Arrival in Prague

Petr's consciousness clawed its way through the suffocating veil of sleep, dragged upward by a sound that didn't belong to the natural rhythm of his slumbering world. His eyes snapped open in the oppressive darkness, pupils dilating as they struggled to pierce the impenetrable black that had swallowed his bedroom whole. The familiar weight of his blankets suddenly felt like a burial shroud, heavy and restrictting against his chest as his heart began its frantic tattoo against his ribs.

There—cutting through the deathly silence like a blade through flesh—came the unmistakable percussion of footsteps. Not the hurried shuffle of a late-night wanderer or the casual gait of someone moving with purpose, but something far more sinister. Each footfall landed with deliberate precision, a methodical rhythm that spoke of calculated intent. The sound seemed to echo from somewhere within the very bones of the house itself, reverberating through the walls with an otherworldly resonance that made Petr's skin crawl with primordial dread.

His breath caught in his throat, trapped like a caged bird as he strained to listen, every nerve ending in his body suddenly alive with electric terror. The footsteps continued their relentless march, growing neither closer nor more distant, but maintaining that same haunting cadence that seemed to mock the very notion of safety within his own home.

Petr fumbled for his phone on the nightstand, his trembling fingers finally finding the device and illuminating the screen. The pale blue glow cast eerie shadows across his face as he scrolled to Vlastimil's contact.

"Vlastimil," he whispered into the phone when his friend answered on the second ring, his voice barely audible above the continuing footsteps. "Something's wrong. There's someone in my house."

"Petr? Co se děje, my friend?" Vlastimil's voice carried that familiar warmth even through the crackling connection, though Petr could detect the sharp edge of concern beneath. "You sound like you've seen a ghost."

"I can hear footsteps," Petr hissed, pulling the blanket closer to his chin like a child seeking protection from monsters. "They're not stopping. Just... walking. Back and forth."

A pause stretched between them, filled only by the methodical percussion that continued to echo through Petr's walls.

"Where exactly are these footsteps coming from?" Vlastimil asked, his tone shifting to something more serious, the playful edge completely gone now.

"I don't know," Petr admitted, his eyes darting around the darkness. "It sounds like they're everywhere and nowhere. Like they're coming from inside the walls themselves."

"Listen to me carefully," Vlastimil said, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper. "Get out of that house. Now. Come to my place—you remember the address, yes? Don't pack anything, just leave."