Member-only story
The Visitor
Preparing for what might come.
On one otherwise very ordinary morning, I found a note under my door. It was a torn scrap of paper folded in half. Its edges were frayed as if someone ripped the note in a hurry. The handwriting was uneven, almost shaky.
It said in capital letters:
I’M COMING TO VISIT.
No name. No date. That was it.
I stared at it, turning it over, expecting to find more. Something that would explain it, maybe. But there was nothing. Just those few words. I thought about calling someone, figured maybe it was meant for a neighbor. But as the day went on and I somehow couldn’t stop thinking about it. It did not feel like a mistake at all.
I left it on the kitchen counter. I kept glancing at it now and then while I made breakfast or tried to get work done. It just sat there. Expecting me to make sense of it.
By evening, I’d almost convinced myself it didn’t matter. A prank, probably. But as daylight faded, I couldn’t help but become jumpy. The note’s promise — or was it a threat? — hung in the back of my mind, making the quiet in the house feel heavier.
I was up all night. Something about the house felt… different. Like it was waiting, too. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Every little bump in…
