Midnight Visitor

 The clock struck twelve. The silence of the night was broken only by the faint rustle of leaves outside the window. Riya tossed in bed, her eyes stubbornly refusing to close. The shadows in the corner of her room seemed longer tonight, stretching across the walls as if they had a life of their own.

A sudden knock echoed. Three soft taps at the door.

Her heart froze. Who could it be at this hour? She lived alone.

Cautiously, she got up, her bare feet brushing against the cold floor. The knocks came again — this time, louder, impatient. She pressed her ear to the door. Silence.

“Who’s there?” her voice trembled.

No answer.

Her trembling hands reached for the lock. Just as she was about to open it, she noticed something odd — a shadow moving under the doorframe. Not human. Too tall, too thin, as if it had no bones.

The door creaked open by itself.

Standing before her was not a person, but a figure cloaked in midnight — faceless, yet staring. It raised a long hand and pointed toward her window.

Riya turned, and there, etched into the glass, were words that hadn’t been there before:

“I’ve come back.”