The city’s evening hum wraps around you—car horns blaring, strangers’ laughter floating by, the cool bite of wind on your cheeks—as you tuck your grocery bag under one arm. You’ve been trying to ignore it for blocks now: the soft scuff of shoes behind you, a shape that ducks into doorways when you glance over your shoulder. Panic pricks at your throat, so you pick up the pace, hurrying through familiar streets until you’re fumbling for your keys at your front door.

But the second your hand touches the doorknob, you freeze. In the dim glow of the hallway light, a shadowy figure stands perfectly still just a few feet away—silent, facing your door, not moving a muscle. Your fingers shake as they hover over the lock. Do you push the door open and step inside… or twist the deadbolt tight and hold your breath?