Maybe it was the upstairs neighbor.
Shrugging, I continue rinsing and shaving. But it happens again.
A soft shift.
Not upstairs.
Inside.
“Apollo?”
The only answer is silence.
Hurriedly, I get out and dry off, then press my ear to the bathroom door. My breathing is ragged. Too loud. So is my heartbeat.
But there’s no other sound.
I lather on my body oil and get dressed in our bedroom, sliding my feet into my cozy orange slippers. The fabric is too soft for how hard my pulse is hitting.
With a sweaty palm, I nudge open the door to the living room. It’s still. Glancing at every corner, I hold my blinks, scanning for movement. There’s no shadow. No scary boogie man lurking for me.
I need to calm down.
As I pull out the pasta, a thud vibrates the ceiling. Loudvoices chat in muffled waves above me. “So very neighborly,” I grit out. But it’s almost comforting to know that’s probably what I was hearing earlier.
I flip on the TV, so I don’t hear them, and boil a pot of water. From the pantry, I pull out some homemade marinara. Apparently, the store-bought stuff is “fake and disgusting.” So Apollo brought over jars of his mother’s sauce. When I pop the lid and get a whiff of the oregano, thyme, and other spices, I silently treasure my husband’s good taste.
Across from the kitchen, the bedroom door ever so slowly creaks open. The sound is slight. Toonormal. I freeze. Spoon in hand. My eyes flick to my phone on the counter. Three feet away.
No. I don’t need to call Apollo right now. He’ll just worry. And I’m freaking myself out. Perhaps it was the heater kicking on that made it move…
My eyes flash to the guest bedroom down the hall. The one that’s empty. And I didn’t check when I got home.
As if someone may hear me, I creep toward it, utensil raised like a sword. At the door, I pause and listen. It’s ajar, but I don’t know if we left it that way. I thought it was open. Or maybe closed. It being cracked only adds to my discomfort.
I stand there for too long.
Long enough to picture someone breathing on the other side.
With a feral yell, I kick the door in and ready my muscles to fight. I flick on the light in a hurry, but there’s no one there.
Across the room, the closet door stands shut. Solid. And final. But Ihaveto check.
Fear transforms into fury that someone thinks they could mess with me this much and get away with it. I march to the door and fling it open, but it’s empty.
Frustrated, I flip around and head back down the hall. I’m utterly overreacting. I’m notusedto these sounds around here.
Though…maybe I should text Apollo and see if his game is already over.
Back in the kitchen, I turn the corner, hand reaching for my phone.
But stop.
The scream rips out of me before I can register what I’m seeing.
My phone is gone.
In its place?
