The Day It All Went Wrong.

1 day till the end...

As I wake up, the sound of my phone alarm blaring at me and the TV still playing from last night jar me from my sleep. For a moment, I’m disoriented. The room feels too quiet, and the weight of exhaustion is still pulling at me. My phone alarm rings relentlessly, and I groggily reach over to silence it. As I do, I glance at the TV. The static hum of the screen seems off, but I can’t pinpoint why. It’s only when I see the time flashing on my phone that a sudden rush of panic hits me.

I’m going to be late to work!

I shoot up from the couch, heart racing, as the blankets fall to the floor in a tangled heap. My head spins a bit, the remnants of a restless sleep still clinging to me. I rush to the bedroom to grab some clothes, but as I get dressed, my eyes flicker toward the front door. My breath catches.

The door was unlocked.

I could have sworn I locked it last night. I distinctly remember turning the deadbolt before I went to bed.

“What the hell??” I mutter under my breath, my pulse quickening. For a moment, I freeze, staring at the door, trying to make sense of it. It feels like someone might have been inside while I was asleep. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

No, I’m just paranoid, I tell myself. I push the unsettling feeling aside as best as I can. I’ve been anxious lately, and I’m probably just overthinking things. I need to get going.

I force myself to focus on getting ready. The unease follows me like a shadow, but I ignore it as I step into the shower, hoping the warm water will calm me. But as I wash away the exhaustion, a strange sensation hits me—a chill creeping up my spine. I swear I see a figure, a dark silhouette, standing in the corner of the bathroom. I freeze, my heart hammering in my chest, but when I blink and look again, there’s nothing there. Just the steam rising from the water.

I shake my head, trying to shake the thoughts from my mind. It’s nothing. Maybe I’m just tired.

But then I hear it. The door to the bathroom slowly creaks shut behind me.

My blood runs cold.

I whip around, my breath catching in my throat, eyes wide with fear. I yank the shower curtain back, peeking out toward the bathroom door, but I don’t see anything. No figure standing there, no sign of someone having entered. It’s like I imagined it. My heart pounds in my chest as I step cautiously out of the shower, looking over my shoulder one more time.

I’m being ridiculous, I tell myself. There’s no one here.

I get dressed quickly, the odd feeling that I’m being watched never fully leaving. The sense of dread lingers, gnawing at me, but I try to shake it off. I grab my phone, check the time, and head out the door, making sure to lock it behind me. But as I lock it, the thought strikes me again: I’m sure I locked this door last night. To ease my mind, I take a picture of the lock, proof that I secured everything before leaving. I try not to dwell on the unease creeping up on me again.

I get in my car, sinking into the driver’s seat, my body heavy with the thought of work. I don’t want to go in today. I feel off. I feel like something’s coming, something bad. The paranoia gnaws at me as I sit there, staring out the windshield for a moment, just trying to collect myself.

I reach for my phone, dialing my boss’s number with shaking fingers, hoping I can get out of work. I don’t even know why I bother; it’s just that nagging feeling again.

“Hey, boss, I’m not feeling well today...” I say into the phone, trying to sound hoarse, like I’m coming down with something. It’s a weak excuse, but I don’t know what else to say.

“If you call out sick, you won’t get paid today,” my boss snaps, his voice irritated.

I sigh, already regretting even asking. “Yes, sir. I understand. But may I still stay out today?”

There’s a long pause before he responds, and I feel the tension stretch through the line like a tight wire. “Yeah, it’s fine. You’re just not getting paid for today,” he mutters, clearly annoyed, before hanging up without another word.

Relief floods through me, but it’s fleeting. As I hang up, the strange unease doesn’t fade. I don’t even want to leave my car, but I force myself to do it. I drag myself back inside my house, dropping my things on the couch and sitting there, staring at the clock. It’s only a few hours since I woke up, but I feel completely drained, like the energy has been sucked out of me.

I check the time again, and then again. The hours slip by slowly as I try to distract myself—watching TV, browsing through my phone, anything to keep my mind from wandering back to that feeling of being watched, of being followed.

Eventually, I can’t fight it any longer. The exhaustion takes over. I yawn and stretch out on the couch, pulling a blanket over myself, the warmth of it comforting. I don’t want to sleep, not with the way I’ve been feeling, but my body betrays me. I drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The dreams I do have are strange—twisted, almost idyllic. I dream of a world where money and food aren’t a problem. I’m happy, content, surrounded by people, a place where everything just… works. But even in that peaceful world, something feels off, like a shadow lingering at the edge of my vision.

Then, suddenly, a loud noise—crashing, screeching—snaps me awake. My heart pounds in my chest, my breath shallow, and I sit up quickly, disoriented, looking around the room. The silence is suffocating. The clock on the wall reads 8:00 AM. The same time I saw when I first woke up.

I blink, confused. What the hell? How long did I sleep? I check my phone—nothing seems out of the ordinary. But something feels wrong. I can’t shake the sense of dread. The house is silent, but it feels different, like I’m not alone. I get up cautiously, every movement feeling too loud in the stillness. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up again as I glance around the room, my senses on high alert.

Then I hear it—a soft creak, like a floorboard groaning under someone’s weight.