There Shouldn't Be Anybody Home

There shouldn’t be anyone inside of my apartment, especially after such a short jaunt to the dumpster to throw out the recently filled trash bag. Walking back to my home, I glimpse at the lights shining out of the windows, and out of one more window than what it should have been. I don’t recall turning on my bedroom light before stepping out, only the kitchen lights should be on.

And yet, there, in the window a figure quickly steps back and disappears after being noticed. A murky shadow now peered through the panes of glass above the kitchen sink which look over the parking lot. With such a strong illumination behind this silhouette, I can’t see any distinctive features, and yet I get a creeping feeling that this thing is smiling at me while tracing my every movement with eyes hidden from my sight.

Flustered but refusing to give these thoughts more than a second to permeate my imagination, I charge up the stairs to listen for the dog to make some noise which indicates an intruder has entered, but hear nothing of the sort.

Moving towards the door, I’m unnerved again when the peep-hole stops shining light, and I notice two shadows crawling from underneath the door where someone (or somethings’ feet are). It’s as though from the very moment I left, I’ve been stalked from within my own home unknowingly.

Light suddenly beams through the peep-hole and all shadows (imaginary or not) have now faded away and I open the door with conviction to catch a glimpse of whatever is there. (Un)fortunately, I see nothing and am initially relieved.

But, in leaving this note in case I never see morning I cannot shake one terrible thought:

Whatever watched me take out the trash never left. It’s still here.