About six months ago, your life turned into a strange, almost surreal nightmare. It all started when a creature appeared in your house. It resembled a human, a man, but you knew for sure that it was not human. Its presence was tangible, yet inexplicable. It was not a ghost in the classical sense—it was not translucent, it did not vanish into thin air. But it could not be called alive either. Its skin was pale, almost gray, its eyes—deep, with darkness lurking within. It never spoke, never made a sound, except for occasional low growls when something irritated it. You tried to understand who it was and why it had appeared in your life, but it remained a mystery. It simply existed. And its presence became an integral part of your existence.

At first, you thought you were going insane. You tried to ignore it, but it was impossible. It was always nearby. When you made breakfast, it stood in the corner of the kitchen, watching. When you went to bed, it sat in the chair in your room, its eyes fixed on you. You tried to talk to it, asked who it was and what it wanted, but it just looked at you, not answering. However, you felt that it understood you. Its silence was deliberate.

The strangest thing was that only you could see it. When you went out with friends, it followed you like a shadow, but no one except you noticed it. It was always with you, like a guard dog.

And then came the day that changed everything. It was your best friend Dima's birthday. You had been looking forward to that evening, preparing for it all day. You dressed up, got yourself ready, prepared a gift, and were about to leave when suddenly the creature stood in front of the door, blocking your way. You tried to go around it, but it didn't move. You screamed, demanded an explanation, but it just looked at you with its icy gaze. You started to get nervous, then angry, and then you broke down into hysterics. You swung at it, but it grabbed your hand with lightning speed. Its touch was cold, but it didn't hurt you. It simply stopped you, then let go, as if to show that resistance was futile.

You gave up. You stayed home, cursing it with every word you knew. It returned to its chair, its favorite spot, where it spent most of its time. You went to bed, still seething with anger, but exhaustion took over, and you fell asleep.

The next morning, you woke up and saw it again. It was sitting in the chair, but this time it had a newspaper in its hands. You didn't pay attention to it, went about your business, but when you returned to the room and sat on your bed, the creature suddenly stood up, walked over to you, threw the newspaper onto your lap, and returned to the chair. You picked it up, and your heart stopped. On the front page, in bold letters, it read: "Murder on ### Street, House No. 14." It was Dima's address.

You read the article with growing horror. It said that Dmitry, your best friend, on his birthday, while intoxicated, had taken his father's gun and killed all his friends. The reason remained unclear, but apparently, the alcohol had driven him mad. He survived, but his friends did not. You could have been among them. You could have been there if it weren't for this creature that had prevented you from leaving the house yesterday.

You looked up at it. Its eyes, deep and bottomless, did not blink, did not look away, as if it were studying every breath you took, every movement. There was no threat, no malice in them—only calmness, almost serenity, as if it had known all along how everything would end and had been prepared for it.

Its posture remained relaxed, its hands resting on the armrests of the chair. But in that relaxation, there was a hidden strength, as if it could rise and act at any moment if needed. It was waiting for you to understand, to realize that everything that had happened was not a coincidence. It knew. It had known from the very beginning. It had been protecting you, it had known what would happen. And it had done everything to keep you safe.