The Visitor

It was a quiet Tuesday night when the knocking started.

Soft at first. Like a tapping on the door.

Mira glanced at the clock. 2:23 a.m.

“Who could that be?” she muttered, rubbing her eyes. She had just gotten to sleep after a long shift at the hospital. Her neighborhood was peaceful, and there hadn’t been anyone at her door for weeks.

She stumbled to the door, unsure whether it was a neighbor in need of help or someone confused about the house number. When she opened it, the cold hit her first. The night air was sharp, biting. But there was no one there.

Just the wind.

She sighed and turned to close the door when she noticed something on the ground. A small, crumpled note.

Don’t let them in.

It was written in thick black ink, messy, as though written in a hurry.

Her heart skipped.

She looked around, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Still no one. The street was empty, the houses quiet, their windows dark. She quickly closed the door, locking it tightly.

That’s when she heard the voice.

A low, smooth whisper from the other side of the door.

“Mira… let me in.”

Her blood ran cold. It was her name, but the voice was wrong. Like it was trying too hard to sound familiar.

She backed away from the door, gripping the edge of her kitchen counter for support.

“Who’s there?” she called out, trying to sound brave. “I don’t want any trouble.”

There was a pause. Then, a soft, rhythmic knock. Three taps. Repeated three times.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

She pressed her hand against her chest, trying to steady her racing heart. “Leave me alone.”

“Mira…” The voice was quieter now, almost a murmur. “I’ve come to take you home.”

She bolted back, her knees trembling. The lights flickered overhead. She grabbed her phone to call 911, but the screen was completely black. No signal.

The knocking came again.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Something deep in her gut told her to look out the window. She rushed to the living room, pulling the curtains back just enough to peek outside.

A figure stood on her porch. Tall, with broad shoulders. But it was difficult to make out any details. The person’s face was shadowed by the brim of a hat, the rest of them covered in dark clothes.

Then, slowly, the figure raised its head.

And smiled.

A wide, too-wide grin.

Mira screamed and backed away from the window, her heart thumping so loud it drowned out the knocking.

It was right outside the door now, pressing against the wood.

“Mira… it’s time.”

Suddenly, the door flew open, not from the outside, but from within. As if it was pushed by invisible hands.

The figure stepped into the room. It was tall—impossibly tall. Its face, pale and stretched, smiled too wide, its eyes hollow.

Mira couldn’t move. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Don’t worry,” the figure whispered. “You’re not alone anymore.”

The last thing she saw was the figure’s smile, growing wider and wider, as the darkness swallowed her whole.