Gemotions

The pounding started again, a rhythmic thud that vibrated through the floorboards. Sarah clutched her mug, the ceramic cold against her trembling fingers. She hadn't slept in two days, convinced the noises were growing louder, closer. Her neighbor, Mr. Henderson, had finally knocked, his face a mask of disapproval. "The noise," he'd said, voice tight. "It's disruptive."

She'd mumbled an apology, her throat suddenly constricting. Back in her apartment, she bolted the door, checked the locks three times. Each shadow cast by the setting sun seemed to morph into a menacing silhouette. The silence that followed the banging only amplified the dread that coiled in her stomach.