• "Have a good night, Shannon!" Millie called, waving as she hurried off to her car.

    Shannon waved back until her best friend turned away, then reached for her key fob. The night was chilly, sending goosebumps up her arms beneath her knit sweater. Her bag was heavy on her shoulder. It was loaded up with her coursework for the day, and her homework for that night. It was already so late, though, how was she going to get it all done? A pit stop for an energy drink might be in order.

    The parking lot was mostly empty. Shannon and Millie had been there after hours working on a project that was due in a few days. Time had gotten away from them. Neither had eaten, and most things would be closed this late. Oh well, Shannon had leftover pizza in her fridge that would make a passable meal. She hurried to unlock her car and hop in. Exhaustion weighed her bones. She sank into her seat with a sigh and set her bag down. It was a relief to have it off her shoulder.

    The drive home was quiet, with random classic rock humming through the radio. Her drive was short, so she didn't bother syncing up her phone to play her own music. She wanted nothing more than to forget the day she had. Her quiz in the morning was disastrous, she had studied for all the wrong things. Her lunch was stone cold by the time she picked it up. And to top it off, she had stayed late, far later than she intended. Now she was tired and a little cranky.

    Plus, it was about the time of year that her seasonal affective disorder started to affect her again. Cold, gloomy days such as this made her mood sour. Very little could combat her disposition. Perhaps a good bath and a movie before bed would help brighten her mood. She had a few sheet masks kicking around in a drawer, and some new seasonal candles. Maybe some pumpkin spice could brighten her day. Yes, that sounded perfect.

    Her apartment was dark, and the curtains were drawn over her ground-floor patio doors. Her plants exploded over the cast iron fence and blocked part of the walkway to the side doors. She didn't like being ground level, but it was student off-campus housing, she didn't get a choice. She swiped her card at the side door and let herself into the heavily perfumed hallway. It barely masked the aroma of sweat, macaroni, and body spray. Her apartment, at least, smelled much better. Her plants scrubbed much of the air for her, and strategically placed air fresheners worked overtime to keep the space smelling clean.

    Shannon abandoned her bag on the side table and kicked off her sneakers. The bath tub was calling her name. She pulled out a bath bomb and drew the water as hot as she could stand. The promise of relaxation was enough to calm her mood some. When it was ready, she pitched her clothes into the hamper and sank into the perfumed, pink water. A sheet mask worked its magic on her face. It was just what she needed to round out her day.

    For some inexplicable reason, though, she was unsettled. She couldn't quite place why, but she felt eyes on her body. It felt as though someone was staring at her. That was impossible, though. There was no window in her washroom, and the windows in her apartment were curtained. She brushed off the notion and focused on relaxing.

    After her bath, she tossed the leftover pizza into the oven and started up a movie, just a cheesy rom-com featuring an actor she enjoyed. Her muscles were relaxed and her mind was at ease as she sank into the cushions of her sofa. All the while, though, she felt eyes upon her. It made her skin crawl with bugs she couldn't see, and tension returned to her body.

    Suddenly, Shannon froze. That was impossible, it couldn't be. Did she really just hear a knock from her patio door? Eyes wide with dread, her head swiveled in slow motion toward the door just behind where she sat. Then, another knock, soft but crisp. She wasn't imagining it, there was someone on her patio. They had to have climbed the fence, which was topped with ornate spikes to prevent such a feat.

    What should she do? Answer the door? Ignore it? Call the cops? The latter sounded embarrassing, calling the cops over someone knocking on her door. Ignoring it was rude, and they had to know she was home. Answer it? That sounded like an awful idea. Why were they on her patio in the first place? It was probably one of the local unhoused people asking for a handout. She could scrounge something from her fridge to appease them, right? But what if it wasn't? What if it was someone else, someone wanting things from her she didn't want to give?

    The knock sounded a third time, more insistent than before. Swallowing hard, Shannon got to her feet and snatched her phone off the cushion, then opened it to the phone app. She preemptively filled in 911, but did not hit dial. She crossed on tip toes and froze before the thick curtain shrouding the sliding glass door. Another knock sounded, harder than ever, and Shannon jumped and bit back a scream. Suddenly, calling the police didn't sound so crazy.

