The Invitation

Eliza’s Account

It was the knocking that woke me — disruptive, persistent.

I wondered who it could be … and what time it was. I checked my phone: 2:11 A.M. … no messages … no missed calls.

The knocking came again — urgent, imposing.

I looked out the window but saw no one. Maybe they’re too close to the door for me to see them, I thought.

I waited to see if they would leave, but the knocking continued. It didn’t stop. They weren’t going away.

I didn’t know what to do.

I slipped into my pink robe and slippers, and stepped into the hallway — phone in hand. The hall was dark but for the soft silver glow of the moon stealing through the windows.

The knocking echoed through the house.

As I went down the hall, I noticed my daughter's bedroom door was open. I peeked inside — she’s not here!

I was overcome with worry and dread — someone was outside, and I didn’t know where my daughter was.

“Eva!” I called out.

The knocking stopped, but there was no answer.

Perhaps that’s her at the door! I thought — but the knocking was too loud for a small child like her. Maybe it's someone who knows where she is.

I rushed downstairs. I found the front door open — and Eva standing outside, hugging her teddy bear.

“Eva?” I said, rushing to her.

She didn’t respond.

“Is everything okay?” I asked her, turning her to me.

“Yes,” she said softly, looking at me. “Mr. Cuddles was left outside.”

“Oh…” I sighed with relief, “okay…”

The angst in me dug in — it didn’t make sense!

“How did you get in?” I asked her, worried.

“I was already inside,” she said.

“I heard knocking at the door — was that you?”

“That wasn’t me — that was Mr. Cuddles.”

She’s confused! She must be tired.

“Eva — you went outside to pick him up, right?”

“No. Mr. Cuddles got left outside, and I heard the knocking. I came downstairs, and opened the door for him.”

“That wasn’t you knocking on the door?”

“No.”

“Who was it?”

“Mr. Cuddles.”

I didn’t know what to think.

I looked outside — there was no one there.

“Did you see anyone out here?”

“No.”

“Did anyone come inside the house?”

She shook her head. “No.”

Something wasn’t right.

I closed the door, locked it, and slid the latch into place — but when I turned around, I realized how dark the house was. I felt a chill — anyone could be inside!

I stood by the door, staring into the darkness.

“What’s wrong?” asked Eva.

“Shh… quiet,” I whispered.

I thought I saw shadows hiding in the corners, waiting for us — but I wasn’t sure.

I couldn’t move — I was frozen with fear.

I kept trying to listen — but it was hard to hear anything beyond my own breathing.

Finally, I decided to unlatch the door and have Eva stay behind.

“I need to check the house,” I told her. “Stay here.”

I handed her my phone.

“If you hear me scream, I want you to run outside and call 911. First you go outside, then you call — got it?”

Eva nodded. “Yes.”

I walked to the living room — slowly, carefully, scanning my surroundings. The padding of my slippers seemed louder than it ought to be.

Finally, I turned on the lights — nothing.

I looked into the dining room — clear.

I walked past the dining room — turning the lights on — then into the kitchen.

Lights on — nothing. I grabbed a heavy steel frying pan.

Next, I checked the bathroom — empty as well.

I beckoned Eva, and she came running to me. I had her sit on the couch — with Mr. Cuddles.

The basement was next. I moved quietly, the rug and my slippers muffling my steps.

Lights on — no one.

Upstairs, I checked every bedroom — the empty bedroom, my son’s bedroom, Eva’s, and mine. I checked every bedroom closet too, and I also checked the upstairs bathroom.

I told myself no one could have reached the attic — but the unease lingered.

I pulled down the stairs — they groaned, loud.

I climbed up, flashlight in hand. I shone the light around — nothing.

Finally, I latched the front door and brought Eva upstairs to her bedroom. I tucked her into bed. She was uneasy, but I reassured her I had checked everything.

I turned off the lights in her room and went to the bathroom. I then went throughout the house, turning off the lights — then I returned to my bedroom.

I took off my robe and slippers, and sat on the bed.

“Mommy.”

I screamed! I hadn’t realized she’d snuck in.

“I’m scared,” said Eva. “Can me and Mr. Cuddles sleep here tonight?”

“Okay,” I said. “Sure.”

We lay down together.

“Good night, Mommy,” Eva whispered.

“Good night, honey,” I replied.

“Good night, Mr. Cuddles,” she whispered.

I lay there, telling myself it would be all right.

But the thought lingered — Eva couldn’t have opened the door if she’d locked herself outside. So, who did?

I got up and locked the bedroom door.

Eliza’s Second Account

The second time it happened — about a week later — it was the knocking that woke me again. I was still groggy, wondering who it could be.

