Night had long fallen by the time Clara left the office, a fine misty rain drizzling under the streetlights and painting the pavement in quivering golden reflections. She drew her coat tighter against the chill as she hurried toward the train station, each step heavy with exhaustion.

  Last night's nightmare still clung to her, a vague dread that refused to loosen its grip, and the day's subtle oddities at work had only added to her unease. All she wanted now was the quiet sanctuary of home.

  Nina had noticed something was off that morning. Over coffee, she'd given Clara a concerned once-over and quipped, "You look like you've seen a ghost." Clara forced a laugh and blamed a late night and too much caffeine, hiding the tremble in her hands by cradling her mug. In the afternoon meeting, Mr Holloway had to call her name twice to jerk her attention back to the present; he later asked if she was feeling alright, and she'd brushed it off with an apology and a self-deprecating joke about Monday fatigue.

  All day, Clara fended off concern with small smiles and excuses, determined to ignore the creeping sensation that something was fundamentally wrong.

  The tram ride home was a blur of neon streaks on rain-streaked glass. By the time Clara stepped into her apartment building's dim lobby, she felt half in a dream. The antique elevator was out of service again, forcing her to trudge up the seven flights of stairs, one heavy step at a time. Each footfall echoed in the narrow stairwell, amplifying the silence that pressed in around her. By the time she reached the seventh floor, her legs were leaden and her mind foggy with fatigue.

  She paused at her apartment door, key in hand, as a prickle of unease raised the fine hairs on her neck. Slowly, Clara turned to peer down the dim hallway behind her. Nothing met her eyes-only a long corridor of peeling wallpaper and shadows pooling beneath a lone, flickering light bulb at the far end. The other lamps had long burnt out, leaving stretches of darkness between weak cones of yellow light. Clara let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and shook her head. There's nothing there, she told herself firmly. Heart still pounding harder than it should, she slipped the key into the lock and hurried inside, closing the door on the empty hall.

  Clara's apartment welcomed her with a hushed, familiar gloom. She clicked on a single lamp in the living room, its golden glow barely reaching the high ceiling and far corners of the space. Bookshelves lined one wall, their rows of books dissolving into shadow where the light failed to touch. Potted plants perched on shelves and windowsills, their leaves casting trembling silhouettes whenever a car headlight passed below on the street. Outside, rain pattered softly against the broad windowpane, each droplet catching the city's distant lights before trailing down like a tear. The air carried a faint perfume of jasmine and old paper-scents of home that usually comforted her, yet tonight they mingled with the quiet in a way that felt lonely.

  It was a dreamy refuge she had crafted for herself-soft cushions, warm lamplight, and walls painted in the hues of twilight-but at night that comfort wavered. In the stillness now, deep pockets of shadow gathered in the corners of the room, as if the darkness itself had substance. Clara could not help feeling, in that moment, as if something unseen might be lingering just beyond the edge of the light.

  She dropped her keys into the ceramic dish on the entryway table and shrugged off her damp coat, hanging it on the nearest hook. Her blouse clung cold and clammy to her skin, still holding the memory of the evening's drizzle. Clara shivered and rubbed her arms, realizing how tense her shoulders were. A hot bath-that was what she needed to chase away the chill and the remnants of this unsettling day. She kicked off her shoes, leaving them where they fell, and made her way to the bathroom, unbuttoning her shirt as she went.

  In the bathroom, Clara twisted the old brass faucet. The pipes shuddered behind the walls before hot water gushed out, filling the tub with a noisy rush. She poured in a capful of lavender-scented bubble solution, and fragrant foam blossomed atop the rising water. As steam wreathed the air, she tried to concentrate only on the mundane task at hand-the temperature of the bath, the lilac hue of the bubbles-anything to keep her mind from wandering back to the gnawing anxiety that had followed her home.

  Still, fragments of the nightmare nudged at her memory. She could barely recall its specifics, only a sense of dreadful weight and the panicked sensation of being pulled into darkness. Clara blinked hard and turned off the faucet. It was only a dream, she told herself. The hot water will help me forget.

  She tugged a hair tie from her wrist and piled her dark blonde hair into a loose knot atop her head to keep it from getting too wet. The mirror above the sink was foggy with condensation, so she wiped it with the side of her hand. In the dim candlelight, her reflection looked ghostly and gaunt. Damp wisps of hair clung to her neck, and the warm glow from the single candle on the counter exaggerated the hollows under her eyes.

