Page 21 of White Noise

It doesn’t.

Another key clicks upstairs.

Then another.

“Absolutely the fuck not.”

I set the can down, pull open the drawer beside the sink, and grab the pink utility knife. The blade snaps out beneath my thumb, and honestly, having something sharp in my hand helps more than I want to admit.

If there’s an actual person inside my condo, I can deal with that.

People make sense. They can be hit, they can bleed, and most importantly, they can be stopped.

The typing continues as I start upstairs, completely unbothered by the fact that I’m getting closer. By the time I reach the top floor, fear has twisted itself into enough anger that I can use it.

“If some asshole is actually in my fucking house,” I mutter, “you picked the wrong one.”

The typing stops the second I step into the hallway.

My bedroom door is already open, and nothing moves inside.

I keep the knife low beside my thigh as I step in and check the bathroom, then the closet, then behind the door because apparently all those shitty horror movies finally taught me something useful.

The windows are locked, nothing looks disturbed, and there’s nowhere obvious for anyone to hide.

Then one of my monitors lights up.

I stop.

The screen is black except for a single line of white text sitting in the middle.

You still don’t fucking get it.

I stare at it.

A second line appears.

But watching you try is becoming my favorite part.

My stomach tightens.

Then another.

You really pulled out all the stops, didn’t you. New passwords. Dead Wi-Fi. Powered-off your phone. You keep tearing through your little security checks like one of them is actually going to fucking save you.

I move closer to the desk, the knife still tight in my hand. “What the fuck are you?”

The cursor blinks for a few seconds before letters begin to appear.

Still asking the wrong fucking question.

My jaw tightens. “Then enlighten me, asshole.”

Instead of answering, the cursor just sits there, and I can almost feel him enjoying the fact that I’m standing here waiting for him, and fuck if that thought alone doesn’t piss me off.

I reach behind the monitor and yank the power cord out of the wall.

The screen stays on.