The floor vibrated. A shadow fell over me, cold and sudden. I looked up.

“No, no, no—!”

It came out like a mouse squeak. She didn’t even twitch.

The headset didn’t settle over my face—it engulfed it. The foam padding, which usually rested lightly against my cheeks and forehead, now pressed down with impossible weight, smothering. I tried to pull it off, but my fingers—my stupid, shrinking fingers—slipped against the plastic.

“Hey?” she called out, her voice a thunderclap that rattled my ribs. “You in here?”

The door closed behind her with a sound like a bomb going off.

That’s when I heard the footsteps.

Fifteen centimeters. That’s what the display had read before I put it on. .

She shrugged, muttered “weird,” and walked out.

My girlfriend, Sarah, was standing in the doorway.

But the footsteps were coming back. Heavier this time.

I’d laughed at the prompt. A glitch, probably. Some indie VR horror demo playing a joke. I’d clicked “ignore.”

I started walking.