My last thread of sanity

I slowly opened my eyes, trying to decide what it was that woke me from my restless sleep. The apartment was stuffy, I considered getting up to flip on the old cooler. I glance at the window, wishing I could open it, an outdated cooler and years of nonuse of the window made the idea of any fresh air impossible. I was almost settled on the idea that the noise I heard somewhere else in the apartment was just remnents of a bad dream. I closed my eyes and started to relax once more, I could feel myself drifting off.

There it was again. Scratch.

This time the noise was loud enough to bring me up into a sitting position. I glanced around the room quickly, there seemed to be nothing amis, my two cats dozed, undisturbed by the startling noise. I sat in the bed listening, hoping the noise was from next door.

Scrape. Scrape. Scraaaaaape. CLUNK.

I realized that I had been holding my breath the whole time I was listening. Letting my breath out slowly, I swung my legs over the side of the bed. I was starting to feel nervous, maybe even a little scared, all I wanted to do was hide under the covers, but something inside of me, something I was unaware that I had, forced me to stand.

Step.

I heard it. Not a dream, not something left over from the nightmare of a few moments before. Something, or someone, in the house with me. There was no other possibility. The neighborhood I lived in had always frigtened me. I never ventured out at night, and when it was time to go back to my apartment, I always held my breath, afraid someone had broken in.

Step--then quiet, as if listening to me listening to him. I was home alone. Had the noises come from my boyfriend, I reasoned, I would already be bombarded with his own style of affection, and the cats would be with him, not in the bedroom with me. God please, I pleaded, please let it be him playing a bad prank, don't let this be the moment I've been dreading since I moved in...

Step.

I slowly stood up. My cell phone. "Shit," I whisper when I realized the phone is in the living room. Why, why, why, couldn't I ever remember to put it on to charge? Panic is starting to set in, my heart was beating hard in my chest, by breathing was shallow and erratic, I felt my slightly moist hands shaking at my sides. I took a step forward. "Breathe. Keep breathing." I whispered.

Step.

Pause.

Step.

The stepping had moved from the kitchen to the living room. The stepping was louder on the hard wood floor. In the small almost empty apartment, every step, every move seemed to have an echo.
"Oh god..." I'm not sure if I was whispering aloud or in my head. I could feel the blood draining from my face, my chest was tightening, I was nearly hyperventalating. I was so afraid. The rational part of my mind was screaming at me, how could I have agreed to living in this area? I knew the history of the neighborhood, the girls who had gone missing, the murders, the unexplained events... all of it was flashing through my mind. Oh god please...

I walk carefully forward, avoiding my shoes in the middle of the floor. I had no weapon. I had no phone. I had no way out but forward. I reached the hallway, listening, but I heard nothing. I cautiously steped out of my dark bedroom, three feet more and around one corner, and I would be face to face with my fear.

Step.

With a sudden gust of bravery or stupidity I rush forward and round the corner. "Oh god, oh god, oh god...." I whimper, losing my once firm grip on reality.