Hidden in Silence

I lay beneath the bed, my heart pounding. Fear pressed against my ribs. The intruder’s voice felt familiar, yet panic kept me from understanding why. I bit my lip hard to stay silent.

Above me, the man moved freely. He shuffled around the room with careless ease, muttering complaints as if he belonged there.

“Why can’t you ever clean up after yourself?” he grumbled.

He sounded annoyed—not threatening. That made it worse.

A Voice That Didn’t Belong

I didn’t move. One sound would expose me. Instead, I listened. The man knew my name. Worse, he knew my habits.

I ran through every face I knew. Friends. Family. Old coworkers. None fit. No one should feel that comfortable in my home.

Then his footsteps stopped.

I held my breath.

From beneath the bed, I watched him lean toward the nightstand.

“You really should get rid of this junk, Marcus,” he muttered.

The tension snapped tighter.

The Terrifying Realization

Suddenly, the truth hit me.

I knew that voice.

The rasp. The rhythm. The cadence.

It was mine.

Cold sweat slid down my spine. Had I lost my mind? Was I hallucinating—or was something far worse unfolding?

I had to see him.

Face to Face With Myself

Slowly, I shifted for a better view. Every movement felt dangerous.

The man crossed to the window and pulled back the curtains. Sunlight spilled in. For a split second, his profile came into view.

It was my face.

My heart skipped.

Then he turned and walked toward the hallway. His footsteps faded as he moved through the house.

I stayed frozen, struggling to process what I had seen.

After the Silence

When the house finally fell quiet, I crawled out from under the bed. My legs shook. Adrenaline and disbelief tangled inside me.

I needed answers.

I crept down the hallway, ready to confront whatever—or whoever—that was. But the front door stood wide open.

The intruder was gone.

My shadow had vanished, leaving only silence—and questions that refused to let go.