GRAVEBORN

3\DO YOU REMEMBER ME?

Sarah wasn't afraid of the dark. At least, not until the night she woke up and realized she wasn't alone in her own home.

It started on a rainy Friday evening. Sarah had come home late from her shift at the diner, exhausted and soaked from the unexpected storm that had rolled in. Her small apartment, which usually felt like a cozy escape, seemed cold and empty as she kicked off her wet shoes and hung up her jacket.

She was used to the quiet. After all, she lived alone. At 28, she liked her independence, liked knowing that her space was hers and no one else's. But tonight, something felt different.

As she settled on the couch with a bowl of soup, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The room seemed darker than usual, even with the lights on. The rain beat against the windows in a steady rhythm, but there was something off in the air—an uneasy stillness, like the calm before a storm.

Sarah tried to ignore it. She turned on the TV, flipping through channels absentmindedly, but her mind kept wandering. Her eyes drifted to the hallway that led to her bedroom. She couldn't explain it, but she kept expecting to see something—or someone—standing there.

"You're being paranoid," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. It had been a long day, and the storm was just making everything feel more eerie.

Still, when it came time to go to bed, she double-checked the locks on the doors and windows. She even peered into the small bathroom and closet, just to be sure she was truly alone. Satisfied that everything was in order, she climbed into bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin.

The rain was still coming down hard outside, and the sound of it lulled her into a light sleep.

At exactly 2:13 a.m., Sarah woke up.

At first, she wasn't sure why. She lay still, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, listening for any noise that might have pulled her from her sleep. The rain had stopped, and the apartment was completely silent.

Too silent.

Sarah sat up, her heart beating a little faster. She had always been a light sleeper, easily disturbed by the smallest sound. But this wasn't just the absence of sound; it was a suffocating silence, like the air had been sucked out of the room.

Her bedroom door was open. She was sure she had closed it before going to bed.

A shiver ran down her spine as she stared at the dark hallway beyond. Something wasn't right. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, the soft glow of the screen illuminating the room just enough to push back the shadows.

2:14 a.m.

She swiped to turn on the flashlight, the beam cutting through the darkness. Slowly, she climbed out of bed, the wooden floor cold under her bare feet. She held the phone out in front of her, stepping cautiously toward the hallway.

There was nothing there.

Sarah exhaled shakily, trying to calm her racing heart. She must have been imagining things. Maybe she hadn't closed the door after all. But just as she was about to turn around and go back to bed, she heard it.

A soft, almost imperceptible creak from the living room.

Someone—or something—was there.

Sarah froze, her breath catching in her throat. The flashlight shook in her hand as she pointed it toward the living room. The beam danced across the furniture, casting long, eerie shadows against the walls.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice barely above a whisper. She immediately regretted it. What was she thinking? If someone was in her apartment, why would she give herself away like that?

But there was no answer. Just the silence.

Summoning all her courage, Sarah took a step forward, her legs trembling. She moved slowly, inching her way down the hallway. When she reached the living room, she scanned the area with the flashlight. Everything seemed normal—the couch, the coffee table, the TV. Nothing was out of place.

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it.

A person.

It was standing in the far corner of the room, just beyond the edge of the light. Tall and motionless, it was barely visible in the darkness. Sarah's breath caught in her throat as she stared, unable to move or speak.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The figure stood perfectly still, as if waiting for something. Sarah's mind raced, trying to process what she was seeing. Was it a person? A shadow? Her imagination playing tricks on her?

Her heart pounded in her chest, and her mouth went dry. She took a step back, her flashlight trembling in her hand.

The figure took a step forward.

Sarah gasped, her pulse skyrocketing. She stumbled backward, nearly dropping the phone as she tried to get away. But the figure moved again, slowly advancing toward her, its form barely visible in the dim light.

Panic surged through her, and she turned and ran. She sprinted down the hallway, her feet slamming against the floor as she raced toward her bedroom. She slammed the door shut behind her, locking it with trembling hands.

For a moment, everything was quiet again. Sarah stood with her back against the door, trying to catch her breath. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what she had seen. Had it been real? Was someone really in her apartment?

Then she heard it.

A soft, deliberate knock on the other side of the door.

Sarah's blood ran cold.

She backed away from the door, her heart pounding in her chest. The knock came again, slow and steady, as if whoever—or whatever—was on the other side was in no hurry.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Please, go away," Sarah whispered, her voice trembling. She backed up until she hit the bed, her legs shaking so badly she could barely stand.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

She had to do something. She couldn't just stand there, waiting for it to come in. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for anything she could use to defend herself. But there was nothing—just her phone, the flashlight still clutched in her hand.

The knock stopped.

Sarah held her breath, her entire body tense. Maybe it was gone. Maybe whoever it was had left.

But then the doorknob turned, slowly.

"No," Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible.

The door creaked open, and the figure stood in the doorway, its shadow stretching across the floor. It didn't move, didn't speak. It just stood there, watching her.

Sarah's heart pounded in her ears as she stared at the figure, her body frozen with fear. She couldn't scream, couldn't move. All she could do was stare as it slowly stepped into the room, its face hidden in the darkness.

It stopped at the foot of her bed, towering over her. And then, in a voice barely more than a whisper, it spoke.

"Do you remember me?"

Sarah's blood turned to ice. The voice was familiar, but she couldn't place it. She shook her head, her throat too tight to speak.

The figure leaned closer, its face still hidden in shadow. "You should."

And with that, the lights flickered—and went out.

Sarah was never seen again. When the police arrived the next day, they found her apartment exactly as she had left it. The front door was locked, and there were no signs of a struggle.

But in her bedroom, scrawled across the wall in dark, jagged letters, were the words:

"Do you remember me?"

And beneath them, a single handprint, pressed deep into the paint, as if something—or someone—had left it there.