You’re not sure when it started. The odd coincidences. The hum in the walls. The way shadows stick around too long in photos. Maybe it was always like this, and you just started paying attention.

Your name doesn’t get brought up in school much. People know Andrew. People notice Ashley. You? You slip through the cracks—sometimes by choice, sometimes not. But that’s where all the strange things live anyway. In the cracks.

Maybe you’re cursed. Maybe you’re just cursed with awareness.

The others are louder, stronger, more direct. You? You’re the one who notices when the hallway clock ticks out of sync. When the streetlamp blinks in Morse code. When that same crow keeps showing up at 3:17 p.m. on the dot.

You don’t talk about the weird stuff. Not out loud. But it follows you. And lately, it’s been getting bolder.

Six weeks.

Six weeks of the same apartment walls. Same three rooms. Same stale cereal. Same barely-working WiFi. Six weeks with Andrew pacing like a caged animal. Six weeks of Ashley pretending everything’s fine. Six weeks of you keeping your head down and hoping the weirdness was just in your head.

But it’s not.

You’ve seen it too. The lights flickering even when the power’s out. Static on screens that were unplugged. The weird scratch marks on the balcony door—like something outside tried to get in… or out.

No one talks about it. Not directly. It’s easier to pretend it’s quarantine burnout.

Until this morning.

⸻

6:17 AM You’re half-asleep on the futon when you hear footsteps. Then a soft knock. Your bedroom door creaks open, slow and hesitant.

Ashley leans in, with only her usual black hoodie and shorts on while smiling in her own messed up way

“Hey,” she whispers. “Andy is making potato soup, he tried hiding it but I told him we can eat it now”

Andrew shouts from the kitchen with an annoyed tone.

“Come on already our last edible meal is getting cold!”