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The Silent Killer

Maya sat on her love seat, gazing at the muffled TV. The city lights separated through the blinds, projecting limited fragments of pale light across the room. It had been a drawn out day, and presently the calm of the loft folded over her like a thick, choking out cover. She absentmindedly ran her fingers through her hair and took a full breath, attempting to loosen up.

Unexpectedly, there was a clamor.

A weak, practically subtle shift — like something scratching against the floor. Her body strained.

She looked at the edge of the room where the sound had started. Nothing. The shadows moved on the walls, however nobody was there.

It was presumably only the structure settling, she thought. In any case, the idea didn’t exactly settle her nerves.

Maya attempted to pull together on the television, however her eyes continued to dash to the corner. She was unable to shake the sensation of being watched.

Minutes passed. Then, another sound. A scarcely discernible stride.

This time, her heart skirted a thump. It was too particular to even consider disregarding. She put her glass of water down on the foot stool, scarcely uttering a sound as the ice 3D shapes rung against the glass. Yet at the same time, she heard it — the slightest tap of something weighty moving across the floor. Closer.

She stood up, attempting to keep her breathing consistent. I’m simply suspicious, she thought, yet the fixing in her chest told her in any case.

She pussyfooted to the passage, keeping her means as peaceful as could really be expected, however her psyche was hustling. The air felt thicker here, as though it was choking out her.

Maya went after the light switch and flicked it on. The lounge room overwhelmed with brilliance, and the lobby loosened up before her as an unmistakable difference to the dim corners. Be that as it may, there was nobody there. No indication of development.

Perhaps she was excessively wary. Get it together, Maya.

She advanced toward the kitchen, yet her strides repeated stronger than she expected. The commotion of the floor squeaking underneath her feet appeared to shout to the obscurity. She froze.

No… no, no, no.

Her eyes checked the room. Everything was ordinary. Her espresso producer sat on the counter, her blade block in the corner. The cooler murmured delicately in the corner. However, that annoying inclination continued. Something was off-base. Something was off.

Another shift. Not in the kitchen, but rather from behind her — close to the entry to the passage.

She turned with perfect timing to see the shadow at the edge of the room. A man, scarcely noticeable toward the side of her vision, similar to a wisp of smoke — quiet, like mixing into the walls. She wouldn’t even play with the possibility of uttering a sound. She paused her breathing.

He’s here.

She saw his foot, only one forward-moving step, then, at that point, another, similar to a tracker gradually shutting in. His developments were wary, like he knew the specific second her faculties would alarm her. Her heartbeat hustled.

He’s hanging tight for me to make a clamor.

Her body froze, each fiber of her being shouting to shout, yet she kept down. The strain was horrendous. She held her jaw, battling the desire to move or yell, every last bit of her body secured, mindful that even the littlest sound would bring him closer.

She stepped back toward the telephone on the kitchen counter, her breath shallow, a globule of sweat streaming down her spine. On the off chance that she could simply arrive at it, dial 911, she’d be protected.

Her fingers brushed the telephone. And afterward, the floor underneath her squeaked.

She heard it. The undeniable sound of strides progressing.

The man was currently close — excessively close.

Maya’s hand shook as she held the telephone and carried it to her ear, imploring the quiet would hold long enough for her to settle on the decision. However, before she could press the main digit, the lights gleamed, and the shadow at the corner moved quicker than she could respond.

He was right behind her.

The telephone slipped from her hand, colliding with the floor with an uproarious clack.

And afterward, in a moment, the man was there, a virus hand folding over her wrist, pulling her retrogressive into the haziness.

“Shh… ” he murmured, his breath cold against her ear. “You shouldn’t utter a sound.”