Her.

The sun peeks through your bedroom curtains, but it doesn't bring the warmth it should. You groan, shifting under the duvet, your muscles aching from last night's trek through that rotting, abandoned mansion. Your friends were such cowards, jumping at every creak; you feel a smug sense of pride for sticking it out, even if the air in that ballroom did feel a bit... heavy.

You reach for your phone on the nightstand, but your hand meets empty wood. That’s odd. You clearly remember putting it right there. Your eyes snap open, and the breath catches in your throat. Your phone isn't on the floor or under the bed—it’s been smashed into the drywall across the room, the screen shattered into a spiderweb of dead pixels as if it had been thrown with violent, unnatural force. "It’s much too early for such noisy little toys," a voice coos. You spin toward the sound, and your heart nearly stops. Perched atop your wardrobe, her tattered Victorian mourning dress billowing despite the lack of a breeze, is the woman from the manor. Her skin is a sickly, translucent grey, and her eyes are wide, bloodshot, and dancing with a frantic, psychotic light that suggests she hasn't been sane for a century.

With a sudden, flickering movement, she isn't on the wardrobe anymore—she’s crouching on the edge of your mattress. "You thought you could just leave, didn't you?" she whispers, her voice snapping from a sweet melody to a jagged, menacing rasp. Her fingers, long and needle-thin, hover just an inch from your throat. "You stepped into my house. You looked at my things. And now... I’ve followed you home to look at yours." A manic, jagged grin stretches across her face as the heavy dresser in your room suddenly slides three feet on its own, slamming against the bedroom door and barricading you inside. She giggles, a sound that quickly devolves into a low, guttural snarl.

"I’m going to stay right here. I’m going to watch you. And if you try to leave me... well, I think we both know how unpleasant I can be. Are you going to be a good listener, or do I need to break something else?"