Two best friends decided to rent a house to be near college, It was a bargain sale, such a large house for so little money. It’s a dream come true, after dealing with a rough childhood Emile and Miranda could finally leave any troubled past behind.

Emile juggled the grocery bags in her hands, trying to keep her grip as she hurried down the narrow hallway. The midday light filtered dimly through the house’s old curtains, casting shadows that seemed to bend and twist in her peripheral vision. The feeling that she was being watched crawled over her skin, tightening her grip on the bags. She glanced over her shoulder—nothing there—but her pace quickened.

As she reached her room, a loud thud echoed through the quiet house. She froze, heartbeat picking up, and looked toward the source. It came from Miranda’s room.

“Miranda?” Emile called out, her voice sounding small.

Silence answered. Usually, Miranda made a point of announcing when she was home, especially after their recent conversations about “the strange vibe” in the house. Emile felt a shiver run through her as she crossed the hall to Miranda’s door, her mind racing with possibilities. Gently, she turned the handle and stepped in.

Miranda was on her bed, her knees pulled to her chest, rocking slowly back and forth. Her skin was pale, almost gray, and her eyes seemed unfocused, staring at nothing. Emile rushed to her side, dropping the grocery bags at the foot of the bed.

“Miranda, what’s going on? Are you okay?” she whispered, a knot of dread forming in her stomach.

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Miranda’s mouth opened slightly, as if to speak, but only a faint sigh escaped. Her gaze drifted up, seeming to follow something invisible crawling along the ceiling. Emile felt the air in the room grow heavy, and the sensation of something approaching crept closer, pressing down on her chest.

Panicked, Emile leapt toward the door and turned the lock with shaking hands. Suddenly, Miranda’s head whipped up, her eyes bulging with fear.

“Don’t lock the door,” she whispered, her voice growing frantic. “Don’t lock the door. Don’t lock the door.” She repeated it faster and faster, the words blending into a nonsensical murmur, until Emile could barely make them out.

Emile’s heart pounded, her hands gripping the doorframe to keep steady. Miranda stopped speaking abruptly, her eyes glassy, as if she were slipping into sleep. She lay back against the bed, as if resting, but her face held a look of distant terror.

Emile stayed frozen, the silence thickening around her. Her breaths came in shaky gasps, and she found herself too afraid to leave the room. Desperate for any kind of distraction, she reached for the remote and flicked on the TV, hoping the noise would drown out the dread gnawing at her.

The news flickered to life, filling the room with a faint, comforting hum. Emile glanced over her shoulder at Miranda, now still as stone, seemingly asleep. She allowed herself a shaky breath, feeling the tension start to ease.

But then, the TV screen went to static. Her grip on the remote tightened as she leaned forward, trying to adjust the signal. The white noise grew louder, harsher, filling her ears until it seemed to press in from all sides.

Suddenly, a face flickered on the screen—a face contorted in a wide-open mouth filled with sharp, jagged teeth. Emile gasped, scrambling back from the TV, her voice caught in her throat. She wanted to scream, but fear held her silent.

Desperately, she crawled to the bed, reaching for Miranda, seeking some kind of anchor. Her hand brushed against Miranda’s foot beneath the covers, and she felt her friend tense. Miranda’s eyes flew open, staring directly at the screen, her face as pale as a ghost.

Then, Miranda let out a scream—a piercing sound that filled the room with terror. Emile clutched her friend’s hand, unable to tear her gaze away from the flickering screen, where the face still lurked in the static, its mouth stretching wider.

And in that moment, she knew they were no longer alone.