I woke up to hear knocking on glass.

At first, I thought it was the window...

...until I heard it come from the mirror again.

I leaned in close, but my reflection didn't mimic me; it stood frozen, eyes wide with a terror I didn't feel yet.

Suddenly, its hand slammed against the glass from the inside, its nails frantically scratching to get out.

My daughter won't stop crying and screaming in the middle of the night.

I visit her grave every night and beg her to stop...

...but she doesn't.

The upstairs neighbors are awfully noisy.

I called my landlord to complain about the constant stomping…

…he reminded me that I live on the top floor.

The thumping stopped, replaced by a slow, heavy dragging sound right above my bed.

Then I heard it—a rhythmic, desperate pounding from inside the crawlspace, as if someone was trying to kick their way out.

I got home after a long day at work, ready for a relaxing night alone.

Suddenly the front door opens and a woman walks in. "It's been vacant for months," she says.

The room was dark. I reached for the light switch…

…but another hand was already there.

My wife woke me up last night to tell me there was an intruder in our house.

She was murdered by an intruder 2 years ago.

He grabs the baby monitor and hears his wife singing to the baby, "Go to sleep… go to sleep…"

Then he sees the shadow standing over the crib in the corner.

That's when the front door opens, and his wife walks in with the groceries.

The monitor crackles. The singing doesn't stop.

My cat won't stop staring at the closet door.

I got up to close it, laughing at how skittish he was being...

...until I felt the door being pulled back from the other side.

I heard my mother calling my name from the basement.

I was halfway down the stairs when I heard my mother's voice from the kitchen upstairs...

"Don't go down there, honey," she whispered, "I heard it too."

There was a picture in my phone of me sleeping.

...I live alone.

I am working the night shift ALONE tonight.

There is a face in the cellar staring at the security camera...

...I live alone.

The view from the 14th floor is usually so peaceful.

But tonight, there's a girl standing outside my window.

She's tapping on the glass, asking to come in.

"Don't worry," the doctor said, "it's just a routine surgery—you'll be asleep the whole time."

I felt the mask press against my face, and the world began to fade.

That's when I realized I could still hear the scalpel entering my skin.

Something is very wrong with this mirror.

I live alone, so why is my reflection reaching for my throat?

I finally turned off the TV...

...the silence of the apartment felt heavy.

In the black reflection of the screen, I saw a figure standing directly behind my chair.

I sleep on a mattress on the floor to save space in my studio apartment.

Last night, a cold, wet finger poked through a crack in the floorboards and stroked my spine.

Some things never rest.