A knocking echoed in the apartment.
He went to the door and peeked through the peephole. The hallway was empty. He made just a few steps when he heard the knock again. He went back and checked. Looking through the aperture, he saw himself from behind, leaning in front of the door. Scared, he quickly looked back, but all he saw was his couch, a shelf of green books, and his old cat sleeping near the window. I’m not being watched, no, he thought, but that horrible sensation of surveillance filled his limbs. An impression he hoped was paranoia, not some awakening realization. He slowly turned his head toward the door. In place of the peephole was an eye, observing him with an indifferent gaze, eyelids nearly snapped shut. The irises were brown, like his own. He hesitantly brought his hand close to his face to check if an eye was missing.
A knocking echoed in his head.