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The rhythmic clatter began precisely at midnight.
Always precise.
I would lie awake, listening as it moved closer,
a deliberate, heavy dragging sound.
It started far off, in the lower levels,
then slowly ascended, floor by floor.
Sometimes it would pause,
a scraping silence,
before resuming its relentless climb.
Each pause was a moment of dread, wondering if it would stop on my floor tonight.
The thought made my breath hitch.
I always kept my door locked, double-checking the deadbolt before retreating to bed.
No one else seemed to notice.
Or perhaps, no one else cared to admit they did.