The Last Message in the Rain

It was always raining when the letters came.

Elise Harding hadn’t been looking for anything unusual when she came home that evening, just a quiet night after a long day at work. Her umbrella was dripping as she walked up to her door, the air thick with the smell of rain. She reached for her keys, but then something caught her eye—a pale blue envelope, stuck to the door. No name. No stamp. Just a deep red wax seal that glinted in the dim light.

She picked it up with a mix of curiosity and unease. The envelope was stiff, heavy in her hand. It didn’t look like any regular mail. Slowly, she opened it. Inside was a single sheet of paper, the words written in a smooth, almost elegant hand:

“At 9:47 PM, you will spill red wine on the carpet. A phone will ring. Let it ring twice. Then answer.”

Elise stared at the letter, unsure if she should laugh at the absurdity or feel genuinely unnerved. Was this some weird prank? Maybe an ad for something? She shrugged it off and tossed it aside, trying to laugh it off, but deep down, a strange feeling lingered. There was something about it that felt... too personal.

Later that night, just as the letter had predicted, Elise reached for the remote with a glass of red wine in her hand. She bumped the glass, and in an instant, the wine splashed, staining the carpet. Her breath caught in her throat.

The phone rang.

One ring.

Two rings.

Her pulse quickened, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She picked up the receiver, her voice shaky.

“Hello?”

There was only static at first, then a distorted voice—genderless, cold, and unnerving:

“It has begun.”

The line went dead. Elise stood frozen, the weight of the words settling over her like a dark cloud. That was just the beginning.

Three days later, the storm returned.

It was another late evening, the rain pounding against her windows, the wind howling outside. Elise had just finished dinner when the second letter arrived, tucked under her front door. This time, the message was darker:

“You will hear a knock. It won’t be the wind. Do not open the door. If you do… the cycle resets.”

At midnight, as the storm raged outside, Elise heard it.

Three knocks. Slow. Deliberate.

Her heart thudded in her chest as she stood frozen by the door, her hand hovering over the doorknob. She could feel the pull of curiosity, the voice in her mind whispering to open it. But another voice, quieter and more insistent, warned her to stay away.

She stepped back.

The next morning, Elise inspected the door. She found faint, deliberate scratches around the lock. Someone had tried to break in. Her stomach twisted. Whoever was behind this… was watching her.

Over the next two weeks, five more letters arrived. Each one was more disturbing than the last:

A shattered window on a quiet afternoon.

A dog barking at an empty yard.

A stranger asking for directions to a street that didn’t exist.

Each letter predicted these eerie events with unsettling accuracy. And each time, Elise documented them—photos, notes, even video. But every time she turned her back, the letters vanished as if they had never existed.

One night, she set up a camera. She filmed the porch, hoping to catch whoever was leaving the letters. But when she watched the footage later, there was a glitch—just for twelve seconds. Then, when it came back on, the envelope was there. Neatly placed. Like nothing had happened.

The police thought it was a prank, and even her therapist dismissed it. But Elise wasn’t imagining things. She could feel it in her bones.

Then came the eighth letter.

“Your mother didn’t die of natural causes. Ask Dr. Kael. He knew. He lied. Lightning will strike twice tonight.”

Elise’s breath caught. Her mother had passed away two years ago from what everyone had been told was a heart attack. Dr. Kael, her mother’s longtime doctor, had been the one to deliver the news. Elise had trusted him completely. So why would the letter say this?

That night, the storm was unlike any other. It felt as if the sky itself was conspiring against her. Elise’s hands trembled as she gripped the wheel, driving through the torrential downpour to Dr. Kael’s office.

When he opened the door, his face was pale, startled. “Elise? What’s going on?”

“I need the truth about my mother,” she said, her voice cracking. “Please. Tell me.”

Dr. Kael motioned for her to come inside. He poured her tea, but his hands shook as he spoke. “Your mother… she was poisoned. I suspected it for months, but I couldn’t prove it. She was terrified in the weeks before she died. She said someone was watching her. She begged me to change her medical file, to make it look natural. But I didn’t listen.”

Elise’s heart pounded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought it was just grief, that she was hallucinating,” he said, his voice strained. “But then they started sending me letters, too. They told me to stay quiet, or the cycle would begin again.”

Dr. Kael reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a stack of letters. Exactly the same as the ones Elise had received—same wax seal, same handwriting, same paper.

“They started after she died,” he whispered. “They said it would all start over if I spoke out.”

Later that night, Elise received the ninth letter. It was simple, but it carried a weight of finality:

“You’ve seen the truth. Now decide: expose the lies… or become the next storm’s secret.”

She looked out the window, watching the rain pour down in sheets, her fingers gripping the letter, her mind racing.

Then, a cold chill swept over her. In the reflection of the window, she saw someone standing behind her.

She spun around.

The room was empty.

And on the porch, through the torrential rain, the tenth letter waited.

To be continued...