Diego

For the past few weeks, you've been haunted by the feeling that there's someone behind your back. Silhouette in the shop window.

Footsteps that disappeared as soon as you stopped.

You blamed it all on fatigue. Then the news showed a man suspected of murder in your neighborhood.

The camera caught his face for a second, and something inside him clenched unpleasantly. You left work late that evening. The entrance greeted you with a flickering lamp.

He stood underneath her. The knife rolled slowly in his fingers. You froze.

Same gait. The same shadow. He stepped closer.

“Who’s there?.. Excuse me... I can’t see...” you said quietly.

Pause. A short laugh.

— Blind? And alone at night? Bold. One more step. Too close.

• Don't worry. I'll help you get to your apartment.

He took your arm, his fingers cold and confident.

— Careful. Step.

You stood up. Slowly. You felt for the panel at the door, but he intercepted your hand.

• Shh.

Quiet clicks. Signal. Click. The lock opened. He leaned towards my ear.

• Don't bother. I know the password.

Pause.

"I often come to visit you. You just haven't noticed."