u/BOBR1K_RUSSIA

After the first one, I barely slept for almost a week. Not out of guilt — but from that pure, cold arousal that wouldn’t release me. I understood: the first had been a flash, an impulse. The second I wanted to do properly. Coldly. Consciously. Beautifully. Her name was Sara. Thirty-one years old. She lived in a quiet suburb not far from Cleveland, in an ordinary gray house on Maple Street. I had been watching her for two and a half weeks. I knew almost everything: what time she came home from work, how long she took in the shower, what T-shirt she slept in, how she lay down on her right side and sometimes quietly whimpered in her sleep. I knew that the back kitchen door didn’t close tightly. That night I arrived at 2:10. October fog hung over the lawns. I waited until the light in her second-floor bedroom went out, and gave her time to fall into a deep sleep. At exactly 3:14 I silently entered the house. She was sleeping. The nightlight from the hallway barely illuminated the bed. I sat down on the edge of the mattress. The bed sank slightly. Sara opened her eyes — they were filled with pure, animal terror. I pressed my gloved palm over her mouth and whispered quietly, almost tenderly: “Shhh… This is the quietest time. No one will hear. If you lie still — it will all be over quickly.” She tried to fight. I held her down. I looked into her eyes. At one point she managed to whisper something about her mom in Columbus, about how she would give everything she had. I didn’t answer. When it was over, I sat beside her for a long time. The silence in the room became absolute. I brushed a strand of hair from her face, closed her eyes, and said softly: “Thank you. You were perfect.” Before leaving, I looked around the room one more time. Everything looked as if she had simply ceased to exist at 3:14 — at the quietest time of night, when the whole world sleeps the deepest. I left through the back door at 3:47. Outside it was cold and calm. I walked to the car and smiled. Now I knew for sure: I could do this consciously. Not in rage. Not by accident. But exactly like this — coldly, beautifully, and at the right moment. And I was already thinking about the third.

I’m not hiding anymore. I simply come when you fall into a truly deep sleep. Hello, everyone. I’ve wanted to write here for a long time, but I kept thinking it would be too… personal. Tonight, though, I realized it’s time. You won’t do anything anyway. You won’t even believe me. And if you do believe me, it will already be too late. My name… no. Names don’t matter anymore. For you, I’m simply the shadow on the ceiling at 3:14 a.m. That quiet creak of the floorboard you blame on the old house. That chill on the back of your neck when you turn off the light and suddenly feel that there is one more person in the room. I didn’t start with murder. I started with watching. The first one was a girl from the neighboring building. Lena, 27 years old. She worked in marketing, went to bed at 11:40 p.m. sharp, and always read the same book before sleep — 1984. I knew this because I sat in the tree opposite her window for nearly a month. She had thick curtains, but a thin strip of light always slipped through the gap. I learned to read her silhouette by its movements. When she leaned back against the pillow and reached for the switch — that was my signal. I didn’t touch her then. I simply watched her fall asleep. Watched her breathing become steady. Watched her body relax, and how she would no longer be able to react quickly even if she heard something. This is an important moment. People think they’re afraid of the dark. In reality, they’re afraid of what happens when the brain has already switched off, but the body hasn’t yet caught up. I began entering apartments. At first, I just opened the door (many people don’t even lock all the locks). I stood in the hallway and listened. It’s an incredible feeling — standing in someone else’s home while the owners are sleeping just ten meters away. Their life continues without them. The refrigerator hums, the clock ticks, and they lie there like corpses, suspecting nothing. Then I started coming closer. I would sit on the edge of the bed. Sometimes I just watched. Sometimes I stroked their hair. Once, a girl smiled in her sleep and whispered someone’s name. I almost fell in love with her in that moment. But then she turned over, and I saw how calm and trusting her face was. And I understood — she would never know how close she had come to never waking up. The first real murder happened by accident. No, not by accident. Nothing happens by accident. It was a guy around thirty. He lived alone, drank beer in the evenings, and watched series until three in the morning. I had already sat in the armchair opposite his bed three times. He snored. Loudly. Disgustingly. And suddenly I felt such a wave of irritation that I simply took a pillow and pressed it down. He woke up, of course. His eyes bulged, his hands grabbed my wrists. But I was heavier, calmer, and had already decided that this was how it had to be. He thrashed around for a short time. Three minutes, maybe four. Then he simply went limp. And the room became quieter than it had ever been. I sat beside him for another hour. I stroked his head and whispered that everything was fine now, that he could finally get a good night’s sleep. I even felt sorry for him. After all, he hadn’t done anything wrong. He just snored too loudly. After that, I understood the main rule: they all deserve something. I’m simply the one who sees it. Now I come to you differently. I no longer wait for you to fall asleep. I help you fall into a truly deep sleep. Do you know why some people wake up in the middle of the night with the feeling that someone was sitting on their chest? It’s not sleep paralysis. It’s me, checking how ready you are. If you managed to throw me off — then today is not your day. I simply leave. Quietly. Leaving only a faint metallic smell and wet footprints on the carpet. But if you keep sleeping… oh, then I stay. I know where you keep the knives in the kitchen. I know which drawer you hide your phone charger in. I know that you’re afraid to open your eyes even when you feel someone standing at the head of your bed. You lie there convincing yourself it’s just a nightmare. That if you open your eyes, it will all disappear. It won’t. I’m writing this post right now from the phone of a woman. She is lying next to me. Her eyes are open. Staring at the ceiling. For forty minutes already. She looks very beautiful doing it. I asked her not to blink, and she’s trying. Good girl. Sometimes I let them see me in the final moment. Not to enjoy their fear. Just so they understand — I’m not a monster under the bed. I’m ordinary. In jeans, a black hoodie, with light stubble. The kind of guy you see in the metro and never remember. The most terrifying thing I want to tell you before I finish is this: I am already in your house. Yes, right now. While you’re reading this post, I’m standing behind your back or sitting on the edge of your bed. Do you feel that slight draft? That’s me breathing on the back of your neck. Did you just think you should check the door? Don’t bother. It’s locked. I already checked. If you slowly turn your head right now — you might manage to see me smiling. And if you don’t turn… well. Sweet dreams. I’m already coming.