Chapter 4: Scratching at the Door

Leo's apartment became his prison.

In the days following the incident on his back porch, he transformed his modest studio into a fortress of paranoia. He installed additional locks on his door—three deadbolts he'd bought with money he couldn't afford to spend. He covered all the windows with heavy blankets, taping them to the walls so no light could escape and nothing could see in.

His sleep schedule inverted completely. During the day, when sunlight filtered through the gaps in his makeshift blackout curtains, he felt marginally safe enough to doze fitfully on his couch. But as darkness fell, every shadow became a threat, every small sound a potential herald of that unnatural silence.

The job at Meridian Insurance became impossible to maintain. Leo called in sick three days in a row, then stopped calling at all. Janet left increasingly irritated voicemails that he deleted without listening to completely. He knew he was destroying what little stability he'd managed to build, but leaving the apartment felt like stepping into a predator's hunting ground.

Food became a problem. His refrigerator emptied, and takeout delivery drivers refused to come to his door after he insisted they leave orders on the porch and wait for him to retrieve them from behind his locked door. Eventually, he survived on whatever he could order online—crackers, canned goods, anything that didn't require fresh preparation.

But it was the waiting that nearly broke him.

Every evening, as the sun disappeared behind the neighboring houses, Leo would position himself in the center of his apartment and listen. He'd learned to recognize the signs: first the gradual fading of distant traffic, then the cessation of electronic humming from his appliances, and finally the complete absence of sound that preceded its arrival.

Sometimes the silence would last only minutes before the normal world reasserted itself. Other times it stretched for hours, leaving Leo crouched in his living room, afraid to move, afraid to breathe too loudly, afraid that any sound might draw the creature's attention.

On the nights when the breathing came—always from outside, always just beyond the reach of his vision—Leo would huddle behind his couch and count the minutes until dawn.

It was during one of these endless vigils that desperation finally overcame terror.

Leo fired up his laptop and began researching. If the thing was real—and he no longer had any doubt that it was—then perhaps others had encountered it. Perhaps someone, somewhere, had documented what he was experiencing.

He started with local news archives, searching for missing persons reports from the area around the old bridge. The results were sparse but disturbing. Over the past fifteen years, at least six people had vanished without a trace from the industrial district. Most were dismissed as runaways or overdose victims whose bodies simply hadn't been found.

But the timing bothered him. The disappearances clustered around specific months—always late fall or early winter, when the days grew short and the nights stretched long.

Leo expanded his search, diving into local history forums and paranormal websites. Most of what he found was obvious nonsense—ghost stories and urban legends that bore no resemblance to his experience. But buried in the comment sections and forum threads, he began to find fragments that felt familiar.

"Heard the weirdest thing last night. All the crickets just stopped at once, like someone had flipped a switch..."

"My dog refuses to go near the old train tracks. Just stands there whining and trembling..."

"Does anyone else hear that breathing sound near the power station? Thought it was equipment at first, but it moves around..."

The fragments painted a picture of something that had been haunting the area for years, maybe decades. Something that most people dismissed or forgot, but that left traces in the digital archaeology of forum posts and comment threads.

It was past midnight when Leo found the real breakthrough.

Deep in an obscure paranormal forum called "Strange Frequencies," he discovered a thread titled "The Hush - Local Cryptid or Something Worse?" The original post was from a user named ElectricDreams47, and it read like Leo's own experience translated into clinical, detached language:

"I've been tracking reports of an entity in the industrial district for the past three years. Witnesses describe a humanoid figure that moves on all fours, accompanied by periods of complete auditory nullification. The creature seems drawn to areas of high electrical activity and appears to stalk specific individuals over extended periods.

"Common elements in all reports: - Complete cessation of ambient sound before manifestation - Heavy breathing or panting sounds - Creature described as gaunt, dressed in dark rags - Sightings concentrated around power substations and electrical infrastructure - Witnesses report being followed home after initial encounters

"I believe this entity may be connected to the historical significance of the area. The old rail line that crosses through the district was the site of a major accident in 1987. A vagrant seeking shelter during a storm was electrocuted when he climbed onto a power transformer. His body was found three days later, badly burned and partially consumed by wildlife.

