The girl pauses, key in hand, as she reads the scrawled message: DON’T GO OUT AFTER MIDNIGHT. The paper flutters slightly in the draft, corners curling inward. Shadows gather at the far end of the hallway, pressing closer as the clock on her phone ticks towards twelve. Unease prickles along her skin, but she shakes her head, dismissing the note as some prank.

The girl walks briskly, glancing over her shoulder. Her breath clouds the cool air, and her shoes splash in shallow puddles. Each step feels heavier, as if the darkness itself pushes against her. Even the air seems to tense, holding its breath.

She freezes, heart thundering as she lifts her gaze. The shadow remains rooted, but impossibly, it edges forward with each blink. The world narrows to that impossible figure and the pounding in her chest. Her hands tremble as she fumbles for her phone.

She stares at the screen—no bars, no signal. A new message appears, sender unknown: RUN. Her breath catches, panic rising. The message pulses onscreen, urgent and alive.

She peeks around the fender, searching for the figure. The street is empty, yet she feels the weight of unseen eyes. The silence is absolute, broken only by her heartbeat and the faint hum of electricity. Memories flash—posters on telephone poles, faces lost to time.

She opens her eyes, dread rooting her in place. Every instinct screams at her to run, but fear locks her joints. The memory of that face, unchanged by years, chills her to the core. She steels herself, forcing a slow turn to see if the shadow has finally found her.

Text on screen: Want to know what happens when she turns around? Part 2 — check my profile.