I wasn’t supposed to be home until Monday. My sister had convinced me to take a whole week off and head upstate for a cabin getaway. No internet, barely any signal. Just peace. My husband told me to go and promised he’d be fine. Said he’d spend the week relaxing, catching up on some reading or projects.

But I missed him. So I came home a day early. Saturday night.

When I unlocked the door, the apartment was quiet. Still. The lights were off, which was strange. My husband always left the hallway light on at night. At first, I figured he had just stepped out to the store. But then I noticed the silence. No fan running. No keys on the counter. No clutter left behind from dinner or work. Nothing.

And then I saw the hole.

It was small. About the size of a coin. Carved into the wall just above the long wooden table that came with the apartment. The same table I had pushed up against the wall months ago to save space in the cramped living room. The table I always joked was too heavy to move unless we moved out.

Sitting on the table, directly beneath the hole, was a notepad.

At first, I thought it was a shopping list or one of his doodles. But the first page was dated. A full week ago. Written in his handwriting.

Entry 1 – Monday

I found a hole in the wall today. Not sure how I missed it before. It’s above the table in the living room. Perfectly round. Like it was drilled. I stood on the table to check it out, guess what? It looks right into our bedroom. I waved. No one waved back. Ha.

Entry 2 – Tuesday

The hole’s bigger. Maybe it’s the lighting? I’m probably imagining it. I looked through again. Everything looked normal… but I swear something was different. Our bed was unmade, even though I hadn’t touched it all day. I checked. It was still made. Still perfect.

Entry 3 – Wednesday

Okay. This is messed up. I saw movement through the hole. Someone was sitting on the bed. It looked like me. Same clothes. Same slouched posture. But when I ran to the bedroom, it was empty.

I tried to leave the apartment. The door wouldn’t unlock. No joke, it’s like it’s fused shut. My phone keeps rebooting every time I try to call you.

Entry 4 – Thursday

I’m writing this in case you find it. Maybe it’s just for me, but if you’re reading it, I’m sorry.

The hole is spreading. The wall is cracking like dry skin. Every time I look through it, it shows me something different. Sometimes the bedroom’s empty. Sometimes I’m in there. Once, I saw someone, or something, with my face, smiling. I don’t remember smiling.

Entry 5 – Friday

Don’t look through the hole.

I did again. I couldn’t help it.

This time, the other me looked up at me. He mouthed something I couldn’t hear. Then stood up. I ran to the room and it was just… me. Alone.

I don’t think it wants to hurt me. I think it wants to be me.

Entry 6 – Saturday

The hole is wide now. I don’t sleep. I sit across from it and wait. I hear things in the walls. Creaks. Breathing. Whispers.

I saw you last night through the hole. You were in the bedroom. But you’re not here. I screamed your name, and the lights flickered.

Entry 7 – Saturday Night

If you find this… leave.

Don’t look through the hole. Don’t look at the walls. Don’t stay. I don’t know what’s happening. I love you. Please, get ou…

The rest of the note was scribbled jibberish, and blood stained the bottom of the page. It trailed off the edge, soaked into the wood beneath.

Suddenly, I heard it.

A slow, scraping sound, coming from the bedroom. Like nails dragging across drywall.

I froze. For a second, I thought I had imagined it. But then it came again. Scratch… scratch… scratch.

I stood, heart pounding, and stepped slowly down the hallway. I opened the bedroom door.

Nothing.

The room was empty. Perfect. Still.

But as I turned back toward the living room, I heard it again behind me.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

This time, something felt different. Like the sound wasn’t just coming from the bedroom anymore, but from the wall itself. From inside it.

I looked toward the table. Toward the hole.

Some part of me didn’t want to get any closer. But I was already walking. Already climbing the table. Already leaning in.

I looked through.

Nothing. Just the bedroom. Still. Quiet.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed.

My eyes drifted down, back to the notepad. I felt like maybe… maybe there was more. Perhaps something I’d missed.

I flipped to the final page again. And the rest of the entry appeared where it was scribbled jibberish before. A cold chill shot down my spine.

Entry 7 – Saturday Night

If you find this… leave.

Don’t look through the hole. Don’t look at the walls. Don’t stay. I don’t know what’s happening. I love you. Please, get out.

I think it’s too late for me now. I can’t explain it, this thing, whatever it is, has a hold on me. It’s not just the apartment anymore. It’s me. Please, if you’re reading this… don’t look into the hole. Don’t let it see you.

I stared at the notepad for a long time, heart hammering in my chest. My hands were shaking. But I couldn’t look away.

I looked up.

I didn’t want to. But I had to.

I climbed the table, knees wobbling, and slowly leaned toward the hole.

The bedroom was dark.

Then, movement.

I saw him, my husband, sitting on the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. He looked tired. Pale. Haunted. Like he hadn’t slept in days.

I whispered his name.

He looked up, missing his eyes.

In a panic, I turned away from the hole in shock. Surely it was all in my imagination. Was I in a nightmare?

Then, from just above me, something shifted as I heard the familiar scratching coming from the hole.

I turned slowly towards the hole again as I opened my eyes.

A face. Long, stretched. Wet. Pale skin pulled tight over bone. A neck that twisted like a rope, slinking down from the hole. Empty eyes peered inches from my own.

It smiled. I screamed.

The notepad dropped from my hands.