  Clara's hazel eyes stared back at her, tired and unsure, shadowed by violet circles of fatigue. Her strong, dark brows were drawn together, worry etched permanently in the crease between them. She managed a weak smile at herself in the mirror-a brief, trembling curl of the lips that vanished almost as soon as it appeared. With a soft sigh, Clara turned away from the mirror and let the towel drop from her body. She stepped into the tub, easing herself down into the water. The heat was almost scalding at first touch, but she sank in gratefully, letting it rise to her shoulders. The initial sting gave way to a soothing warmth that seeped into her aching muscles. Clara settled back with a quiet groan of relief, her head resting against the cool porcelain edge and her knees drawn up.

  Silky clouds of lavender-scented bubbles swirled around her, insulating her in their delicate perfume. The bathroom light was off, leaving only the gentle flicker of the candle to paint shifting amber patterns on the walls.

  For a long moment, Clara simply soaked and allowed her eyes to slip shut. Warmth and silence cocooned her, and finally-finally-her mind began to quiet. Each breath she released was slower than the last, tension ebbing from her limbs. Under the soft hiss of rain against the window, she could hear her own heartbeat, steady and growing slower. Her thoughts floated aimlessly; the stress of work, the nightmare, even her foolish fright in the hallway all drifted away on the bath's steam. Drowsiness crept in, and her head nodded forward. A sudden creak from the living room snapped her awake. Clara's eyes flew open, heart leaping into her throat. The sound was sharp and unmistakable-a single footstep on the wooden floor just outside the bathroom door. Water sloshed as she jolted upright, sending ripples across her chest. She held her breath and listened, every nerve on edge. Nothing now but the muffled drumming of rain on the glass. After a long pause, she let out the breath in a shudder. Just the building settling... or a neighbour upstairs, she tried to reason, clenching and unclenching her fists under the water.Another soft noise-tap, tap-echoed from somewhere beyond the bathroom.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  It sounded like dripping water, but she couldn't be sure. Clara's gaze flickered to the faucet: a fat droplet fell from the spout into the bath, disturbingly loud in the silence. The pipes often knocked and the fixtures sometimes dripped; she'd lived here long enough to know the usual noises. Even so, her skin prickled. Each sound, however small, felt magnified. She realised she was holding onto the edge of the tub so tightly that her knuckles had gone white.

  Clara forced herself to relax her grip. This is ridiculous, she chided herself silently. You're jumpy from lack of sleep. These old buildings always make noise. She took a deep breath and deliberately sank back against the tub, submerging herself up to the chin once more. The water was still comforting, she told herself; the bath was still doing its job, easing her tired muscles. She focused on that sensation, trying to ignore the skittering of her heart. Inhale, exhale. Slowly, her pulse began to steady again. She could feel the heat working its way into her bones, making her eyelids heavy.

  Just as she began to drift again, something lightly brushed the sole of her foot. Clara flinched, reflexively pulling her leg in. Her eyes snapped open to stare at the water, which rippled innocuously around her shins. It must have been a stray current, she thought, or maybe I just twitched. Her heart had kicked back into a gallop. She waited, tense, for the water to still. Then, hesitantly, she stretched her leg out under the water, sweeping her foot from side to side to dispel her own fear. Nothing -just water. She exhaled slowly. Calm down.

  Yet in the very next breath, the air in the bathroom turned suddenly, inexplicably cold. The balmy steam that had filled the small room moments ago seemed to vanish, replaced with an icy draft that raised goosebumps over every inch of Clara's wet skin. She shuddered violently and drew her arms in close. The candle flame quivered, then guttered, plunging the room into near-darkness. A whimper escaped Clara's lips before she could stop it. This was no trick of her tired mind. Something was very wrong.Her pulse hammered in her ears as she groped blindly over the side of the tub, feeling for a towel or her robe-anything to warm herself. As abruptly as it had died, the candle's flame sprang back to life, crackling.

  The warm light returned, dancing over the tiles as if nothing had happened. Clara's breath came in quick, shallow gasps. She scanned the bathroom, water dripping from her chin. The shadows in the corners looked deeper than before, as if the darkness had mass. Her gaze darted to the door-it remained closed. The silence pressed in on her; even the rain outside seemed to have gone quiet. "Hello?" she called out, her voice small and trembling. She immediately felt foolish-who would answer? Only the quiet hiss of the candle's flame and the soft ripple of water replied. No one was there. Of course no one was there. She was alone.Gathering the last shred of her resolve, Clara pushed herself upright, preparing to step out of the tub. Enough of this, she thought, reaching for the rim to haul herself up.

  I'll just drain the water and-Without warning, an iron grip seized her ankle beneath the water. Clara had only an instant to register the impossibility of it before it wrenched her backward. Her cry of shock was cut off as her head slammed against the back of the tub and water surged over her face. An unseen force was pulling her down, its grip around her ankle like a shackle made of stone.

