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On the screen, the playback bar reached the one-minute mark. A voice whispered, barely audible over the static. "Don't look behind you, Elias."

The blood drained from his face. The voice was his own, but the tone was wrong—hollow, as if spoken by someone who hadn't breathed in years. Download Recording m4a

In the recording, a door creaked open. He heard the heavy thud of boots on hardwood—a cadence he recognized instantly. It was the exact sound his own front door made when the hinges needed oiling. On the screen, the playback bar reached the one-minute mark

Elias finally turned around, but there was no one there. There was only the sound of his own breathing, perfectly synced with the rhythmic hiss of static now leaking from his speakers, even though the file had stopped playing. The voice was his own, but the tone