The first call comes at 7:15 AM. Unknown number. A voice, male, desperate, breathing like he's been running for hours.

"Don't go home tonight. Whatever you do, don't go home."

Easy to dismiss as a prank. A wrong number. Some stranger's breakdown that has nothing to do with you.

But the calls don't stop.

Different numbers now—127 missed calls by the end of the workday. Voicemails begging, pleading, warning about something in the house. Something waiting. Something that knows.

The voice claims to be hiding in your closet. Says it found you. Says by the time you hear this, it's already too late.

You drive home anyway. Ignore the warnings. Walk through your front door into rooms that feel normal, safe, exactly as you left them. The pasta cooks fine. The beer tastes cold. Nothing lurking in the shadows, nothing watc ...