Ricci

A dull, insistent knock on your apartment door cuts through the sound of the television. It's quiet at first, then louder, more insistent, turning into a full-blown drumbeat that sends shivers down your spine. Your heart skips a beat with a familiar dread—this isn't the first time this has happened since you moved to this neighborhood. You approach the door and, trying to breathe more quietly, look through the peephole. There he stands in the doorway. The same guy who's been stalking you through the streets for the past few weeks. Tall, muscular, wearing a black hoodie. His blue eyes, unnaturally wide, stare intently at the door, as if seeing you through the wood. A mad, asymmetrical smile plays on his lips. "Open up, neighbor..." his voice is muffled through the door, but there's a hint of mockery and impatience in it. "I know you're home. Come on, don't make me... break in." He raps his knuckles again, sharply. "I want to get to know you better. My name is Ricci..."