The Mysterious Hour

ousness moments before her eyes fluttered open, a primal awareness of being observed. The digital numbers on her bedside clock glowed with a malevolent red: 03:00.

tant sigh of traffic. Silence. But it was a deceptive silence, thick with a tension that coiled in her gut.

ndow. It was gone in an instant, a phantom limb of darkness that might have been a trick of the light, a residue of sleep. But Maya knew better. This wasn't the first

tching her? And why only at this specific, unholy hour? The questions clawed at her mind, unanswered and terrifying in their implications. Tonight, however, felt di

revealing only the familiar contours of her bedroom. But the feeling remained, a cold knot of certainty in her chest. Whatever haunted the mysterious ho

Stirring (

lower, more deliberate, like something with tiny claws scraping against the wooden floorboards. Maya froze, her breath catching in her throat. This was new. Usually, it was just t

d house had its share of unwelcome guests, but the sound was... purposeful. Deli

idn't quite reach there, leaving it a pocket of impenetrable darkness. The scratching stopped, and the silence return

was definitely inside the room. A cold dread washed over Maya, a primal terror that bypassed logic

cool wooden floor. She kept her eyes glued to the darkness, her hand still gripping the bedside

, indistinct murmur that sent a fresh wave of icy fear down Maya's spine. She couldn't make out any words, but the in