Footsteps at 2:17 a.m.

I moved into my apartment six months ago. It’s cheap, quiet,

and the walls are thick enough that I never hear my neighbors—except for the footsteps

above me at night. They start around 2:17 a.m. Every night. Same time.

Same pacing. Slow. Deliberate. At first, I assumed insomnia.

Maybe they worked nights. Whatever. I bought earplugs. Then one night,

I woke up and realized the footsteps were coming from inside my apartment. I froze.

I live alone. The sound wasn’t loud—barely more than the soft pressure of bare feet on

carpet—but it was unmistakable. Someone was walking from my bedroom door toward my bed.