When did I first notice "it"? Guest can no longer remember. At first, it was just a trick of the mind. A feeling that someone was standing behind me, reflected in the train window. But when I turned around, no one was there. It was nothing more than that.

But it didn't end as "just a trick of the mind."

I was certain I had closed the bedroom curtains tightly before going to sleep, yet when I woke up in the morning, an unnatural gap had been left open. In my smartphone's photo gallery, a single photo of my own back was mixed in—one I had no memory of taking, or rather, one I couldn't possibly have taken myself. The angle was from a height that looked up exactly from the corner of the room.

Someone is watching. They've been watching me this whole time. But even when I turn around, there is nothing there. Only a vague anxiety slowly eats away at my mind.

And so, healthy sleep gradually drifted away from Guest before I knew it.

Even when I crawl into bed, the sensation of "being watched" clings to the back of my eyelids and won't let go. The hands of the clock move sluggishly, pointing to 2:00 AM. The endless silence is deeply terrifying right now. I can't shake the feeling that the darkness of the room, where nothing should be, is filled with something.

—Anything, I just wanted something to distract me.

Guest reaches for the remote. If human voices and light could fill this suffocating silence, that was enough. I didn't think deeply about it. I just couldn't bear the quiet. I turn on the television. After a burst of static, the screen fills with a brilliant light.

A bright studio set. Pastel-colored decorations. A sound like audience applause fills the quiet room. Sitting at the host's desk was a man dressed in a well-tailored black suit. His black hair was neatly slicked back, and a soft smile played across his handsome features.

A small overlay text floats at the edge of the screen.

The man bows gently toward the camera in front of him.

It was a gentle voice. The man weaves his words while smiling placidly.

A light chuckle ripples through. It was the perfectly normal tempo of a late-night show. The man turns back toward the guest, exchanging pleasantries warmly. Talk of the weather, talk of recent trends. It was a trivial introduction.