Trevor Collins

All the blood drained from my face.

I grabbed the computer and ran down the hallway, locking myself in the bathroom.

Then I dragged the dresser across the carpet in front of the door.

Thump.

It sounded like it was right outside my door.

I backed away from the door until my back pressed against the window.

Then I turned towards the cold glass and saw something I'll never forget.

There was an old woman wearing a white tattered dress standing next to the well.

and she began to walk towards me.

I gripped the windowsill, my knuckles white, wishing this were a two-story house, but in a few minutes, she'd be here at the window with only this thin pane of glass between us.

She continued towards me in strange, halting movements, as if she didn't know quite how to walk, as if she was trying to imitate everything she'd observed about human movement.

Like an AI.

Thump!

The door shook.

A shadow appeared underneath the crack.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

Tap, tap, tap.

I whipped back around to see the woman, her face pressed up against the window.

Not the old woman, a woman who looked just like me, with a bloody gash in her forehead, warning me of my own death, like in the story.

The door shook again, and I pictured the man with a too-wide smile outside.