A Visitor From Hell

 A visitor From Hell. 

M.E.A

I sat alone, staring at the cracked plaster of my apartment ceiling, feeling the weight of the night creeping in through the windows. The city outside buzzed with its usual noise—cars honking, distant voices echoing in the streets—but inside, it was quiet. Too quiet.

The air was thick, stale, like it had been sitting too long without moving. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. I couldn't tell if it was the oppressive heat of the late summer night or something else, something unseen. A heavy weight sat on my chest, a feeling I hadn't been able to shake for days. It was like the darkness was creeping inside me, inch by inch.

I sat up, my head throbbing. Maybe I'd been drinking too much lately. Or maybe it was the dreams—the same recurring nightmare, every night for the past week. In the dream, I was running down an endless hallway, the walls narrowing as I ran, the floor crumbling beneath me. No matter how fast I moved, the end never came. But the darkness behind me got closer, and closer, until it swallowed me whole.

A sharp knock at the door snapped me back to reality. I blinked, unsure if I'd imagined it. I looked at the clock—2:43 a.m. No one came by at this hour.

I stayed still for a moment, my breath shallow, listening. My heart pounded in my chest, an irrational panic rising within me. Then it came again—a slow, deliberate knock, louder this time.

My stomach twisted. Who would be knocking at this time of night?

The room felt colder. I stood, hesitant, feeling a gnawing pit form in my gut. The light in the hallway outside my apartment door flickered, casting long, distorted shadows beneath the crack in the doorframe.

I could feel something—someone—on the other side. Something heavy, something wrong.

Despite myself, I reached for the knob, my fingers trembling slightly. For a moment, I paused, my hand hovering just above the metal. Something in my gut screamed at me to turn back, to bolt the door and never open it.

But something stronger pulled me forward, something darker. With a deep breath, I turned the knob and opened the door.

There, standing in the hallway, was a man. At least, he looked like a man. Tall, dressed in a black coat that seemed to absorb the light. His eyes, though, those were what gave him away—deep, dark, and endless, like staring into a void.

My throat tightened. "Who... who are you?"

He smiled, but it wasn't the kind of smile that brought comfort. It was sharp, cold, predatory. He stepped forward without waiting for an invitation, crossing the threshold into my apartment.

As soon as he entered, the air shifted. It became heavier, thicker, as if the darkness itself had followed him inside. The flickering light in the hallway finally sputtered out, leaving the corridor bathed in shadow.

I stumbled back, my mind racing, trying to make sense of what was happening. This can't be real, I thought. I've been drinking too much, sleeping too little. But the weight of his presence made it clear—it was real. Too real.

"I see you've been waiting for me," he said, his voice smooth, as though he were commenting on the weather.

My heart pounded louder in my ears. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The smile remained on his lips as he moved further into the room, his presence seeming to suck all warmth from the air. "Oh, you know. You've been expecting this for a while now, haven't you?"

I shook my head, backing away as he closed the door behind him with a quiet click. "I don't know you. What do you want?"

He tilted his head, watching me with that same dark amusement. "Is this how you greet your guests? No pleasantries? No hospitality?"

My stomach twisted again, a nausea rising in my throat. I hadn't invited him in. He just came. But I didn't have the strength to tell him to leave. Instead, I found myself pouring two cups of tea, my hands shaking as I moved, my body running on autopilot.

We sat across from each other at the small, rickety table by the window. I could still hear the city outside—the occasional car, the distant sound of a dog barking. But in here, the world had changed.

He didn't take his eyes off me as he sipped from his cup, his movements slow and deliberate. I tried to ignore the gnawing sensation in my gut, but it only grew stronger with each passing second.

Finally, he set his cup down and leaned back in his chair, eyes still locked on mine. "I've come to visit an old friend," he said.

His words sent a jolt of panic through me, my pulse quickening. Old friend? No, this can't be real. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. I could feel something inside me stirring, something dark, like a knot tightening in my chest.

My sins. The memories of them began to rise, unbidden, like black water filling my lungs. The things I'd done, the things I thought I'd buried deep inside, were clawing their way to the surface. The lies. The betrayals. The pain I'd caused. I'd spent years trying to forget, trying to bury it all, but now, sitting across from him, it was like they were alive again, sharp and fresh.

His presence made them sharper, as if every sin was tied to him, as if he was the one who had pulled them out of me. My throat felt tight, my chest constricted, and I fought the urge to scream, to run. But where could I go? There was no escaping this.

"You've been running for a long time," he said, his voice soft, almost sympathetic. "But you knew it would catch up with you eventually."

I stared at him, my body trembling. "What... what do you want from me?"

He smiled again, that same cold, knowing smile. "You already know."

He slowly finished his cup and stood, his movement slow, deliberate. He turned to me with that same cold smile, one that sent chills through my veins.

"We have a date in the darkness," he whispered, his voice low and smooth, like the cold wind sweeping through an empty night.

His words lingered in the air, clinging to me like a curse. I wanted to shout, to fight, to tell him that I didn't belong to him, but my body felt frozen, paralyzed by the weight of it all. The sins. The memories. The darkness.

He left without another word, the door closing behind him with a soft click. I stood there, still clutching the cup, staring at the space where he had been.

And I realized, in that moment, that he hadn't come to knock on my door tonight.

He'd been inside all along.