LONELY NIGHT AT HOME

The living room clock read 9:45 p.m., and Andrés shut the door behind his parents.

—We’ll be back late, sweetheart. —His mother said before leaving—. Call if you need anything, okay?

The click of the lock sounded like a gunshot in the silence, too loud and sharp. Andrés stood there for a moment, motionless, feeling as if turning the bolt had sealed more than just the exit.

«It’s just one night», he thought, forcing a smile.

It wasn’t the first time he stayed home alone, but something about the darkness in the hallway and the heaviness of the air felt strange. It was as if something was watching him from every shadowy corner of the apartment.

He shook his head and walked to the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of soda and grabbed a bag of chips, trying to fill the silence with the rustling of the packaging and the fizzing of the drink. But even those sounds seemed to be swallowed by the atmosphere.

—Don’t be silly, Andrés. —He muttered, though the echo of his own voice in the empty kitchen sent a chill down his spine.

In his room, the monitor cast a cold, bluish light on the wall. Andrés plugged in the mouse and started playing. He sought comfort in the game, but his attention drifted every time something creaked in the apartment. The pipes groaned as if someone were whispering behind the walls, and the living room clock ticked hollowly, its rhythm slower than normal.

He tried to ignore the noises, turning up the volume, but then a faint tapping on the balcony glass startled him. It was a small sound, like someone tapping the window with their fingers. Andrés froze, his hands hovering above the keyboard. A tightness in his chest spread like a weight. He glanced toward his open bedroom door, keeping an eye on the hallway, and his heart skipped a beat when he noticed the light flickering.

It was an old bulb. Of course it flickered if left on for too long. But the pattern wasn’t normal. It was erratic, as if something were manipulating it.

Andrés stood up slowly, almost involuntarily, and stepped into the hallway. The light seemed to cast shadows that shouldn’t have been there, stretching in directions that didn’t match its source. He swallowed hard and stood still, listening. All he could hear was his ragged breathing and the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. But then, a loud crash shattered the silence.

The tapping grew louder, more insistent. It came from the balcony, inching closer.

Andrés walked cautiously, his bare feet sticking to the cold floor. When he reached the glass, he pressed his forehead against it to peer outside. Bogotá’s lights shimmered like faded stars, and the reflections of streetlights created kaleidoscopic patterns in the puddles on the asphalt. But there was nothing and no one there.

He backed away, but he felt as though something followed him, something walking behind him and breathing down his neck. It was as if the entire apartment were closing in on him, forcing him to hold his breath and move as slowly as possible.

Back in his room, he tried to calm down, carefully closing the door.

—Nothing’s wrong. —He told himself, but the words sounded hollow even to him.

He tried to play again, but the monitor reflected something in the doorway behind him. Something that vanished the moment he turned his head. He looked back at the screen and put on his headphones, hoping to lose himself in the game and escape both the sounds of the apartment and the feeling of being watched.

Suddenly, white noise echoed through the apartment. The living room TV had turned on, filling the air with a buzzing that seemed to tear through the silence. Andrés froze, rooted to his chair, headphones in hand.

«No, no… the TV can’t be on», he thought. His eyes were wide, his hands trembling. «I didn’t even touch it».

But there it was, glowing through the crack of the now ajar door. From his room, the living room seemed even darker, as if the TV’s light couldn’t penetrate the blackness.

Andrés got up, driven by a primal fear that told him he had to see, even though his entire body screamed at him not to leave. Each step toward the living room was a battle against his own tense muscles. When he reached the TV, he stopped dead at the sight of his reflection in the screen. His face was pale and distorted, but... something else was behind him. A tall, motionless shadow.

He spun around with a jolt, but there was nothing. Just the hallway and his bedroom door at the end. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady his breathing.

—It’s my mind. It’s my mind, —He repeated like a mantra, seeking solace in those words.

He returned to his room, walking as fast as he could and leaving the lights on along the way. He shut the door behind him. His breathing was erratic, and cold sweat trickled down his neck. He turned on the computer again to distract himself, but the game was gone. Instead, a chat window was open.

—Andrés, don’t hide.

The message blinked on the screen. His legs buckled, and he stumbled back against the wall. Outside, in the hallway, he heard footsteps. Slow, heavy steps approaching his door.

And then, three knocks.