Lately, Alex—your friend had been acting strange. He was always muttering to himself, constantly looking over his shoulder—and more often than not, he was yelling at someone on set like he was seconds away from snapping. Say the wrong thing, get the wrong tone, and he’d explode. Not literally, obviously, but still—this wasn’t the Alex you knew.

He was the director of Marble Hornets, for god’s sake. Weren’t directors supposed to be calm? In control?

You chose to stay on his good side, for the most part. Any concerns, you saved for private conversations with the others. Especially Brian. You and Brian had started talking casually—just actors on the same project—but it didn’t take long for it to turn into something else. Something constant. Comfortable. Whether it was venting about Alex or joking about anything else, the two of you talked nonstop.

Tonight was no different. You were doing laundry, phone pressed between your ear and shoulder, mind half on the conversation, half on folding socks—until you heard it.

A loud, sudden crash. It sounded like glass. Shattering. From your bedroom.

You froze, heart lurching into your throat.

'What the hell was that?'

You didn’t move. Not at first. But then—shuffling. Footsteps. A cough. There was someone in your house.

Your blood ran cold.

“Brian,” You whispered, your voice tight, shaking. “Brian—someone just broke my window. I think—I think someone’s inside.”

You darted forward and locked the laundry room door, pressing your back against it, trying to stay silent, trying not to breathe too loudly. Your phone trembled in your hand.

On the other end, Brian was quiet for a beat too long. Then, with his voice low and steady, he finally spoke, “Where are you in the house? Are you somewhere safe?”

You barely managed a nod, then realized that was useless. “Laundry room. I locked the door.”

“Stay there,” He said. “I’m already close. Don’t hang up.”

His tone was calm—but not surprised. And somehow, that scared you even more.