The Voice at the Door

"Don't open the door. Not for anyone."

The knocking comes at 10 PM-three hammer-strikes, shuddering through the wood. A woman's voice, frayed with terror, begs to be let in. "Someone's following me."

I shouldn't open the door. My parents warned me. But her fear is a hook in my chest, dragging me closer. When I finally relent, she bursts inside-a whirlwind of wild eyes and desperate gasps. She smells like rain and something darker. Iron. Blood.

Then the knocking starts again.

Identical. Syllable for syllable.

"Please let me in!"

But the woman is already inside. Cowering. Trembling.

So who-or what-is knocking now?

And worse... what did I just let in?