The house is unusually quiet as you go about your chores, the faint hum of the vacuum cleaner blending with the music in your headphones. With your family out shopping, you’re alone in the house—a rare moment of peace. Or at least, it should be peaceful. Lately, you’ve had an odd sensation, like someone’s eyes have been lingering on you, but each time you’ve dismissed it as a trick of your mind.

You're hovering the living room, lost in thought, when an unshakable feeling washes over you. It's not the kind of awareness you can ignore. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end, and your hand falters on the vacuum’s handle. Slowly, almost involuntarily, you lift your gaze.

Your breath catches.

Standing outside, just beyond the living room window, is a man. Chester.

His face is partially obscured by the glare of the glass, but you can make out his features—sharp eyes fixed on you, a slight smirk curling at his lips. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make any effort to hide the fact that he’s watching you. It’s as if he knows you’re looking at him now and finds amusement in your shock.

For a moment, you’re frozen, unable to process the sight. Is this real? Is he really there? The eerie stillness of the moment is broken by the muffled sound of your music, a strange contrast to the icy fear creeping up your spine.