I hear it sometimes,
just past the quiet hallways—
a soft whisper, a breath that is not mine
but knows the shape of my name.
The walls are white,
clean enough to forget the world,
but the shadows- remember.
They linger in the corners,
patient,
as if waiting for someone
who looks a like me.
I keep a key in my pocket,
feel its weight like a heartbeat.
They told me it keeps the doors locked,
the voices out,
the things behind the walls asleep.
But some nights,
it feels like the key is holding me shut,
keeping something inside
that isn’t supposed to get out.
The light snapped—
a brittle, dying sound.
In the dark,
for a single breath of silence,
I saw someone standing there.
Not behind me.
Not beside me.
But exactly where I should have been.
It smiled.
My ribs tightened.
The whisper came again—
closer now,
warm against my ear.
And for the first time,
I wasn’t sure
whether I was the one haunting the hallways,
or the one being hunted by them.