I reached for my phone — 2:01 A.M. … no missed calls … no voicemails.

The knocking was loud and persistent.

Eva came running into my room. “Mommy,” she said. “It’s Mr. Cuddles… he’s outside.”

I remembered then what had happened the previous week.

“Don’t open the door —” I directed her. “Stay here.”

“But it’s Mr. Cuddles,” she said. “He wants to come in.”

“Where is Mr. Cuddles?” I asked her. “Did you leave him outside?”

“No. He must’ve gone out while I was sleeping.”

I peeked out the window. No one.

I checked her room. She was right — Mr. Cuddles wasn’t there.

The knocking turned to pounding — then the doorknob rattled. Someone is trying to open the door, I thought.

I ran into the bedroom and locked Eva and myself inside.

I quickly grabbed my phone but dropped it. It slid under the bed. I had to crawl to retrieve it.

The pounding grew louder — the rattling, sharper.

I dialed.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“Someone’s trying to break into my house,” I said, terrified and on the verge of tears. “My daughter and I are inside — please help!”

“What’s your address?”

I gave it to her.

“Stay on the phone — the police are on their way.”

“How long before they get here?” I asked, terrified.

“They’re not far — it shouldn’t take long. Do you know who is trying to break in?”

“No,” I said, my voice trembling and my body shaking.

“Do you think they’re inside?”

“I don’t think so — I locked the latch!”

I screamed when I heard a loud blow to the door — “They’re trying to break the door down!”

“Mommy!” cried Eva, hugging me tight.

“Where are you and your daughter?”

“In my bedroom.”

“Is it locked?”

“Yes!” I cried, panicking.

“Stay calm, ma’am. The police are on their way.”

My heart pounded. I was hyperventilating. Eva and I dropped to the floor together, hiding behind the bed.

The pounding on the door continued — it resounded throughout the house, rattling the house and us. Eva was clinging to me.

I heard sirens. Getting closer.

“I hear them,” I told the operator.

“Who do you hear?”

“The sirens.”

“They should be close now — stay on the phone.”

“Yes,” I said, my voice faint.

“Are they still trying to come in?”

“Yes,” I said, shaking.

The sirens were right outside now. Blue and red lights flashed through the window.

The pounding stopped.

“It stopped!” I told the operator.

“The officers are investigating. I’ll stay on the line until you speak with them.”

I heard radios outside.

Eva tried to see out the window, but I held her back. Then, I looked — three patrol cars, officers shining flashlights into the windows and along the sides of the house.

“I don’t think they caught whoever it was,” I said. “They’re still searching.”

“Stay on the line, ma’am. They’re making sure the area is clear.”

After a few minutes, the doorbell rang.

“They’re at the door,” I said.

“You can go ahead and open for them.”

I put on my robe and slippers, then Eva and I went downstairs, turned on the lights, and opened the door.

Two officers stood there.

“Are you with them now?” asked the operator.

“Yes.”

“I’ll let you go then. Thank you for calling 911. I hope you have a good rest of your evening.”

“Good evening, ma’am,” said one officer. “I’m Officer Brady, and this is Officer Balfour. We’re here because you called 911. Can you tell us what happened?”

I told them about the knocking — about the pounding, the rattling doorknob, the attempt to break in. I also told them how it had happened before — and how I’d found the door wide open and Eva outside.

“Do you know anyone who might have tried to break in?” asked Officer Brady.

“No,” I said.

“What about your daughter?”

“No,” said Eva. “It was just Mr. Cuddles.”

“Who’s Mr. Cuddles?” he asked.

“My teddy bear,” she said.

The officers exchanged smiles.

“We did find a teddy bear,” said Officer Balfour.

He held it up — it was Mr. Cuddles.

“It’s my teddy bear!” said Eva.

“Is this Mr. Cuddles?” asked Officer Brady.

“Yes,” I said.

They handed it to Eva.

“Did you leave it outside?” he asked.

“No,” said Eva. “He must’ve gone outside while I was sleeping.”

“Was the teddy bear with her when she went to sleep?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I said. “She always sleeps with it. I tucked her in myself.”

“Any idea how it got outside?”

“No,” I said, feeling chills crawl over me. “But she always tells me he gets up and goes out.”

“He does,” Eva added.

Officer Brady pondered for a moment — then he asked Eva, “Have you seen him do that?”

“No.”

“So how do you know?”

“He told me,” said Eva.

“I see …,” said the officer. Then, he asked her — serious, yet gentle — “Has he told you why he gets up?”

“Yes,” Eva said, her expression shifting to fear.

“Why?” he asked with concern in his voice.