"Local folklore suggests the entity feeds on electrical energy and strong negative emotions. It appears to select targets who are isolated, desperate, or experiencing significant psychological distress."

Leo's hands shook as he read the post. Every detail matched his experience perfectly, down to the creature's apparent preference for stalking people at their lowest points.

But it was the final paragraph that made his blood freeze:

"WARNING: If you believe you are being stalked by this entity, DO NOT attempt direct confrontation. It becomes more aggressive when threatened. Avoid areas of high electrical activity, especially during hours of darkness. The entity's influence appears to be growing stronger. Recent reports suggest it is no longer confining itself to the industrial district."

The post was dated six months ago. The thread had thirty-seven replies, but when Leo clicked to read them, he found that most had been deleted. Only a few fragments remained:

"It followed me home too. Three weeks now. I can't..." [DELETED]

"The scratching started last night. At first I thought it was raccoons, but..." [DELETED]

"ElectricDreams47, please respond to my private message. I need to know more about the electrocution incident. I think I found something important about the location..." [DELETED]

Leo scrolled to the bottom of the thread, hoping to find more recent activity, but the last post was from two months ago. ElectricDreams47 hadn't responded to any of the replies, and their user profile showed no activity since the original post.

Leo spent the rest of the night diving deeper into the forum, searching for any other mentions of "The Hush" or similar entities. He found scattered references—always vague, always incomplete, as if people were afraid to discuss it directly.

But one thing became clear: he wasn't alone. Others had experienced what he was going through. Others had been stalked, terrorized, driven to the edges of sanity by something that shouldn't exist but undeniably did.

The knowledge was both comforting and terrifying. Comforting because it validated his experience, proved he wasn't losing his mind. Terrifying because it suggested the creature was not an isolated incident but part of something larger, more systematic.

As dawn approached, Leo finally allowed himself to believe he might survive another night. The normal sounds of the waking world began to filter through his covered windows—traffic, birds, the distant hum of the city coming to life.

He was about to close his laptop and try to get some sleep when he heard it.

Scraping. Scratching. Coming from his back door.

Leo froze, his finger hovering over the laptop's touchpad. The sound was soft but unmistakable—fingernails or claws dragging across wood in a slow, deliberate pattern.

Raccoons, he told himself. Or possums. Lots of stray animals in the neighborhood.

But the scratching had a rhythm to it, an almost musical quality that suggested intelligence rather than random animal behavior.

Leo crept toward the back of his apartment, moving as quietly as possible across the creaky floorboards. The scratching continued, growing slightly louder as he approached the door.

Through the covered window beside the door, he could see the faint glow of dawn beginning to lighten the sky. Whatever was out there was working in the growing daylight, bold enough to approach his home even when darkness no longer provided cover.

Leo pressed his ear to the door and listened. The scratching paused, as if the creature had sensed his presence. Then it resumed, more insistent now, accompanied by a soft snuffling sound.

Like a dog trying to get inside.

The thought hit him with sudden, horrible clarity. The scratching, the snuffling—it sounded exactly like a pet wanting to be let in. Like his neighbor's dog might sound if it had gotten loose and was seeking shelter.

But Leo didn't have a dog. He'd never had a pet of any kind.

The realization struck him like a physical blow. The creature wasn't just stalking him anymore—it was mimicking behavior designed to make him open the door. It was learning, adapting, becoming more sophisticated in its approach.

Leo backed away from the door, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it echoing in his ears. The scratching continued for several more minutes, then gradually faded away.

But the message was clear. The creature was no longer content to watch from a distance or manifest during moments of supernatural silence. It was actively trying to gain entry to his last refuge.

And Leo had the terrible feeling that it was only a matter of time before it succeeded.