Miss Anna and the Haunting Rain

Miss Anna lay in her bed, the sound of rain hammering against the window. It had been a long time since she had felt this alone. The storm outside was relentless, and every few moments, a bolt of lightning would illuminate the room, casting eerie shadows across the walls.

Her husband, Mr. Wilson, had left for another city on business. She had been looking forward to a quiet evening, but the storm had made the night anything but peaceful.

As she pulled the blanket tighter around herself, a sudden noise made her sit up. A thud. It was faint, but clear. It sounded like it came from downstairs.

Anna’s heart pounded. Was it the wind? Or… someone else?

She tried to shake off her fear. Maybe something fell over, she told herself. But deep inside, she felt uneasy. She reached for her phone, but the storm had knocked out the power. No signal. No lights.

Then, another sound. This time, it was closer. Footsteps.

Her breath caught in her throat. She knew she wasn’t imagining it now. Someone is inside the house.

Anna slid out of bed as quietly as she could, grabbing the small flashlight from her nightstand. The dim glow did little to ease her fear as she crept toward the bedroom door. Slowly, she turned the knob and peeked out into the dark hallway.

The house was silent except for the rain, but she could feel something was off. She moved carefully down the stairs, her bare feet barely making a sound.

As she reached the living room, she saw it. The front door was slightly open.

Her stomach twisted. She was sure she had locked it before going to bed.

Then, a whisper.

Not from outside. From inside the house.

Anna’s blood ran cold. She turned toward the kitchen, from where the sound had come. The door was ajar, and through the gap, she could see movement.

Someone was there.

Her hands trembled as she picked up the heaviest object she could find—a metal candle stand from the table. She took a deep breath, her heart racing.

"Who’s there?" she called out, trying to keep her voice steady.

Silence.

Then, suddenly—footsteps, running toward her.

Before she could react, a shadowy figure burst from the kitchen. Anna swung the candle stand blindly, hitting something solid. A man grunted in pain and stumbled back.

In the flash of lightning, she saw his face. Pale, sharp features, eyes filled with desperation.

He wasn’t just an intruder.

She knew him.

"Michael?" she whispered in shock.

Michael was Mr. Wilson’s younger brother—someone who had disappeared five years ago. The family had assumed he was dead. But here he was, standing in her home, drenched from the rain, his face twisted with fear.

"Anna, please," he gasped. "You have to listen to me."

She didn’t lower the candle stand. "You broke into my house!"

"I had no choice," Michael said, panting. "I was being followed. They know I’m here."

"Who?"

Before he could answer, the sound of tires screeching outside made them both freeze. Headlights beamed through the window, and dark figures emerged from a black car.

"They found me," Michael whispered.

Panic surged through Anna. This wasn’t just a burglary. This was something far more dangerous.

Michael grabbed her wrist. "We have to go. Now!"

The front door burst open, and men in dark suits flooded inside.

Anna had no idea what was happening, but she knew one thing—she was caught in something far bigger than herself.

And there was no turning back.