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Maybe because I’d been through it once, the fear didn’t hit me quite hard this time.
Clutching a fruit knife, I crouched low and crept toward the front door.
The closer I got, the louder it blared — each ring slicing through the silence. My heart pounded so hard it felt like might break free from my chest. I bumped into the bench in the hallway, but the sharp pain in my toe barely registered.
Just as I reached the door, the doorbell stopped. Dead silence. It didn’t calm me. If anything, the sudden silence screamed louder than the doorbell ever did.
I leaned in toward the peephole. Sweat trickled past my eyelashes, stinging my eyes.
Through the peephole, I saw only the door across the hall. No one was there.
I leaned back against the wall, weak, breathless. The fruits knife trembled in my grip—but I couldn’t l let go.
Last night’s details surged back. According to the video, the time should’ve already passed. The time point from last night had already passed. So, why … was it happening again?
The video! That’s it — I’d missed the something.
If it wasn’t over yet — if the man with the axe hadn't broken in, then there had to be something in the video.
I checked the time. 11:59. The video had cut off right at the midnight last night. The video had cut off right last night. I quickly ran to the bedroom. Just in time.
On screen, the man dragged the axe behind him, inching closer to the bedroom. The camea faced the bedroom directly. Just past it, to the left—was my bed.
He reached for the doorknob. Locked. When he couldn't open it,he gripped the axe and began to hack the door — again and again.
Splinters flew like an shrapnel. The door was torn into pieces. He kicked the broken wood aside and stepped into the room, axe trailing behind.
I held my breath and clamped a hand over my mouth. The moment he crossed the threshold, he turned left — towards the bed.
I kept my eyes locked on the screen, waiting to see what would happen next. Then, the doorbell rang again.
At that exact moment, the video cut to black.
Grabbing the fruit knife, I made my way toward the door, keeping to the wall for support.
Listening to the sound,the doorbell seemed to have been pressed twice. As the last doorbell ring faded, I held my breath and leaned in toward the peephole.
What I saw made me freeze. It was him — the guy from 802.
Middle of the night.
Right after the video ended.
What was he doing at my door?
Still watching through the peephole, I saw him fidget slightly— as if he’d been waiting too long. Then, he raised his hand to press the doorbell again.
I scanned him from head to toe. Same slippers as before. He seemed to be about 1.8 meters tall.After pressing the doorbell,his toes tapped lightly… oddly in sync with the chime.
I spoke through the door:"Who ’s there?"
He answered right away: “It’s me,An Mo. You okay?I heard a lot of noise from your place."
I exhaled. Right—the bench had fallen hard. It probably startled him.
Peeking through the peephole,his face looked genuine. He even fidgeted with the hem of his shirts — nervously.
After a long hesitation, I crack the door open: "I accidentally knocked over the stool. Sorry if I startled you."
He flinched slightly —maybe my sweaty, pale face startled him. He obviously froze for a moment and then asked cautiously: "Are you sure you’re okay?"
I was okay for now. But who knew for how long?
I caught the flicker of doubt from An Mo's face. After asking one last time, he nodded and returned to 802.
Once he left, I went back to the bedroom. The computer sat exactly as where I’d left it—still off. Still dead silence.
Today's video ran a few seconds longer than the one from last night. How the hell did it end up on my computer? If it was meant to warn me, then it was already too late. Then why was it still showing up? Was this going to happen every night now?
Once again, the thought of moving crossed my mind — stronger than ever.
I powered up the computer and searched every folder. Nothing. No trace of the video at all. That video—its silence, its timing—kept me wide awake.
I held my phone and looked at Officer King's WeChat avatar,not knowing whether I should call him. After all,in their reports, nothing ever happened here.
In the end, I put the phone down. Didn’t call.
First thing the next morning, I started browsing listings again. At At exactly 8 a.m., the doorbell rang again. By now, just the sound of it made my heart jump…but it was just An Mo — standing there with breakfast in hand.
I couldn’t tell if he was overly friendly or what. A stranger showing sudden kindness, especially when I was this on edge, set off all kinds of alarms. I thanked him, but didn't take it.
He stayed calm, almost too calm. :"I noticed you seemed uneasy last night. he said. “If you need anthing, I’m next door.”
After the fear,suddenly having someone say they could help me was like finding a piece of driftwood in the boundless sea.I wanted to talk to someone. Desperately.
"Do you believe in… the supernatural?"
He spent most of his life online, but he was a total realist.
After I told him everything, he opened my computer and ran through it. No murder video. No trace. Again.
"You saw the same video … two nights in a row?"
I nodded:"And both times, someone rang the doorbell."
He rubbed his chin, thinking. :"There is a way to check if someone is really out there."
"What way?"
He took me to buy hidden surveillance cameras. One was installed just beneath the house number, which could just see 803, and the other was installed on the sofa in the house.
" From this spot on the sofa, you can see anyone walking straight into the bedroom."
The surveillance cameras were connected to my computer.I pulled them up and started watching the real-time surveillance footage Suddenly, a chill crept down my spine, the angles matched the murder video exactly.
My heart seemed to jump out of my chest.I turned to look at him. His ever-smiling looked disturbingly unfamiliar.
What was the his connection to that video?