“He says he’s keeping the bad people away.”

“Does he know who they are?”

“No.”

“Does he know what they’re trying to do?”

“They want to take Mommy and me away.”

“Where?”

Eva looked up at the sky. “There...”

The officers looked bewildered.

“Is there anything else you can tell me to help me understand?” he asked her.

Eva shook her head.

Before they left, the officers handed me their report. They didn’t find anyone, nor signs of forced entry. Just the bear.

Nathaniel’s Account

Eliza reached out to me through my blog, The Veil between Here and There. I first replied to her by email, and then we spoke on the phone. Finally, we met at Panera on Wednesday.

She is an attractive and slender middle-aged woman with brown hair, dreamy hazel eyes, and a cute and perfect nose. Even in flats, she was about an inch taller than me.

Her daughter, Eva, looks a lot like her — she is a sweet little darling.

Eliza was willing to contribute to my blog, and I appreciate her sharing with me and you all.

She said she had asked the moms in the neighborhood if any of their kids had snuck out at night to return Mr. Cuddles to Eva — they promised to follow up, but no one got back to her.

“I don’t know what to think,” she said, with anxiety in her voice. “Eva keeps telling me Mr. Cuddles is protecting us — keeping the bad people away … but I’m afraid of him. There’ve been mornings when we’ve found him sitting on the couch — and she tells me she didn’t put him there.”

I promised Eliza I would ask about the situation. I don’t claim to know much about this — I just share the stories to promote awareness of what’s out there. Marcellus, on the other hand, warns me not to meddle with these things.

“I promise to take very good care of Mr. Cuddles,” I said to Eva, “and you get to watch Tammy.” Tammy is a female plush bear I got for her — light brown, with pink ribbon and pink tutu. “She’ll watch over you and your mom, but she’ll stay inside the house.”

I was able to speak briefly with Officers Brady and Balfour over the phone. I told them what I do and that Eliza came to me with her story. They said they didn’t know what to think, but they dismissed Eva’s testimony because she was too young and too imaginative.

They asked me what I thought, so I told them. They laughed at me — I’m used to it.

After a long day, I brought Mr. Cuddles home with me. I thought he would look good in the army green armchair, so I placed him there. By the way, army green is just a color — I have nothing to do with the army.

The first few nights were uneventful.

But Saturday night, I woke to knocking.

I checked my phone: 2:17 A.M. …

I wondered who it was. Then I noticed — Mr. Cuddles was no longer in the armchair.

“So, this is what it’s like,” I said. Fascinated, yet unnerved.

I looked outside — there was no one. But the knocking was loud and clear.

I walked out — headed downstairs.

My cat was on the desk — alert, fur bristling, a dead mouse at her feet.

My face was still bruised from my encounter with Joseph — you’ll have to read about that elsewhere.

The house was empty — my wife and children had moved out for good.

That Friday night — still a blank. If you’ve read my earlier entries, you’ll understand why I was a bit unnerved. All I remember is my dinner with Kristen, driving my car, and hearing the words — then the light, then nothing.

I thought of Marcellus — he’ll enjoy reading this diary entry, if I get to write one.

Eliza hadn’t opened the door. She didn’t know what it was like.

But Eva did. She’d opened it. Found Mr. Cuddles. And she was fine.

At least, she seemed fine.

I went downstairs. The knocking continued — loud and persistent.

I turned on my Ring camera. No signal.

Then the doorknob rattled. The knocking was growing impatient.

“Wait!” I called. “I’m coming!”

I stood behind the door, wondering what I would find behind it — a person, a ghost ... maybe nothing.

“Who is it?” I asked.

No answer. Just light but hurried knocking.

“Is that you, Mr. Cuddles?”

Two gentle knocks — tock-TOCK

“Are you Mr. Cuddles?”

Two knocks, different this time — tock-tock

“Do you want to harm me?”

Two knocks — tock-tock.

I looked through the peephole — there was no one out there.

“Do you want to hurt me?”

Two knocks again — tock-tock.

I realized that the knocking was coming from a height below the doorknob.

“Do you promise?”

Two gentle knocks again — tock-TOCK

“Do you want to come in?”

Two gentle knocks — tock-TOCK

Without unlatching the chain, I opened the door.

There, at the foot of the threshold, was Mr. Cuddles — sitting, still, and quiet.

I unlatched the door and picked him up.

As I did, a breeze swept into the house — then, footsteps.

“You’re in now,” I said to Mr. Cuddles. “I hope we get along.”

The noises. The footsteps. The voices.

The dreams. The signs.

They all came after that night.

I had let them in — but I didn’t know who they were, what they wanted, or how long they would stay ...