Chapter 2: The Knock at the Door

2.

I shivered, instinctively sprang up from the bed, rushed to the door, and immediately threw the deadbolt.

At the same time, I gripped the doorknob tightly with one hand, holding on with all my strength.

I was completely terrified by that news article.

What if this "death notice" was real? I had to seize this chance to avoid being killed!

Click—the key turned halfway, then got stuck in the lock.

I let out a long sigh, held my breath, and looked through the peephole.

A familiar figure stood outside: my boyfriend, Derek.

He stared unblinkingly at the peephole, as if he could see me through it.

Derek's tired eyes were bloodshot, and he frowned in confusion.

He tried the key several times, confirmed he couldn't open the door, and started knocking:

Thud, thud, thud.

"Rach? You up? The lock’s stuck—I can’t get in."

The knocking was relentless, each sound pounding in my ears.

Sweat broke out on my palms. I didn't dare respond, my mind racing.

According to the time of death in the news, the killer must be Derek.

Usually, only the two of us are in the apartment, and only he would have the chance to kill me at 2 a.m.

But why would he want to kill me?

Thinking back over our two years together, we rarely even argued.

He was always gentle and considerate—a model boyfriend.

I remembered the way he’d surprise me with coffee before work, the lazy Sunday mornings. Could that really be a mask?

I really couldn't think of a reason for Derek to do this.

Tears slowly welled up in my eyes. I was both terrified and confused, unable to believe he would stab me to death.

And with more than ten stabs, no less.

The knocking grew louder. I could feel his impatience, his fists pounding the door even harder.

"Open the door, Rachel! Hurry up and open the door!"

Derek's eyes were even redder. He seemed to realize I had deadbolted the door, his teeth biting two holes in his chapped lips.

I was scared out of my mind. It was the first time I'd seen such a fierce expression on him.

Sorry, but I absolutely can't let you in.

Watching the clock hands inch toward 2 a.m., my heart was in my throat.

Five minutes until my supposed time of death.

"Just five more minutes. Once it's past two, I'll open the door and let you in. By then, you can call me stupid, neurotic, or cowardly—anything you want."

I thought silently. Just then, my phone on the coffee table suddenly rang.

Caller ID: Derek.

Looks like he couldn't get in and switched to calling.

I still didn't dare answer, staring at the peephole and ignoring it.

The ringtone sounded so harsh and eerie in the silent midnight.

But soon, I noticed something strange:

The Derek in the peephole wasn't holding a phone.

His hands were empty, standing stiffly outside the door, looking a little lost.

What was going on?

I quickly picked up my phone.

Sure enough, the caller ID showed it was a call from Derek.

But he was standing outside the door right now!

Could it be that this person wasn't Derek at all?

My phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with Derek’s name. But Derek was still outside my door, empty-handed.

I took the phone and tiptoed back to the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and answered.

"Hello? Is this Rachel?"

Derek was panting, his voice urgent and panicked:

"What time is it over there?"

I gripped the phone tightly:

"1:55 a.m. on October 20."

"Listen to me carefully."

He swallowed and said in a low voice:

"You have five minutes left to live!"

My heart jolted. I was about to speak but was interrupted:

"The one trying to kill you is a deranged serial killer. He's hiding in your house right now. Get out!"

The call was suddenly cut off. Suffocating silence remained, broken only by the ticking of the clock.

I was frozen for a long time, feeling a chill to my bones.

No, he must be lying to me. Derek wants to trick me into opening the door so he can kill me.

Thinking this, I peeked through the peephole and saw him turning away toward the stairwell, walking farther and farther away.

It looked like he had given up knocking and was going to stay elsewhere for the night.

Suddenly, I felt something was off. Was I being too prejudiced?

What if...the killer wasn't Derek?

Thump.

A strange sound caught my ear, like bare feet stepping on the floor.

The sound was coming from right next to me.

I slowly lowered my head and saw a pale human hand reaching out from under the sofa.

My skin prickled. The room suddenly felt ten degrees colder. I held my breath, heart hammering so loud I was sure anyone could hear it. The faint whir of my AC mixed with my own ragged breathing as the TV cast eerie shadows on the wall, stretching the hand's shape into something monstrous.