Night Door

The Night Guest

Rain pounded the tin roof in waves, drumming harder every time the wind picked up. Anna hated storms. Always had. She pulled the wool blanket tighter around her shoulders and checked the fireplace. The logs hissed but caught, and a small flame curled up, licking the blackened brick.

Her phone had died two hours ago. No service, no Wi-Fi, no power. The old cabin didn’t even have proper insulation. But it was cheap, and it was far — far from her job, her family, her friends, everything that made her feel like a stretched-out version of herself.

She’d come here to write. That was the story, anyway. No one had questioned her when she said she needed solitude. Anna had always been the quiet one, the one who didn’t mind being alone. But something about this silence unnerved her. Not the silence itself — but the expectation inside it, like the woods were waiting for something to happen.

The storm raged outside, and Anna watched the windows shudder in their frames. The nearest neighbor was five miles down the gravel road, and she hadn’t seen another soul since she arrived two days ago.

She stared into the fire. The flames blurred. Her eyelids dipped. She started to drift.

Then — three knocks.

Anna jolted upright.

Three slow, deliberate knocks at the front door.

She froze. Her cabin had no front porch, no overhang. Anyone standing there in this weather had to be soaked to the bone. And anyone walking the gravel road in this storm had to be either lost — or lying.

She stepped quietly to the window beside the door and looked through the curtain.

A man. Mid-thirties, maybe. Lean, dark hair plastered to his forehead, face pale. He wasn’t wearing a coat, just a thin blue flannel. His hands were red from cold — but he wasn’t shivering. He knocked again.

Anna hesitated. Her heart thudded in her throat. But the wind howled behind him and she saw his shoulders trembling. Something human in her stepped forward and unlatched the door.

The man stumbled in without a word. She slammed the door behind him.

“Christ,” he muttered. “Thank you.”

“Were you walking?” she asked.

He nodded, brushing water from his sleeves. “Car broke down a couple miles back. Thought I could make it to town. Guess I underestimated the weather.”

She handed him a towel and motioned toward the fire. He sat on the floor near it, hands outstretched, but didn’t lean in the way most people would. Almost like the heat didn’t matter.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Ryan.”

She introduced herself. He smiled faintly. It looked forced.

“I don’t have much,” she said, “but I can make tea.”

“Tea’s fine.”

She turned to the tiny kitchenette and boiled water on the gas stove. From the corner of her eye, she saw him glance around the room — at her laptop, her notepad, the book on the table. His eyes lingered on her backpack.

“Don’t suppose you have cell service here?” he asked.

“No. Nothing. I tried.”

He nodded, rubbing his hands together. “Figures.”

They drank their tea in silence. The wind pressed hard against the walls. She studied him more closely now. His clothes were thin but clean. His boots looked expensive — hiking boots, newish. He didn’t look like someone who would get stranded easily.

“Where were you headed?” she asked.

“Nowhere special. Just driving. Clearing my head.”

“Bad place to do that,” she said.

His lips quirked. “Yeah. Figured that out too late.”

The rain kept falling. Anna considered asking him to leave once the storm calmed down — but it showed no signs of letting up. She didn’t feel good about it, but what could she do? He was already here.

“Couch folds out,” she said finally. “You can crash there for the night. Just for tonight.”

Ryan nodded. “Appreciate it.”

She stayed up longer than usual, pretending to read. Every time he shifted, she noticed. When he stood to stretch, she watched where he moved. When he went to the bathroom, she listened for the flush.

By midnight, the fire burned low. Ryan was already lying on the fold-out with one of her extra blankets. He seemed asleep.

Anna lay down in her room, door cracked open. Her knife — small, but sharp — was under the pillow.

She didn’t sleep well.

Morning came gray and wet, the storm now a steady drizzle. Anna woke early. She slipped out of bed and peeked into the living room.

The couch was empty.

Blanket folded neatly. Mug rinsed and left on the drying rack. Her front door- locked from the inside.

Her stomach dropped.

She checked the windows. All locked.

She checked her backpack. Everything still inside. Her laptop, her notebook, the flash drive in the inner pouch.

But something was wrong.

The blanket. It was folded too neatly. The kind of neatness that doesn’t come from a man stumbling through a storm.

Anna took a slow breath.

He had been looking at her things too closely. Too long.

Had he come for something?

She checked again- nothing was missing. Her files were untouched. But there was no way he had just walked off into the woods.

She opened the door and stepped onto the muddy path. There were footprints — deep ones — leading to the edge of the trees. Then nothing.

No return tracks. No tire marks. No signs of a car.

She stood in the cold mist, heart pounding.

Three days passed.

She didn’t sleep much. Jumped at sounds in the woods. Cooked with the knife in her hand. Left the fire burning late into the night.

No one came back.

She didn’t call anyone when the power returned. Didn’t tell her family, or her friends. She just stayed, pretending to write. Every word felt useless.

Then, on the sixth day, the power cut again. The lights flickered once, then died. This time, it was sunny. No wind. No reason.

That night, she heard footsteps on the porch.

She moved silently, knife in hand, and looked through the side window.

Ryan was standing there.

Dry this time. Same flannel shirt. Same boots.

He knocked. Three times.

Her breath caught. She didn’t move.

He knocked again. “Anna,” he called softly. “It’s just me.”

Her skin crawled.

He shouldn’t know her name. She had never told him.

She backed away, slowly. The door rattled. Then again, louder.

She crept to her room and locked the door. From under her bed, she pulled the old revolver. She hadn’t planned on ever using it.

The knocking stopped.

Silence.

Then—

A single knock at the bedroom door.

She raised the gun.

“Anna,” he said from the other side. “You let me in once. You’ll let me in again.”

She fired.

Through the door. Twice.

Silence.

When she opened the door, gun still raised, the hallway was empty. No blood. No body. No sign of anyone.

She left the cabin that night with nothing but her backpack and hiked five miles through the dark to the next gas station.

She never went back.

Three Months Later

Anna sat in the police station with Detective Hussein. A cold cup of coffee sat untouched between them.

“You said you recognized him,” she said.

The detective nodded. “We ran his description. Matches Ryan Fant. Missing since 2019.”

“Missing?” she repeated. “So… he never came back?”

He studied her. “He never came at all. Ryan Fant was last seen heading to a family cabin in the woods — about fifty miles north of where you were. Car found, body never recovered.”

Her mouth went dry.

“He drowned,” Hussein said. “Storm swept the road that night. We assume his car got caught in the flood. But his cabin was almost identical to yours — same builder, same layout. Your rental? It was built from the same floor plans.”

She tried to speak. Failed.

“You said he folded the blanket too neatly,” he said.

She nodded slowly.

The detective leaned forward.

“Tell me something, Anna. When you fired your gun — did you check how many bullets were left?”

“No.”

He opened a file.

“Two bullets, right?”

She nodded again.

“Only one casing was found.”

Her spine went cold.

“And Anna,” he said softly, “we checked. Your door — your bedroom door — it didn’t have a hole in it.”

She stared.

“He never came through the door,” the detective said. “You fired into a closed door. But the bullet… hit nothing. No mark. No dent. Just… gone.”

He paused. Then-

“Are you sure you met someone, Anna? Or did someone meet you?”