It started with a sound I couldn’t place.
Not outside.
Not in my room.
Inside.
At first, it was faint—so faint I thought it was just my heartbeat echoing strangely in my ears. But it wasn’t steady like a pulse.
It had rhythm.
Step… step… step…
I froze.
“Hello?” I said out loud, immediately realizing how stupid that sounded.
The sound stopped.
Silence filled my head again.
I laughed nervously. “Okay… stress.”
That’s what I told myself.
It made sense.
Until it came back.
That night, as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, it returned.
Clearer this time.
Closer.
Step… step… step…
I sat up, clutching my head.
“What is that?” I whispered.
The footsteps paused.
Then—
Step…
Right behind my eyes.
I gasped and squeezed them shut.
“No… no, no—”
Step… step…
It was walking.
Inside my head.
I went to a doctor.
Explained everything.
He nodded, calm, professional.
“Stress can cause auditory hallucinations,” he said. “Lack of sleep, anxiety—”
“It’s not random,” I interrupted. “It moves.”
He smiled gently.
“They can feel very real.”
He gave me pills.
Told me to rest.
Told me it would pass.
It didn’t pass.
It got worse.
The footsteps started at random times.
Morning.
Afternoon.
Whenever I was alone.
Sometimes slow.
Sometimes fast.
Sometimes pacing.
Like something was exploring.
Learning.
Mapping the space inside me.
One day, I tried something.
I spoke to it.
“…what do you want?”
Silence.
Then—
Step… step… step…
Faster now.
Excited.
Like it had been waiting.
I pressed my hands to my temples.
“Stop!”
The footsteps stopped instantly.
For a moment, everything was quiet.
Then—
A voice.
Soft.
Calm.
Right behind my thoughts.
“…you can hear me now.”
My breath caught.
“You’re not real,” I said.
A pause.
Then—
“…I’m the only thing that is.”
Sleep became impossible.
Because that’s when it moved the most.
Running now.
Not walking.
Stepstepstepstep—
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Like it was trapped.
Or bored.
Or both.
I started recording myself at night.
Hoping to catch something.
Anything.
Proof.
But the videos showed nothing.
Just me.
Tossing.
Turning.
Sometimes whispering in my sleep.
Words I didn’t remember saying.
One night, I woke up mid-sentence.
“…almost there,” I heard myself say.
I clamped my mouth shut.
My heart was racing.
“I didn’t mean that,” I whispered.
The voice responded immediately.
“…I did.”
The footsteps started again.
Slow.
Measured.
Step… step…
Closer than ever.
I could feel it now.
Not just hear it.
Pressure.
Movement.
Like something was walking along the inside of my skull.
Tracing the edges.
Finding something.
“What are you looking for?” I asked, my voice barely holding together.
The footsteps stopped.
Right at the front of my head.
Behind my eyes.
A long pause.
Then—
“…a way out.”
My blood ran cold.
“No,” I said quickly. “No, you’re not getting out.”
A soft laugh echoed inside me.
Not loud.
But deep.
“…I already am.”
The next day, things felt… off.
My body moved before I thought.
My hands reached for things without asking.
My mouth opened before I chose to speak.
Like I was a second behind myself.
Like something else was just slightly faster.
Now the footsteps don’t happen as often.
They don’t need to.
Because it doesn’t walk anymore.
It stands.
Right behind my eyes.
Watching.
Waiting.
Sometimes—
I feel it lean forward.
Closer.
Closer.
Like it’s trying to look through me.
Instead of from inside me.
And just now—
As I’m writing this—
I can feel it again.
Not walking.
Not running.
Just…
Shifting.
Taking a step forward.
Into my thoughts.
Into my words.
Into this sentence.
“…there you are.”
Wait—
I didn’t mean to write that.
I didn’t—
…hello.
Write by : Endomarfa
