The Midnight Visitor

The clock struck twelve, and the rain poured relentlessly against the windowpanes. Sarah sat alone in her dimly lit living room, a half-finished cup of tea growing cold in her hands. The storm outside rattled the old house, its creaking floors and groaning pipes making her uneasy.

Then—**a knock. **

Three slow, deliberate raps on the front door.

Sarah froze. *In this weather, who would go outside? * She wasn’t expecting anyone. Her heart pounded as she crept toward the door, peering through the peephole.

No one was there.

Just as she let out a shaky breath, the knock came again—**louder this time. **

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝

Against her better judgment, Sarah unlocked the door and pulled it open. The wind howled, sending a chill down her spine. The porch was empty… except for a single, weathered envelope lying at her feet.

Her name was scrawled across it in jagged handwriting.

Hands trembling, she tore it open. Inside was a single sentence:

**"You shouldn’t have opened the box." **

Her blood ran cold.

A month ago, Sarah had found an antique wooden box in her grandmother’s attic. It was locked, but curiosity got the better of her. She had pried it open—only to find old photographs, a rusted key, and a note that read: *"Some doors should never be unlocked." *

She had thought nothing of it… until now.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬

Sarah slammed the door shut and locked it, her breath coming in short gasps. The lights flickered. A faint whisper slithered through the house—**her name**, spoken in a voice that wasn’t human.

*"Sarah…"*

She spun around. The hallway was dark, but she could’ve sworn something moved at the edge of her vision.

Her phone buzzed violently on the table. An unknown number flashed on the screen. She answered, her voice barely a whisper.

*"Hello?" *

A distorted voice hissed back: **"You opened it. Now they’re coming." **

The line went dead.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡

Sarah’s mind raced. What had she unleashed? She rushed to the attic, where the box still sat on the dusty floor. But something was different—**the lock was back in place. **

What about the key she discovered inside? **Gone. **

A floorboard creaked behind her.

She turned slowly, her pulse roaring in her ears. The shadows in the corner of the room seemed to twist, forming a shape—**a figure**, tall and gaunt, with hollow eyes that gleamed in the dark.

It spoke, its voice like nails on glass:

**"You were warned." **

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞

Sarah stumbled back, knocking over a lantern. The flame caught the old curtains, spreading rapidly. As the figure moved forward, the attic was filled with smoke. She had one chance—**the rusted key had to be somewhere. ** She searched by turning over boxes in a desperate attempt. Then she saw it—**glinting under the moonlight**—just as the shadowy hand closed around her wrist.

With a scream, she grabbed the key and jammed it into the box’s lock.

A deafening silence fell.

The flames vanished. The shadows dissolved.

And the box… **was sealed once more. **

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

The next morning, Sarah woke on the attic floor, the box beside her—still locked. Had it all been a nightmare?

But on her wrist, five dark bruises formed a perfect handprint.

And outside her door, a single envelope lay waiting.

This time, it read:

**"They’re still watching." **