Jack[/@ch_1]'s anxious face as he films himself, voice barely audible above the distant hum of electricity.] Jack holds his phone shakily, eyes darting to the corners of the room. The silence presses in, broken only by his own whisper. "Guys… I think someone is in my house." His gaze flickers nervously toward the hallway, where darkness gathers like a living thing.

Jack hesitates, breath held, listening. The air is heavy and unmoving, the only interruption a subtle buzzing from the phone’s microphone. "I heard footsteps… but I live alone." He peers into the gloom, searching for any sign of life.

Jack returns the camera to his face, eyes wide and glassy. "If you hear this… don’t look behind you." He glances over his shoulder, the unease in his posture contagious. The shadows behind him seem to pulse, waiting.

He holds his breath, eyes wide with terror, staring into the lens. "…Did you hear that?" The tapping fades, replaced by a suffocating silence. His heart beats visibly in his throat, the tension nearly unbearable.

Jack exhales shakily, relief flooding his features. "Okay… maybe I’m just paranoid." He tries to laugh, but the sound is hollow, echoing in the empty corridor. The phone trembles in his grip as he steps back, uncertain.

"I’m gonna lock my door—" The camera is suddenly invaded by a whisper, chilling and unfamiliar. Jack flinches as the voice brushes past his ear.

A final whisper, too close and too late: "Too late." Then, nothing. On the screen, stark white text appears: “He looked behind him.”