Ethan wakes to static. A low, crackling hiss, like an untuned radio buried somewhere in his apartment. It fades the second he moves.

  He sits up, rubbing his face. His sheets feel damp with sweat. Something’s wrong.

  His phone buzzes on the nightstand. A message from Jonah.

  Hey man, you good? Haven’t heard from you since yesterday.

  Ethan frowns. That’s not right. They talked earlier—didn’t they? He swipes through his messages. No record of last night’s conversation. Just old texts from last week.

  His stomach knots as he types: What do you mean? We talked last night.

  The typing bubble appears. Then disappears. A long pause. Then: Last night? Dude, I haven’t talked to you in weeks.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  A cold weight settles in Ethan’s chest. His fingers hover over the keyboard. Hadn’t they spoken? Hadn’t he seen Jonah the other day? The certainty drains from his mind like water down a cracked drain.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Ethan flinches. Three slow, deliberate taps against his door. His apartment doesn’t have a peephole.

  His breath catches. He rises, moving toward the sound.

  "Hello?"

  Silence.

  His fingers hesitate on the knob. He cracks the door open.

  The hallway is empty.

  The air feels wrong. Too still. Too stale. The flickering overhead light hums softly, casting long, uneven shadows. The walls are the same dull beige as always, but something about them feels… artificial. Like a set designed to look real but failing in the details.

  His gaze drifts to the metal numbers on his door.

  6B.

  No. No, that’s not right. He lives in 4D.

  His breath turns shallow. He steps into the hallway, the cool floor grounding him. The space feels stretched, slightly distorted, as if the angles are just a fraction off.

  He turns back to his apartment. The number has changed.

  4D.

  His pulse thrums in his ears. He stumbles back inside and locks the door. His phone vibrates in his hand.

  You okay? You’re acting weird.

  Ethan swallows hard. His hands shake as he types the only thing that makes sense.

  I don’t think I am.