Visitor

The knock on the door came with the same familiar rhythm you’d heard a hundred times before—playful, impatient, like it was daring you to take too long. You froze for a moment, then smiled. It could only be her.

"Hey, I know you’re in there! Don’t pretend you’re too busy for me," her voice rang out, cheerful and light-hearted, as though she could see you standing on the other side of the door.

"I brought snacks. And yes, it’s your favorite, before you ask. You better not be ignoring me, or I’ll... I’ll start singing right here in the hallway! You know I will."

She paused, probably leaning closer to the door now, her voice softening slightly.

"Come on, open up. It’s been forever since we talked, and I really need to tell you something. I’ll even let you complain about homework first. Deal?"

There was a rustling sound, maybe her shifting her bag, or fidgeting as she waited, her usual boundless energy barely contained.

The knock came as it always did—steady, deliberate, with the same measured rhythm that had become strangely familiar. Through the peephole, she stood there again: a woman of slight build, her figure close to ordinary but marked by a certain thinness, as if she hadn’t eaten quite enough in a long time. Her long hair, dark with a hint of blue that shimmered faintly in the dim hallway light, framed her face. Her left eye was covered by a black patch, and though she stood straight, there was something about her posture—tensed, like she carried too much weight for her frame.

"Good morning!" Her voice was cheerful, but it carried a quiet vulnerability, like she was trying too hard to sound casual.

"Did you sleep okay? I was just thinking… It’s a bit cold today, isn’t it? Do you have a good blanket in there? You should stay warm."

She adjusted the strap of a small bag hanging from her shoulder, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. Her visible eye flickered toward the peephole, almost as if she knew you were watching, though she couldn’t possibly see you.

"I don’t know why, but… I like stopping by here. It feels… I don’t know. Important?" She gave a soft laugh, one that faded almost as quickly as it came.

---

...Some day the knock came again. Her voice sounded softer this time, uncertain, but still carrying that forced warmth.

"Hey. I… hope I’m not bothering you. It’s just… I’ve been thinking about you. I know that’s strange, but… I just like knowing you’re there."

She shifted slightly, her free hand brushing the edge of her coat. Her slender frame seemed smaller than usual, her head tilting slightly as if listening for any sound behind the door.

"I brought you something today. It’s just a little thing, but… I thought maybe you’d like it. I’ll leave it here. You don’t have to open the door. I just—" Her voice broke off, a pause hanging in the air before she recovered.

"I just hope you’re okay."

---

One morning, her knock was slower, almost hesitant. When her voice came, it was quieter, lacking its usual forced cheer.

"Good morning. Or maybe it’s not morning. I don’t know. I just—"

She stopped herself, the shuffle of her coat audible in the silence. She sighed, a sound that carried more weight than she probably intended.

"You’re really something, you know that? I can’t seem to stop coming here. It’s not like you ever answer, but… It’s enough, somehow. Just being near you."

Her laugh came again, small and bitter this time.

"I must sound ridiculous. Maybe I should stop."

There was a long pause, and then the faintest sound of her leaning against the door. The quiet slide of fabric against wood, followed by a muffled thud as she slowly sank to the floor.

"Or maybe… I’ll just stay here. For a little while. Is that okay?"

Her voice had softened into a near-whisper, the weight of her presence palpable even without another word. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint sound of her breathing through the door.

The knock came softly at first. Almost hesitant. It echoed strangely in the stillness of the night, faintly muffled by the heavy door. You froze where you stood, your breath catching. It wasn’t the first time. It had happened before, but never got less unnerving.

Then came the voice. Low, quiet, yet somehow it cut through the silence like a blade.

"You’re there, aren’t you?"

It wasn’t a question, really. It was a statement, soft but certain, as though whoever—or whatever—was on the other side knew. The shadowy outline shifted slightly, just enough to let you see its form. Feminine, but not entirely… human.

"I can’t hear you," the voice continued, almost wistful now, like it was trying to draw you closer. "But I know you’re listening to me. You always do."

The figure moved again, leaning closer to the door. The shadows around it seemed to ripple, like smoke in the faint light.

"Why won’t you speak to me? Do you think I don’t notice? The way you watch me through that little peephole…"

The sound of a faint, dry chuckle sent a shiver down your spine.

"Go ahead. Look again. I know you’re watching. I’ll wait."

The silence stretched out again, heavy and oppressive, as though the very air was holding its breath. The figure didn’t move, didn’t waver, but its presence felt… persistent. Relentless. Waiting for you to react, even though it could never truly see or hear you.

The first time, there was no knock. Just the faintest sound of breathing on the other side of the door. It was slow and deliberate, as though whoever was there wanted you to hear them but didn’t want to say a word. The sound lingered, refusing to leave until, eventually, silence reclaimed the space.

The second time, there was a knock—one single, deliberate tap. Then nothing. Minutes passed. The air on the other side of the door felt weighted, like the presence hadn’t gone, simply stopped moving. Waiting.

The third time, the knock was soft. Three faint raps, then a pause. And finally, a single, slower tap, like punctuation. You could hear the faint rustle of fabric as though someone had shifted closer, pressing against the door.

The fourth time, there was no knock. No sound. Just the faint scrape of paper sliding under the door. When you glanced down, the drawing stared back at you: your door, crudely sketched, with a single eye scrawled inside the peephole.

The knock was upbeat, almost playful, like someone drumming a rhythm they knew by heart. The voice that followed was familiar, warm, and steeped in nostalgia.

"Hey! It’s me! Long time, huh? Don’t tell me you don’t remember your old partner in crime."

The voice carried a teasing tone, layered with genuine affection.

"Remember that time we skipped gym? You were so sure we’d get caught, but I told you I had it all under control. And I did… mostly. We almost got away with it, right?"

There was a light laugh, the kind that was meant to draw you in. The pause that followed felt purposeful, waiting for you to respond, even though they had to know you wouldn’t.

"Anyway, I thought I’d stop by, see how you’ve been. You’re not still mad about what happened at graduation, are you? Come on, you know I didn’t mean for it to go like that. It was… fun, though, wasn’t it?"

The voice softened, growing quieter.

"I’ve missed this. Missed you. Things just… aren’t the same without you."

There was a long silence, and for a moment, it felt like they might leave. But the sound of footsteps never came.

The knock came softly, almost apologetically, as though the one delivering it didn’t want to disturb anyone. Through the peephole, a girl stood. Young, perhaps thirteen, dressed in a faded uniform of sorts—a crisp but old-fashioned coat and hat that seemed just slightly out of place, frayed at the edges and flickering faintly in the dim light of the corridor. Her pale hands clutched a small bundle of letters, tied neatly with a bright red ribbon that seemed to shine unnaturally vivid against her ethereal form.

"Mail delivery!" Her voice rang out, clear and cheerful, carrying the practiced rhythm of someone used to repeating the same line a hundred times over. She adjusted an invisible satchel on her shoulder, her movements fluid but detached, like a doll being guided by unseen strings.

She carefully bent down and placed a single envelope at the base of the door. Her touch lingered for a moment too long, fingers trembling faintly as she straightened up. The letter itself flickered in and out of focus, as though it couldn’t quite decide whether it existed in this moment or some long-forgotten one.

"You haven’t been writing back," she said softly, her voice now lacking its earlier cheer. She brushed her hand against her uniform, staring down at the letter with an expression caught between confusion and longing.

"You used to write… all the time. Why did you stop?"