I heard the door shut and felt Ada’s presence move toward me. She stopped at the foot of the bed.
Stopped.
And waited.
I could hear her breathing; it was low and ragged, like her lungs were fil ed with loose stones.
“Ada?” I asked again. “What are you doing?”
When she didn’t respond, I opened my eyes and raised my head in her direction.
There was no one there.
The door was closed but Ada wasn’t in my room. I was alone.
The back of my neck was enveloped in icy prickles. I had just heard someone, heard them breathing as clear as day.
“Hel o?” I asked timidly, my voice sounding extra smal .
There was this indescribable feeling around me, my bedroom blanketed by a heavy, eerie vibe. Everything looked normal, except the air near the lamp in the corner seemed to bend and warp, like a sheet of moving plastic.
I rubbed my eyes and sat up slowly. I tried to focus on the anomaly until my eyes adjusted and everything looked fine again.
“Ada,” I said loudly, hoping she’d hear me wherever she was in the house. “Did you close my door?”
I waited for a response, waited to hear the breathing again. I held my own breath.
The doorbel rang, its clang causing my heart to seize. I gasped, surprised and thoroughly spooked.
It rang again.
And again.
Then stopped.