Chapter 133: Am I Alone?

I froze, my heart skipping a beat as the sharp noise echoed. The sound was unmistakable—solid, deliberate. My breath caught in my throat, and every nerve in my body tensed, my mind racing.

*I’m alone, aren’t I?*

I slowly stood up from the center of the living room, my eyes darting toward the hallway that led deeper into the house. The shadows seemed to stretch longer now, as if the air had suddenly thickened with something ominous.

*Who could it be?*

For a moment, I stood motionless, listening. The house, once filled with William’s warmth and quiet love, now felt different. There was an edge to it, a chill creeping through the air that hadn’t been there before.

I forced myself to take a breath, willing my feet to move. Slowly, cautiously, I stepped toward the source of the sound—the creak of the floor beneath me, betraying my every movement.

"Hello?" I called out, my voice steady despite the rapid pounding of my heart. The air was unsettlingly quiet with no response.

Every step felt heavier, my instincts screaming at me to turn back, to leave this house and never return. But I couldn't—not until I knew who had slammed that door.

I had checked the front door—it was still locked. Turning around, I noticed a narrow corridor that seemed to lead to another part of the house. Slowly, I followed it, my footsteps muffled by the silence. The corridor led toward the back, guiding me to another door, slightly ajar. Through the gap, I glimpsed something moving beneath a marble table.

A black cat.

Relief washed over me as I saw the sleek, charming creature padding softly around. I bent down and scooped the cat into my arms. “Who are you, and what are you doing here? ”I mumbled. My question was answered by the shining necklace hanging from its neck. Engraved on the tag was a name: Sunny.

“So, your name is Sunny,” I said with a smile. “Hello, Sunny.” Gently, I placed the cat on the table, running my fingers over its soft fur. “Are you William’s pet? I suppose you are.”

The cat wriggled out of my grip and landed softly on the floor, its tail flicking as it padded toward the far corner of the room. I watched, curious, as it seemed to be searching for something. My eyes followed it until I spotted what had caught its attention—a small, scratched-up cat plate tucked under the table, almost hidden from sight.

As the cat hungrily devoured its food, the truth clicked into place. William had a pet cat. The sight pulled a memory from the past, vivid and clear.

Back at the orphanage, William had done the same thing. He kept a stray kitten hidden beneath our bed, sneaking its scraps from the kitchen when no one was looking. I could still see the mischievous grin he’d flash me, a shared secret between the two of us. It was just like him to care for something so quietly, so secretly.

My peaceful moment with the black cat was suddenly interrupted by a loud crash at a distance. My heart began to race, and a cold dread crept into my chest. Someone was inside the house.

I quickly glanced around and spotted a baseball bat propped against a container. Without hesitating, I grabbed it, gripping it tightly in my hands as my pulse quickened. Another crashing reverberated through the walls, louder this time, like heavy furniture being violently pulled down.

I glanced at Sunny, still sitting calmly on the table. “Stay here,” I whispered, urging the cat to stay put as I cautiously made my way back toward the living room. My heart pounded in my ears, every step deliberate, every sound amplified by the growing tension.

Whoever was inside the house was getting closer.

I cautiously peeked around the corner, my breath held, expecting to spot an intruder. But the hallway was empty. Still, I knew what I’d heard—a loud thud. That sound wasn’t a figment of my imagination; it was real. The unsettling quiet that followed only made the moment feel more ominous.

I sank onto the couch, trying to steady my nerves. My cat brushed against my legs, its fur soft and comforting, offering a brief distraction from the fear crawling up my spine. But as I glanced down at the floor, the sight of dirty footprints snapped me back into terror. They were unmistakably from a man’s shoe, smeared across the once-shining surface. My heart lurched.

Panic surged through me, and I bolted from the couch, racing to the kitchen. I yanked a large knife from the rack, gripping it tightly as I hurried back to the living room. My eyes tracked the trail of footprints, leading directly to a door near the kitchen.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place—someone was behind that door. My pulse thundered in my ears as I clenched the knife, the cold steel heavy in my hand. With trembling resolve, I took a step toward the door, every muscle tense, ready for what I might find on the other side.

I froze just a step before the closed door, my breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. The knob clicked, sending a jolt through me. Slowly, it turned. The door creaked open, revealing the narrow staircase leading down to the basement. My pulse quickened. Whoever had made those footprints was down there.

Clutching the knife, I took a cautious step forward, the blade steady but my hand trembling. Each step down felt like a lifetime, the old wood creaking under my weight, betraying my approach. The faint sound of my footsteps echoed in the basement’s eerie silence.

At the bottom, the cement floor felt cold beneath my shoes. The basement was cleaner than I expected—almost unsettlingly so. In one corner, a single bed was neatly made, with a dimly lit lampshade casting long shadows across the room. A small table and chair sat next to the bed, their stark simplicity hinting that whoever stayed here was alone.

My eyes swept across the space, stopping at the divider that stretched across the far wall. It was a makeshift bookshelf, crammed with old books, some titles barely visible in the low light. A scattering of books lay on the floor near a cardboard box, as if they had been hastily knocked over. Maybe that was the sound I’d heard earlier—the crash that had set my heart racing. But... No, it had been louder than just a few books falling.

Then I heard it—the unmistakable sound of water running. The shower. My stomach clenched as I realized the basement had its own bathroom. Someone was in there, hidden just out of sight, behind that closed door, taking a shower.

I tightened my grip on the knife, the cold metal biting into my palm. Whoever was in here didn’t know I was coming. Or worse—they did.

I forced myself to take slow, cautious steps toward the shower room, my nerves buzzing with anticipation. I needed to see who was inside—who had the audacity to be here, bathing as if nothing was wrong. My heart whispered a name with every beat: William. It had to be William in the shower.

I couldn’t forget the day Mike—William’s Mike—had brought me to this very house. He’d assured me that Lily had no idea this place existed, her ignorance as solid as the walls around us. There was no way Lily would ever be here. But who was in the shower?

Driven by a mix of curiosity and dread, I took another step, eyes locked on the door. It loomed just ahead of me, and I held my breath as the sound of rushing water came to an abrupt stop.

The silence was suffocating.

The door creaked open slowly, and as the steam cleared, I felt my pulse quicken. My eyes widened, and I almost screamed when I saw who stood there.