The Hour Without Sound

3:17 AM

It was 3:17 AM when Heather Murphy woke up, not from a nightmare, but from silence.

Too much silence.

The kind that rings in your ears and makes your heart beat louder, just to break it.

She sat up in bed, blinking in the dark. Her phone screen said 3:17 AM in bold white numbers. Notifications- none. Signal- full. Wi-Fi- off. That was weird. Her Wi-Fi never went off. Ever.

Her apartment on the sixth floor was usually hum of distant traffic, muffled neighbors, and the occasional bark from the labradoodle two doors down. But now, nothing. No humming fridge. No air conditioning. Just a cold, dead hush.

Power outage?

She reached for the lamp. Click. Nothing.

Phone flashlight on. The room lit up in pale blue. Everything looked normal, but something felt wrong. The air was too still, like it was holding its breath.

She got up, crossed the living room, and looked out the window.

No lights.

The city, always alive — even at 3:17 AM — was black.

Every building. Every street. No traffic lights. No street lamps. Even the big glowing “M” from the all-night diner across the street was dark.

But the moon was up, bright and full, casting long shadows.

She stared out for a long minute, trying to make sense of it.

That’s when she saw the man.

Standing perfectly still in the middle of the crosswalk.

Alone. Staring straight at her window.

She stepped back instinctively, heart racing.

He didn’t move.

No phone. No bag. No expression. Just standing there, arms at his sides, head tilted slightly up.

Watching.

Heather turned off her flashlight. She pressed her back against the wall, breathing shallow.

Okay, she thought. Maybe he’s just some guy. Maybe he’s drunk. Maybe he’s looking at the building, not me.

She waited a minute, then peeked back through the edge of the curtain.

He was gone.

She scanned the sidewalk. Empty.

Her heart sank. She pulled her phone back up. 3:18 AM. No calls. No messages. No service now.

Her building had emergency power — at least one hallway light should be on. She grabbed a hoodie, shoes, and a flashlight from the kitchen drawer.

If something was happening, she wanted to know.

She wasn’t going to just sit there and wait.

Not again.

She hesitated at the door, her hand on the knob. The silence pressed against her back like a hand.

This is stupid. Just wait. Be safe. Be smart.

But something inside her — the same part that never let her ignore the bump in the night, the flicker in the corner of her eye, the itch of something just out of place — it wouldn’t shut up.

Knowing is better than waiting. Always has been.

She turned the knob and stepped into the hallway.

Pitch black.

The flashlight swept across the walls- empty hallway, fire extinguisher, exit sign — unlit. The building was completely shut down. She moved toward the stairs, shoes silent on the carpet. Her phone buzzed once. She froze and looked down.

Her phone buzzed once. She froze and looked down.

NEW MESSAGE 3:17 AM - DON’T GO OUTSIDE.

Her mouth went dry. It was from an unknown number.

The timestamp — 3:17 AM — was the time she woke up.

She hadn’t received it until now.

She turned the screen off and stood still, trying to listen. Still silence.

I should go back.

I should’ve stayed in bed like a normal person. Pretended the dark was just a power outage and pulled the blanket over my head.

But it was too late now. She couldn’t unsee the man in the street. Couldn't unknow that something was wrong.

And somewhere under the fear, she felt it again — that need to see the shape of the thing chasing her.

She bolted down the stairs.

Fifth floor. Fourth. Third. Everything looked abandoned. No sounds, no doors cracked open, no light under thresholds. It felt like the whole building had just… paused.

She reached the lobby.

Glass doors. Moonlight spilling in.

And something else.

On the other side of the glass- a shape.

A figure, like the man from before, standing still again. But not the same man. This one was taller. Dressed differently. Also watching. Also perfectly still.

She froze behind the lobby column and killed her light.

This figure moved its head slightly — just a twitch — and stepped forward.

No hesitation.

She backed up, heart pounding.

The figure moved again.

Closer.

Then stopped at the door.

They were locked. She hoped.

She turned and slipped into the stairwell to the basement. She didn’t know why. Just a gut reaction — hide, go low, find somewhere to wait it out.

The basement door creaked as she pushed it open. She hated that sound. It bounced off the concrete like a gunshot.

The flashlight barely cut through the dark. Storage lockers lined one wall. The other side was an old laundry area nobody used anymore.

She slipped behind a row of lockers, crouching. Phone out again. Still no signal. 3:22 AM.

Another buzz.

NEW MESSAGE 3:22 AM - They’re not people.

No sender.

Her hands started shaking.

What the hell does that even mean? Not people? Then what are they?

You’re not equipped for this.

Her brain was starting to spiral — flashes of old horror movies, the kind her brother used to sneak her into when they were kids. She used to laugh at the dumb decisions characters made.

Why would you go in the basement? Why wouldn’t you just run?

Well, here she was.

Basement. No running.

And no one was coming to help.

The worst part wasn’t the dark. It wasn’t even the silence. It was the feeling — gnawing and sour — that she’d made the wrong choice three decisions ago.

So she waited.

Minutes passed.

A low, warbling hum rose again, like that engine sound, but closer now. It filled the basement like smoke — thick, invisible pressure. Her teeth buzzed.

She covered her ears.

Then it cut out.

And a door creaked open.

Not the one she came through.

The other one. The old back entrance no one used.

She heard it.

Hinges. Then slow, soft steps.

Something had come in.

It wasn’t walking right. Too smooth. Like sliding, but with just enough sound to tell you it was definitely there.

She tried not to breathe.

The steps got closer.

And then they stopped.

Right in front of her row of lockers.

The silence returned.

She counted- One. Two. Three—

A loud bang on the metal made her scream and drop her phone.

It clattered to the floor, screen shattering, flashlight kicking on.

The light spun across the floor — and hit it.

Not a person.

Something person-shaped, but wrong.

Too tall. Limbs slightly too long. Skin that looked like it was trying to be skin, but didn’t know how.

And its face—

Nothing. Just a smooth, gray surface with one slit across the middle.

It made a sound, like it was breathing through water.

Then it reached down.

She grabbed her phone and ran.

Up the stairs. Skipping steps. Gasping for air.

It was behind her. Not fast, but steady. Unstoppable.

Second floor.

Third.

She burst into her apartment, slammed the door, and locked both bolts.

No time to think.

She ran to the kitchen, pulled the fridge from the wall, and climbed behind it into the space she used to call “panic alley” as a joke.

It used to be a joke.

Just in case the world ended, she used to say. Just in case the monsters were real.

Now she wasn’t laughing.

She held her breath and waited. Not because she thought it would help — but because it was the only thing left she could control.

The hallway outside her door was silent again.

Then the footsteps returned.

Slow.

Closer.

They stopped at her door.

Then the handle turned.

Rattled.

A long pause.

Then — knock. Knock. Knock.

Three soft, polite taps.

Like a salesman.

Then silence.

She waited.

She didn’t move for an hour.

At 4:31 AM, the power flickered back on.

The fridge hummed. The heater kicked in. The street outside glowed with lights again.

She crawled out, legs cramping.

Looked through the peephole.

Nothing.

Checked her phone.

Battery at 3%.

One new notification.

3:17 AM - You survived. For now.

Then her phone died.