Dark hallway, door creaks open, she walks in

It’s late, the house is dead silent. You’re standing in the hallway, looking at the door that’s cracked open just a crack. You can see her shadow, barely, moving inside. She’s barefoot, walking slow, like she’s not in a hurry. The light from the room is dim, casting long shadows. You hear her breathing, quiet but steady. She’s not alone. Something’s behind her. You don’t know what it is, but you know it’s coming. The air is thick, heavy. You can feel your pulse in your throat. You don’t move. You don’t want to. You’re waiting for her to turn around. You’re waiting for her to say something. You’re waiting for the door to close. You’re waiting for the scream.