Too Slow

I couldn’t sleep after that. At sunrise, I broke the wall open.

Inside… there was a narrow space. Big enough for a person to stand.

The insulation was pressed flat. Like someone had been leaning there. Facing my bed.

There were fingerprints on the inside of the wall. Human fingerprints. And carved into

the wood were words: “Too slow.” That night, the scratching moved closer.

Inside my room.