My best friend has been missing for days. I got sent his diary today.

I woke up today to a loud thud at my door; when I opened it, there was nobody there. On my doormat was a book with my friend's name scribbled on it. The pages inside were barely holding together; the diary felt like it would crumble if I looked at it wrong. I carefully went through it this morning; this is what it said:

Day 1:
I can't catch a night's sleep since I moved here. There's always the sound of marbles rolling outside my apartment when I try to sleep. It’s not loud, but it’s distinct. Always the same sound, at the same time—click, click, click, like someone’s playing with marbles right outside my door. Every time I check, there's nothing. No one there. I asked the man next door; he said he’d never heard anything like it. Same answer from the other neighbors. I’m starting to feel crazy.

Day 2:
It’s different today. The sound changed. Now, it’s like something is breathing outside my door. I didn’t check immediately, but I could see a shadow from underneath. There’s definitely something there. I don’t know what it is, but I feel it waiting for me. Waiting for me to fall asleep, to let my guard down. But I can’t. I can’t sleep. If I do… I don’t know what will happen.

Day 3:
I missed work again. I can’t focus on anything except that sound. I’m starting to wonder if someone’s playing a prank on me, but no one else seems to hear it. It feels like… like someone is watching me. Every time I close my eyes, I feel the presence, like it's just waiting for me to give in. The neighbors must be lying. I can’t shake the feeling that they know something I don’t.

Day 4:
I found a hole in my ceiling today. I hadn’t noticed it before. It’s small, but it’s there, and it looks like something’s been peering down at me. I don’t know how long it’s been there, but now I can’t stop thinking about it. I sat under it for hours, just staring up, waiting for something to happen. I don’t know what I’m hoping for. I think I’m losing my mind.

Day 5:
There was a knock at the door. Just one. It wasn’t loud, but it was definitely there. I didn’t open it. I couldn’t bring myself to.  

The knocks are becoming more frequent, louder, almost frantic. I’ve blocked the door with furniture. It feels stupid, but it’s the only thing that makes me feel a little safer. I’ve started closing the windows too, even though they never seem to help. The knocking doesn’t stop, though. It keeps going, echoing through the apartment.

Day 6:
It’s quieter now. I haven’t heard anything in hours. I don’t know what to make of it. It almost feels worse, like it’s waiting for me to relax, to let my guard down. I haven’t talked to anyone in days. Not a single text or call. I’m starting to feel like I’m invisible, like I don’t matter to anyone anymore. My own family hasn’t reached out. I can’t tell if it’s because they don’t care, or if they know something I don’t. I’m starting to feel like I’m the one losing touch with reality.

Day 7:
I can’t stay awake anymore. I’m so tired. I think it’s okay to sleep now… I’ve done everything I can to keep it out. But I’m afraid. If I sleep, it might come in. The silence is too much. But I need to rest. There’s no way it can enter. I’m safe. I have to be.

Day 8:
I was woken by banging on the door. But this time… this time, there’s a voice. I can’t understand it, but it’s there. It’s soft, like it’s trying to trick me. I’m not falling for it. I’ve survived this long. I just need to hold out a little longer.

Day 9:
The knocking, the whispers, they’re getting worse. They’re inside the walls now, soft and unintelligible, but I can hear them, always there. The hole in the ceiling… it’s moved. It’s up there now, watching me. I’m sitting under it. I won’t let it in. I can’t.

Day 10:
I heard a tap on the window. It wasn’t a knock. It was like someone tapping lightly, just once, but I felt it. Someone’s out there. I can feel their eyes on me. I’m not imagining this. I know someone’s there, watching. Waiting. I’m not going to make a mistake. I can’t.

Day 11:
I swear, the walls are shifting. I see it when I turn my back. The living room feels… wrong. It goes on longer than it should. How could I have never noticed this before? The air in here is thick, heavy. It feels like I’m suffocating. I think… I think this thing is trying to trap me. It wants me locked in here, stuck with it.

Day 12:
It’s all coming together now. The knocks, the whispers, the tapping… it’s trying to communicate with me. I’m starting to understand. It wants something. What does it want? Why won’t it leave me alone? I feel like I’m slipping further away from myself.

Day 13:
The voices are getting clearer now. But it’s not any language I’ve ever heard. The words crawl into my mind, cold and alien, slithering like insects under my skin. I can’t escape it. Is it inside me now? I feel it in my bones, in my veins, crawling through me. Is it part of me now?

Day 14:
I have to get it out. I need to scream, to rip my skin off, anything to get it out. But my body won’t listen. My hands are moving on their own, trembling and shaking, but I can’t stop them. I don’t know if I’m doing this or if it’s doing it to me. I’m losing control. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.

The rest of the diary has pages ripped out. The pages that are left are incoherent drawings of his apartment. He never showed any signs of being paranoid, certainly not to the extent of this. I'm about to go and visit him; I am really worried for him. How could I let this happen to him?