When Suzanne's dogs are away, the apartment feels too quiet. Too still. So when something furry slides beneath the bathroom door during her morning shower, she assumes it's just one of her huskies waiting for attention. It isn't. Alone in her third-floor apartment, phone dying and wrapped in nothing but a towel, Suzanne watches as something long and hairy reaches for the door handle. The dogs are miles away. Her husband is at work. And whatever is under the door is not imaginary. By the time it disappears, it leaves behind more than fear. It leaves proof. And when the neighbor's blinds stay closed the rest of the week, Suzanne begins to wonder if the silence in the apartment isn't as empty as it seems. A chilling short story of domestic dread, quiet terror, and the thin line between imagination and intrusion.
