The Hostile Takeover

At midnight, the phone rang once before cutting out, leaving behind only a wet, static-laced whisper. By the time I realized a knife was resting in my palm, the door clicked open. As blood washed over the threshold, I slowly turned the blade toward myself. In the final second before my consciousness faded into the abyss, I heard a laugh echoing in the room. It was coming from my own mouth, but it wasn't my laugh.