The door had always been locked.
That's what Mara told herself every night as she passed it on the way to bed—the narrow door at the end of the hallway, painted the same color as the walls so it almost disappeared. The landlord had said it was a sealed storage space. No key exists, he'd smiled.
At 2:17 a.m., Mara woke to the sound of breathing.
Not hers.
It came from the hallway—slow, patient, like someone listening. She held her breath. The sound stopped.
Then she heard it: click.
The soft, unmistakable sound of a lock turning.
Mara's bedroom door began to open.
As the shadow stretched across the floor, she realized something far worse than fear—
The door at the end of the hallway had never been locked to keep something out.