Whispers in the Shadows

The shadows on my bedroom ceiling started breathing last Tuesday night and I haven't slept

since. Every floorboard in my apartment whispers secrets when I walk across

them, telling me things I don't want to know. My reflection in

the bathroom mirror shows someone else's face now, mouth moving silently, screaming words

I can't hear but somehow understand. I've locked every window and taped up all the cracks

because the voices in my walls are planning something. They hide in the static of my television,

singing my deepest fears back at me in harmonies that make my skin crawl. The world outside

spins too fast, full of strangers who all seem to carry keys to doors I didn't know existed.