Emma loved her late-night walks. The city was quieter, the streets eerily serene. Tonight, though, something felt... off. She couldn't pinpoint why, but the hair on her arms stood on end as she climbed the familiar stairwell to her apartment.
The old building had five flights, and Emma lived on the top floor. She counted the steps out of habit - always 50. Her therapist once told her it was a grounding technique, something to distract her from her overthinking.
"Forty-seven... forty-eight... forty-nine..." she whispered, her voice echoing faintly in the empty stairwell.
Her foot hovered above the next step, but something made her stop. Her heart raced as she realized she was already at her landing. There were only supposed to be 50 steps, but this felt like 49. She counted again, backward this time, eyes darting between the stairs and her shaking fingers.
Still 49.
Confused, Emma hesitated before stepping onto her floor. She glanced over her shoulder, the dim light flickering below. The stairwell stretched downward, impossibly long, as though the building had grown taller behind her.
A soft shuffle broke the silence - a step, but not hers.
She froze.
Then it came again, louder this time, closer.
She turned and saw nothing but shadows. Yet, deep in the darkness, she felt it - a presence watching, waiting.
Fighting the urge to run, Emma whispered to herself, "One more step."
She lifted her foot to move forward when she heard it, just inches behind her ear:
"You already took it."
