Click. Light. Rustle.
The sound of a footstep in the void hung in the air, vibrating in Simon's bones. He stood pressed against the wall, every muscle tensed to the limit, like a taut string. The blinding white light flooded the empty living room, turning corners into sharp edges of shadow. Dust on the parquet sparkled like tiny embers under the lamps. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. In the middle of the room, where that clear, unambiguous rustle of a step had sounded, not a single speck of dust had shifted, not the slightest distortion in the air. Only blinding emptiness.
Simon didn't breathe. His heart pounded so loudly it seemed the echo reverberated off the bare walls. He stared fixedly at the spot the sound had come from. *Where?* His brain, desperately clinging to logic, scanned possibilities: a creak in the building's structure? A crumb of plaster falling in the ventilation? A stress-induced hallucination? But the sound was *too* distinct, *too* localized. Like a footstep. Barefoot. On a dusty floor.
The chill in his chest, where the bag with the scrap of fabric lay, pulsed like something alive. He felt it through the layers of clothing – an icy, alien reminder. His hand instinctively clenched around it, fingers digging into the jacket fabric, trying to feel the shimmer of that strange material through the plastic.
Five seconds passed. Ten. Silence. Only the ringing in his ears from his own heartbeat and the distant, muffled hum of the metropolis beyond the glass. The lights burned steadily, coldly, impassively. The rustle didn't repeat. No new sounds. No movement.
*Maybe that was it?* The thought slipped through, weak as hope. *Maybe just… a surge. A single glitch. Or a creak. Yes, a creak. Old building…*
Simon felt the adrenaline begin to recede, leaving behind emptiness and chilling fatigue. The muscles in his legs were numb from immobility and tension. Cautiously, centimeter by centimeter, he tried to shift his weight, straighten up, move away from the wall. Just to stretch his stiff leg. Just to…
**CLICK.**
Sharp, loud as a gunshot in the silence. The ceiling lights **snapped off** instantly.
Darkness slammed into his eyes, absolute, thick as ink. Simon cried out – a short, suppressed sound of terror. He froze, blinded, stunned by the suddenness. His breath caught. His heart leaped into his throat. *It's here! It's here!*
But nothing happened. No new rustle. No touch. Only black, oppressive silence and the smell of dust, suddenly sharp and nauseating. The darkness was physical; it enveloped him, crawled into his lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them, trying to make out anything. Nothing. Only the faint glows of city lights far below, barely outlining the giant windows.
Seconds stretched into eternity. Fear, pure, animal fear, gripped him tighter than any logic. Rational explanations evaporated. Only instinct remained. *Run. Now.*
Simon lunged forward, blind, groping his way towards the door from memory. His foot hit something – the wall? – he recoiled, lost his balance, and crashed to his knees. The parquet struck his bones painfully. He cried out in pain and fury at himself. *Where's the door?!* He scrambled around on his knees, desperately feeling along the cold floor, the baseboard. His fingers hit something solid, metallic – the door frame! He pushed himself up onto his knees, fumbled for the deadbolt. The heavy metal rod. His fingers slid over the cold metal, wouldn't obey. He gripped it with all his strength, yanked it down. The bolt scraped and gave way.
Simon scrambled to his feet, found the door handle, and yanked it open. The door swung wide, admitting the dim, yellowish light from the corridor. He tumbled out, stumbling, almost falling. The corridor light seemed incredibly bright after the pitch black of the apartment. He slammed the door shut behind him, leaned against the cold wall, breathing heavily. His knees trembled. His palms were slick with sweat.
"Mr. Vale?!" A frightened whisper came from the right.
Simon whipped around. The door to apartment 26 was open a crack on the chain. In the gap, he saw Mrs. Everard's pale, fear-contorted face. Her eyes were huge, brimming with tears.
"You… you saw? You heard?" Her voice trembled so much the words were barely distinguishable. "The light… the light went out, and I… I couldn't stand it… I came to my door… I looked through the peephole…"
Simon remained silent, trying to catch his breath, gulping air. His hand clenched again on the pocket holding the bag. The chill burned through the fabric.
"I… I wanted to see if you'd come out… If you were alright…" Mrs. Everard sniffed. "And… and then I saw…"
She fell silent, her lips trembling. She looked on the verge of hysteria.
"What did you see, Mrs. Everard?" Simon forced himself to speak calmly, though a storm still raged inside him.
"In… in the gap… under the door of apartment 27…" she whispered so quietly he barely heard. "When the light went out… it… it got dark in the corridor… And I saw…" She swallowed a lump in her throat. "**Eyes.**"
Icy shivers ran down Simon's spine.
"Eyes?" he repeated, his voice turning hard. "Whose eyes?"
"I don't know!" Mrs. Everard almost shrieked. "They… they were very low. Right at the floor. In the gap. As if… as if someone was *lying* there, behind the door of apartment 27, and… and looking out! Looking straight through the peephole of *my* door!" Her breathing became ragged. "They… they weren't… human, Mr. Vale! They were… too big. And… and they glowed. Faintly. Like… like rotten wood in the dark. A greenish… dead light!"
She burst into sobs, covering her mouth with her hand. "I only saw them for a second… maybe two. Then they… disappeared. Just vanished!" She recoiled from the gap, her face disappearing from view. "It's there! It knows we're watching! It *saw* me!" – her voice broke into a hysterical whisper, and door 26 slammed shut with a bang, locks clicking.
Simon stood alone in the lit corridor, leaning against the wall opposite the ominous door of apartment 27. His own fear retreated before cold fury and stunned realization. He stared at the narrow gap beneath the door. Dark. Empty. Now.
*Eyes. Greenish. Glowing. Staring out from under the door. Staring at her.*
This wasn't faulty wiring. Not a childish prank. Not stress.
Simon slowly straightened up. The trembling in his knees subsided, replaced by steely determination. He looked at the door of apartment 27, his eyes narrowing.