Mira lies awake, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. She listens for the familiar hum of the old wiring, hoping tonight will be different. But as the clock shifts to 2:17, the hallway light flickers on, casting a sharp line of yellow under her door. Heart pounding, she tells herself it’s just faulty electricity, nothing more.
Tonight, Mira hears something new—a slow, deliberate set of footsteps, each one measured and careful. They stop just outside her door, pausing long enough for her breath to catch and her hands to grip the sheets tightly. The silence is thick, broken only by the distant ticking of a clock, as the shadow waits without moving, neither entering nor retreating.
Mira gathers her courage and asks her mother about the hallway light. Her mother stands at the sink, her brow furrowed as she pauses, searching for words. "We don’t have a hallway light anymore," she replies softly, her voice tinged with confusion. "It burned out years ago." The words hang in the air, heavier than the morning silence.
Mira sits up in bed, determined to stay awake this time. At exactly 2:17, the light outside her door snaps on with a crisp click. Beneath the door, a shadow grows—tall, thin, and swaying gently, as if breathing. A cold whisper slides through the crack: "Wrong room." The door handle turns, slow and deliberate, and Mira’s scream pierces the night. Instantly, the light vanishes, plunging the hallway into darkness.
Mira returns home from school, her shoes echoing against the freshly cleaned floor. She pauses, noticing something carved deep into the wood on the inside of her new door: “2:17 — Found you.” The letters are jagged, each one etched with trembling precision, sending a chill down her spine.
As the clock strikes 2:17, footsteps echo again in the hallway—no longer slow, but urgent. This time, they don’t pause. The light blazes through the crack, brighter than ever, and the shadow slides beneath her door, stretching longer, heavier. Mira’s breath catches as the handle turns with purpose, and the door opens, flooding her room with cold, golden light.
