I can’t remember what I was dreaming about. But something woke me. Heart pounding, my sleep-riddled eyes drift over the dark room. Just enough light from the moon filters in through the balcony doors. The furniture casts shadows across the room, creating figures that aren’t really there. I don’t mind the phantoms dancing across my floor, but whatever woke me has a presence. A soul. The floorboards creak from my right, outside my bedroom door. My head snaps in the direction, and I suck in a sharp breath. The hair rises on the back of my neck, like a scared dog backed in a corner. I hold the air in my lungs, careful not to make a sound should I hear the noise again. Stillness settles around the house. Too still. My fingers clench the duvet on my lap as my heart rate increases. Someone is outside my room. But how? How the fuck did he make it past the alarm system? Another creak followed by heavy footsteps. A methodical walk, slow and purposeful. Intentional. I slowly slip out of bed and tiptoe backwards until my back presses against the cool stone wall, creating distance between the intruder outside my door and me. Despite my best efforts, I release a shaky breath. My chest heaves with small, fast pants as the footsteps come closer. I’m frozen. My back is pressed so deeply into the stone that I’m becoming a part of it, preventing me from moving. From hiding. The footsteps stop outside my door. Desperately, my eyes search across the expanse of the room. They land on a lone screwdriver sitting on the chest at the end of the bed. I had carelessly tossed it aside after assembling my vanity chair, and now it sits there like a beacon of hope. Possibly the only thing that could keep me alive tonight. Move, Addie. Goddammit, MOVE! My limbs unlock, and I rush to the screwdriver, gripping the tool in my slick hands. My eyes are glued to the door handle, waiting for the knob to turn. Quietly, I slink over to the door and mold myself to the wall. I'll wait for him to come in and then attack. Hopefully I can get the screwdriver lodged in his neck before he knows what’s happening. So with bated breath, I wait. The knob doesn’t turn, but I can feel deep in my bones that someone is out there. Are they waiting for me? They’re out of their mind if they think I’ll open that door. I suppose they must be, though, if they’re breaking into my house and lingering outside my room. The longest minute of my life passes. It feels like it’s been hours before I hear another creak. And then I hear the footsteps retreat. Further and further they fade, until eventually I no longer hear them at all.