Whispers from Above

I started hearing footsteps above my ceiling at exactly 3:08 a.m. every night.

I live on the top floor. At first, it sounded like slow pacing—careful,

deliberate—like someone didn’t want to be heard. I told myself it was pipes,

rats, imagination. But pipes don’t stop when you hold your breath.

And rats don’t drag something heavy. One night, the footsteps paused right above my bed.

Then came a sound I can’t forget: my name, whispered, perfectly copied

in my mother’s voice. I didn’t answer. The whisper came again, closer this time,

followed by the soft scrape of fingernails… directly above my head. I grabbed my phone