I got a call from my roommate, his voice urgent: “Open your bedroom door.” Confused, I explained I wasn’t home. His panic escalated as he swore he heard someone moving inside. Heart pounding, I rushed back. When I arrived, his face was ashen, eyes wide with fear. Together, we approached my room. The air felt thick as we turned the knob. The door creaked open, revealing an eerie stillness. At first, nothing seemed amiss—until I noticed it. My desk chair was slightly askew, papers scattered as if someone had rifled through them. A cold draft brushed
my neck despite the closed window. My roommate whispered he’d heard footsteps earlier, pacing the floor. We searched but found no one. That night, I dreamed of shadowy figures, a vague presence lingering. Was it a break-in, a prank, or something unexplained? The unease lingered, a silent question hanging between us. Whatever it was, it left us both shaken, wondering what had invaded our space.