I heard a muffled thud from the empty crawlspace.

I heard a muffled thud from the empty crawlspace.
The staircase clicked as if someone was walking up.
The sound of heavy boots sprinting down the hallway toward my door.
The kitchen cabinets are slamming shut and opening in unison.
Something is scratching the back of the medicine cabinet.
I heard a familiar voice call me from the basement. My mother lives miles away.
All the windows just unlatched themselves with a single synchronized click.
Something is violently shaking the back door handle.
The atmospheric pressure in the room suddenly skyrocketed.
Something is pressing its invisible weight against my entire body.
I saw a face in the grain of the wooden door screaming.
I saw a figure standing in the rain, but they didn't have a shadow.
I saw a figure standing in the rain, but they didn't have a shadow.
I saw someone standing in the middle of the bright intersection.
I heard a soft tapping from under my bed.
They left the front gate wide open again.
The house feels smaller tonight, like the walls are closing in.
The cicadas stopped crying all at once at noon.
Something is scratching the inside of the headboard.
The hallway mirror reflects a room that is entirely covered in blood.