  Clara spluttered, inhaling a mouthful of water. She kicked frantically, twisting and jerking, trying to free herself from the invisible hold. Her hands slapped at the water, sending up furious splashes that drenched the floor tiles. She managed to grip the edge of the tub with one hand and lunged upward, coughing out a desperate scream. Just as her lips broke the surface and found air, that same inexorable force yanked her back with doubled strength.This time, it felt like a pair of hands-huge and merciless-were pressing against her shoulders, shoving her under. Clara's scream became a gurgle as bathwater poured into her open mouth. She thrashed, her body a wild blur of panic.

  Her flailing elbow knocked against the glass of the bathroom shelf, and she dimly registered a shatter as her toiletries tumbled to the floor. Pain blossomed somewhere-her hip, her side-she couldn't tell, the pain was everywhere and nowhere amid the adrenaline.

  She fought with every ounce of strength, lungs burning, mind screaming that this could not be happening. There was nothing to grab onto, nothing to hit or reason with. Her fingers scrabbled uselessly along the smooth bottom of the tub. Her vision, lit by the submerged glow of the candlelight, was a wavering, golden blur. She could just make out her own limbs thrashing in the water, distorted and alien. Each second without air was an agony. Her chest convulsed, desperate to expel the water and inhale oxygen. As her lungs reached their limit, Clara mustered one last burst of frantic energy. With a raw, primal effort, she twisted her body and managed to get a hand above water, gripping the edge of the tub one last time. Her face broke the surface-a split second of blissful air-enough for a single ragged breath. She tried to scream again, a fractured, water-choked shriek for help. But help was not coming. In the next heartbeat, something-everything-weighed her down. It was as if the very air had turned to lead and collapsed onto her. Clara's fingers slipped from the edge, and she was dragged deep under, her back smacking the bottom with a sickening thud.

  The world was nothing but soundless, sloshing chaos. Her mind roared between fight and surrender, an animal terror writhing within her. Please-no-! she begged wordlessly into the abyss. Her movements were growing uncoordinated, jerky. The burning in her chest had exploded into a ruthless, searing pain consuming her entire being. Her throat contracted, half-coughing, half-screaming, but only choking silence met her ears.

  Just as her vision began to speckle with darkness, Clara became aware of something new amid the panic. A shape, darker than the surrounding dark, loomed at the periphery of her vision. Through the haze of water and fear, it almost looked like a figure, towering over the tub. Was someone there? Hope and terror warred in her heart. She could barely make sense of it-the flickering light and swirling water distorted everything-but for one agonising moment she thought she saw a face gazing down at her through the water's surface. Not a face she recognised; not even a face fully human. An impression of eyes-ancient, pitilessly calm-locked with hers.

  Time seemed to slow. The grip on her ankle, the pressure on her chest, the water invading her lungs- all of it briefly fell away from her awareness as those unseen eyes held her. A cold resignation, as vast as the ocean, washed over Clara.Her body betrayed her at last. Her lips parted in a final involuntary gasp, and ice-cold water flooded into her lungs. Agony lanced through her, then abruptly ebbed into a numbing cold. Clara's struggles ebbed with it. Her arms floated, suspended and useless, and her kicking gradually stopped. Bubbles dribbled from her lips and nose, carrying away her last breath. Her mind, trapped in a rapidly dimming shell, fluttered between frantic fear and an oddly peaceful void. She was dying-somehow she knew it with a distant, surreal certainty.

  I don't want to die. The thought flared like a dying star in the darkness, and with it came a burst of images: Nina's bright laugh, Jack's concerned frown, a sunny morning long ago, the smell of coffee and Jasmine... they swirled together, incoherent and fleeting. Clara's hazel eyes stared upwards through the water, unseeing, as the candlelight above her danced in and out behind the rippling surface. The world was growing quiet and soft around the edges. The panic drained away, leaving only a heavy sadness.Above the water, the bathroom was silent once more. Beneath it, Clara's thoughts finally slipped into silence too. The last sensation she knew was a curious gentle touch, like a cool hand laying itself over her heart from inside her chest, and an overwhelming sense of presence-ancient, quiet, and sorrowful. Then even that faded, and everything went black.

  For a moment, the water in the tub continued to sway, sloshing gently against the porcelain. Then all gradually stilled. The candle on the counter flickered as if in a sigh and died, a tendril of smoke curling up in the darkness. In the hush that followed, the bathroom lay in gloom, disturbed only by the drip of water slipping over the edge of the tub and onto the tiled floor. Outside, the city lights shimmered behind the rain, indifferent as stars, while inside Clara's apartment the shadows deepened, heavy and mournful over the scene of quiet devastation.