Always Watching

Table of Contents

The storm had been building all evening, pressing heavy against the air like an unspoken warning. Sarah sat curled on the couch, blanket around her shoulders, the flicker of the TV casting pale light across the living room. Rain hammered the windows in bursts, and the wind whistled in the chimney, sounding at times almost human.

At first, the noise barely registered—just a faint, irregular tapping somewhere in the background. But after the third, sharper tap-tap-tap, she muted the TV and listened. It was coming from the back door. Sarah frowned. The backyard was fenced, the gate latched, and she wasn’t expecting anyone. She rose slowly, pulling the blanket tighter around her, and padded toward the kitchen where the glass-paneled back door stood in view.

Lightning flashed, white and blinding, and for a split second she saw it—something dark, moving across the glass. Not a shape she could fully make out, more a smear of shadow, gone the instant the light faded.  Before she could process it, the house went black. The hum of the refrigerator died, the TV screen winked off, and the only sound was the wind moaning through the eaves.

The sudden silence made her heartbeat seem loud in her ears. She reached for her phone on the counter, but as she unlocked it, a new sound cut through the dark. Wet. Slow. Footsteps. They were inside. Her breath caught, and then so close it seemed to brush her ear came a voice, low and rasping:

“I’m already inside.”

The phone almost slipped from her hand. Her first instinct was to bolt, but her legs felt rooted to the floor. She forced herself to move, fumbling in the drawer for the largest kitchen knife she owned. The metal felt heavy and cold in her grip. She backed away from the kitchen, heading toward the front door. The air in the house felt wrong, thick, like someone had exhaled in every room. The voice came again, distant now, but echoing through the dark:

“You’ll never find me.”

Her pulse roared in her ears. She twisted the deadbolt, yanked the front door open, and lunged into the rain. The wind stung her face, plastering her hair against her cheeks as she sprinted barefoot across the driveway to her neighbor’s porch. Mr. Keller answered her frantic knocking in seconds. She barely registered his startled expression before blurting,

“Call the police someone’s in my house!”

By the time the officers arrived, Sarah was shivering under a blanket in her neighbor’s kitchen. They searched every corner of her home, their flashlights slicing through the shadows. Kitchen, living room, attic, basement—nothing. No broken locks, no shattered glass, no footprints but hers. One officer lingered in the hallway as the others began to pack up. His light