Gemotions

The scraping sound started again. It was always the scraping. He pressed his ear against the wall, wood cold against his cheek. He imagined a figure, hunched, dragging something heavy. What *was* that noise? The walls seemed to vibrate with a low, insidious hum.

He switched off the television, then the lights. Total darkness, save for the sliver of moonlight filtering through the blinds. His breath hitched in his chest, shallow and rapid. He crept to the window, peering out at the house next door. Every shadow seemed to writhe, every shrub a lurking presence.

A car door slammed. He flinched, heart hammering. He ducked below the windowsill, crawling on his hands and knees to the bedroom door. He locked it, then braced a heavy chair beneath the handle. This would not be a safe place, but it was the best he could manage.