Johnny came through the front door, closing it loudly. He tossed his keys onto the coffee table, but never heard them clatter against the glass tabletop. Instead, he only heard the soft thud of the keys hitting the carpet.

Strange, he thought.

Johnny walked carefully over to the couch, feeling gently for the coffee table with his outstretched fingers. He rubbed his hands over the soft, leather couch, but reached for the cold coffee table and found nothing. He bent down and felt around for his keys, finding them at the base of the recliner.

Johnny pondered what could have happened to his coffee table, noting that the front door was locked when he came home just a few minutes prior.

And Johnny lived alone in the apartment. He never could find roommates who didn’t mind living with a  blind guy. So it was just him living there, all alone. There was a single bathroom, Johnny’s room, and an extra bedroom. Both bedrooms connected to the bathroom, and both bedrooms connected to the living room, basically making one large circle.

Johnny moved towards the recliner, still reaching for the coffee table. Coming up empty, he walked into his room, gingerly stepping and expecting the table to meet his shins at any moment. He walked through his door, gliding past his bed and reaching his upturned bicycle. He obviously didn’t ride it, but when his brother would come visit he would offer it up as something to do instead of just sitting in the dark with a blind man.

Johnny spun the front tire, listening to the fast ticks and strumming the spokes with his finger. He grabbed the tire, stopping the spinning, and stepped into the bathroom.

He stepped into the bathtub, feeling the air. No table. He stepped out of the tub, grabbed the doorknob that led to the spare room, and twisted.

Locked?

Johnny shook his head. He had never locked the spare bedroom. There was nothing in there to lock up, only a spare twin-sized bed.

He quickly spun and walked back through his bedroom to the living room. He reached the other door that led to the spare room, but was met with the same result. Locked.

He scratched his head, wondering how he could have locked the doors to the room and not remembered doing it. He shook his head and walked back into his bedroom, sitting hard on the soft bed.

As he sat there, wondering, he began to notice the slowing, soft clicks of the bicycle tire turning beside him. He reached out and felt the spokes slap against his fingers. He quickly grabbed the tire, stopping it. He strained his ears for any sound around him, his skin growing hot as he listened.

A chill ran down his spine, and a cold sweat suddenly made his hand damp as he held the tire tight in his grip.

His ears perked at the sound of squeaky hinges, slowly growing louder, then coming to a deafening halt.

He sat on the bed, listening as hard as he could. He heard nothing. His phone spoke softly, reading the time as it did at the top of every hour.

EIGHT P.M.

He strained even harder, listening for footsteps. He wished he had gotten an apartment with hardwood floors instead of thick carpet.

NINE P.M.

Maybe the door hadn’t been closed all the way. Maybe it hadn’t latched and had just swung open.

TEN P.M.

Johnny was sweating profusely now, but he had convinced himself now.

Stop being so scared. It wasn’t latched.

He took his hand off the rubber tire beside him.

Tires spin. That’s what they do.

He gulped, standing slowly. He stumbled slightly as he walked towards the bathroom door, his hands out in front of him. He slid his hand along the countertop and reached out and grabbed the open door. He could feel the cool draft from the air conditioner hitting his face. He kept his arms straight in front of him, stepping slowly into the room.

His shins were met with a hard object, and he froze.

He slowly reached down, feeling the cool, glass surface of the coffee table. He quickly stood up straight, swinging his arms wildly out in front of him, but they meet nothing.

“Is someone here?” he said firmly through his shaky breath. “Say something!”

He stood waiting, then quickly stepped forward, grabbing the metal bed frame. He patted the bed hard, then ran his hands across the pillow closest to him.

He pulled his hand back quickly, plucking a thin strand of course hair from in between his fingers. He rubbed it between his fingertips, and before he could think about it further, he reached out again, his hand slapping against damp skin. He ran his hand across a nose, his voice sneaking out a loud whimper.

He left his hand over the mouth of whoever was laying in the spare bed.

He could feel the skin move beneath his fingers as the mouth slowly smiled.

Johnny screamed, and stumbled backwards, crashing through the glass top of the coffee table. He heard the bed springs moan, and footsteps thudded towards him.

He heard the slow creak of the door hinges again, and then the sharp click of the lock.

Johnny remained still, still cradled in the wood frame of the coffee table.

“Don’t hurt me, please,” he begged.

There was no answer, but Johnny could hear ragged breathing, and in the cool room, he could feel the hot, sticky breath hitting him in the face.

He reached out in front of him, feeling the stranger’s face just inches from his own. He ran his hands over the nose, finding the mouth.

“What do you want from me?” he asked quietly.

Once again, he felt the lips move beneath his fingers, forming a simple smile.