The next morning arrived with the same quiet routine, but something still felt undeniably off. The unease from the past few days had lingered, a dull pressure sitting heavy in her chest. As she brushed her teeth, the sensation gnawed at her. Making coffee, she noticed the subtle wrongness in the air—like everything was slightly out of place.
She poured herself a cup, staring blankly at the empty chair across from her at the kitchen table. The house had never felt so still, the kind of quiet that didn't comfort her but instead crawled under her skin. It was an ordinary morning, just like any other, but nothing about it felt right.
Her phone buzzed, jolting her from her thoughts. The sudden noise made her heart skip a beat, her fingers tightening reflexively around the cup. She stared at the screen, irrationally tense.
"Relax," she muttered under her breath. "It's just your phone."
It was a message from Mia:
Lunch today? We haven't had a chance to catch up properly in a while.
She hesitated. Normally, she'd welcome the distraction, but today, the idea of engaging with anyone felt exhausting. Still, she couldn't ignore it forever.
Sure. Noon sounds good, she typed back.
***
At work, the feeling didn't go away. She sat at her desk, staring at her computer screen, but the words blurred together, refusing to stick in her mind. Conversations hummed around her, but they felt distant, like background noise. She couldn't focus, couldn't bring herself to care about any of it.
"Hey," a voice called from behind her. She turned to see Mark leaning on the side of her cubicle.
"You good?" he asked, his brow furrowed. "You've seemed kind of out of it the last few days."
"Yeah, just tired," she forced a smile, trying to seem normal. "Nothing major."
Mark didn't look convinced but shrugged. "If you need anything, just holler. You seem distracted."
As he walked away, she turned back to her screen, trying to push herself to concentrate. But it was impossible. It felt like her life had become slightly unmoored, like she was floating through it without fully participating.
***
By the time she met Mia for lunch, the sensation had only intensified. She sat across from her friend, stirring her coffee absently as Mia talked about her usual daily events. No matter how hard she tried to focus, everything felt distant, as if she was only half-participating in the conversation.
Mia set her coffee down, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You've been quiet," she said, her tone more direct this time. "What's going on with you?"
She blinked, startled by the sharpness of Mia's gaze. "What do you mean?"
"You've been... distant," Mia said, leaning in. "Even now, it feels like you're not really here. Is something going on?"
She hesitated. Could she tell Mia the truth? The strange feelings she'd been having, the little things in her apartment that seemed out of place, the faint whispers that teased at her when she was alone? But what could she say? It sounded ridiculous, even to her.
"I don't know," she admitted, fidgeting with the napkin in her lap. "I've just been feeling... disconnected. Like I'm not really part of my own life anymore."
Mia frowned. "Disconnected how?"
She sighed, tapping her fingers lightly against the edge of her cup. "It's hard to explain. I feel like things are happening around me, but I'm just... floating through it. Not really engaged, like I'm watching my life from a distance."
Mia studied her for a long moment. "Is it work? Stress? Maybe you need a break or—"
"It's not work," she interrupted quickly, shaking her head. "It's something more than that. I've been having these weird moments at home. Things just feel... different, but not in any obvious way. Objects seem to move slightly, like a book or a picture frame. I keep hearing these faint noises, almost like whispers, when I know no one else is there. I don't know... It's probably nothing."
Mia raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. "Objects moving? You mean, like... supernatural stuff?"
She let out a small, humorless laugh. "No, nothing like that. It's just... little things. I'm sure I'm just overtired or something."
"You've never had trouble sleeping before, right?" Mia asked, her voice softening.
She shrugged, her gaze dropping. "No, but lately... I wake up feeling like I haven't slept at all. And the dreams..." Her voice trailed off.
Mia leaned in, her voice soft. "What kind of dreams?"
"They're dark," she said quietly. "I keep seeing places I don't recognize—ruined halls, forests with no light. And there's this presence, always watching me. It feels so real."
Mia was silent, processing her words. "That's... intense," she finally said. "Maybe it's just stress, but if you're having nightmares like that, it might be more than exhaustion."
She looked away, not sure how to respond. The dreams felt too vivid, too unsettling to be just stress.
"You should talk to someone," Mia suggested gently. "Maybe they can help you figure out what's going on."
She shook her head. "I don't think it's that serious. I'll get through it."
Mia didn't push, but the concern in her eyes didn't fade. "I'm here if you need to talk. Anytime."
She forced a smile. "Thanks, Mia. I appreciate it."
***
That night, she lay on her bed, replaying the day's events. Mia's concern hung heavy in her mind, but she wasn't ready to admit something was wrong. Yet, the disconnect—the weight pressing down on her—was still there.
Her eyes wandered to the picture frame on her nightstand. Hadn't it been turned differently earlier? She frowned, trying to remember its exact position.
Rising from the bed, she walked to the nightstand and lightly touched the frame. It hadn't moved much, just enough to make her uneasy. It was a small thing, but the small things were adding up.
She glanced around the room again. A book she hadn't touched in weeks seemed slightly out of place. The unease crawled up her spine. Too many little things, all subtly wrong.
The air felt heavier, making it harder to breathe. She wrapped herself in the blanket, but it offered no comfort. The silence in the room wasn't peaceful; it was thick and oppressive, like something was watching, waiting for her to let her guard down.
Her eyelids grew heavy, but just as she began to drift off, she heard it—a faint whisper, barely audible, teasing the edge of her consciousness.
Her eyes snapped open, heart pounding. She strained to listen, but the room was quiet again.
Or was it?