    "Go away!" she called loudly, tilting her head to the side to listen for a response, or shuffling. For a few heartbeats, there was nothing.

    "Please, help me," called a deep, masculine voice. It was muffled, but intelligible.

    He didn't sound particularly distressed. In fact, his tone was rather flat. Frowning, Shannon straightened a little.

    "Please, I'm hurt. Please let me in. I need to use your phone."

    "No, I'm sorry. I can call 911 for you but you can't come in."

    "I have to, he's after me, please."

    Still no inflection in his voice. Shannon shivered as a chill tore down her spine. Something was seriously wrong here. She just couldn't quite put her finger on what, besides him being on her balcony in the first place.

    "Let me in, Shannon."

    This time, the chill was a shard of ice that made her rigid. How did he know her name? She hadn't said it, and it wasn't posted anywhere outside for him to see. How the ******** did he know her name?

    "Let me in, or I'll let myself in."

    Matter of fact; Shannon felt involuntary tears well up, stinging her eyes and clouding her vision. Whatever the ******** kind of prank this was, she wanted nothing to do with it? Who was it, anyway? Kenny, Peter, or maybe Sean? This was sick, even for them. They should know how scary it was, being a woman and living alone, even if it was in her hometown.

    "I'm coming in, Shannon," he sang.

    Then, before Shannon had a chance to react, the door began to slide open. How, though? She had locked it after having her coffee on the patio that morning. She had double checked it and everything. How the hell was the door unlocked? That simply wasn't possible, it wasn't!

    A black leather glove parted the curtains and dragged them back. Shannon didn't stick around to see more. She had two options: flee for her bedroom to her right, or make a break for the front door and fumble with the latch and deadbolt with him on her heels. Could she barricade herself in her bedroom somehow, climb out the window? Did her window open wide enough for her hips to fit through? The front door seemed like the bigger risk. It was further away, there were more obstacles between her and it, and the locks would be difficult when so much adrenaline was coursing through her system. She could use her desk chair to barricade the door while she tried to make it out the window. She would break it if she had to.

    Shannon tore down the hallway with her heart in her throat and the intruder on her heels. Slamming the door, she screamed, as the blade of a knife protruded through the crack. He held it at such an angle that she couldn't shut the door. Shannon heaved and shoved until finally the door latched, and she turned the flimsy lock. It only had to hold long enough for her to get her desk chair in place. She dove for it, dragged it over, then angled it under the handle just as a loud snap rent the room. The lock gave, but it was too late. The door was successfully barricaded. So long as it held, Shannon had a chance to escape. She scampered onto her bed and fumbled with the lock on the window. She hadn't opened it in months because of how hot it was outside. The lock was sticky from disuse. Slam! Shannon jumped, losing her grip. The intruder began a steady rhythm of thumps against her bedroom door. It wouldn't hold forever. She finally got the lock open and dragged the heavy window to the side. There wasn't much space. She kicked the screen out and screamed through the opening. Shoving her torso through was no problem, but sure enough, her ample hips got in the way.

    The thumping intensified, and Shannon wiggled harder. No one was coming to help her. She was stuck. There was no going forward, only back, and she couldn't go back. Back was where the danger was.

    All at once, there was a crash and a deep chuckle. Shannon glanced over her shoulder and screamed. One of the chair's legs had broken off, and the door was swinging inward, led by a beefy hand in a leather glove. Shannon turned and heaved with all her might. She gained an inch, two, but freedom was so far away. Firm hands grasped her hips. A bloodcurdling scream tore from her throat as she was dragged backward through the window.

    Shannon got a face full of pillows. A leaden weight settled over her lower back. Fingers laced into her hair and dragged her head back, allowing her to breathe, though only a little. Her eyes were wild and spittle flew as she fought to scream again.

    "I'm going to kill you now," he purred in her ear.

    Bile burned Shannon's throat, but she could not vomit with her head wrenched back like this. She flailed for all she was worth, but could not budge his weight. The knife glinted in her peripheral vision, and his dark chuckle made her sick to her stomach.