the room, echoing through the speaker. It was distant at first, but steadily grew louder, more urgent.
My heart began to race. I asked if they were okay, but no response came. Only the frantic breathing, closer now, like they were right outside.
I looked around, the familiar shadows of my apartment suddenly unfamiliar, as if something was hiding within them. The breathing stopped. A chill ran down my spine.
My fingers hovered over the screen, ready to end the call, when a whisper cut through the silence. The voice was raspy, unsettlingly calm, too calm for someone who’d just been gasping for air like that.
I felt a knot of dread twist in my chest. I glanced at the window, pulling the curtain aside. Nothing. The street below was empty, bathed in dim light.
I paced the room, phone gripped tightly in my hand. My mind raced through possibilities—some kind of prank, someone messing with me. But deep down, I knew something was wrong.
Then, a buzz. My phone vibrated, and I stared at the screen. A message.
Turn around.
My breath caught in my throat. I didn’t want to, but I felt compelled to. Slowly, I turned.
Standing in the doorway, a figure—drenched in sweat, chest heaving, eyes fixed on me.
I didn’t need words to know what had happened. I could hear the breathing, see the strain in his body, just as I had heard it through the phone. He was here.
He had been running, and now, he had arrived. - IT WAS DANE
