Every night at midnight, there is a man at the door. The doorbell camera records him every night. He doesn’t stay for long, just a few minutes, then he walks away, disappearing back into the shadows. The camera doesn’t pick up where he comes from, since it can’t see down the street. It can only show the doorstep, and the man as he stands there.
There is nothing remarkable about this man. He doesn’t brandish a knife or grip a gun. He is average in every way. He isn’t exactly tall, but not exactly short. His skin, or at least what can be seen from beneath his hoodie, is pale. There are no marks, scars, or tattoos that set him apart from any other man on the street. He is just a man.
At first, he would only stand there on the doorstep, calm and still, for a few moments before turning and walking away. Then, after a few days, the seconds turned into minutes. Then, tonight, he stood there for nearly a quarter of an hour.
He doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t make any threats. He simply stands and waits. No one ever comes to the door to let him in. And, yet…
The man can be seen in the kitchen now, being recorded by the interior security camera. He is still and silent, but this time, he does hold a knife. His intentions are clear.
He removes his hood, and his face can now be seen on the camera. His eyes are dark. His face, clean shaven, and white as a ghost.
But there is nothing particularly special about him, that would stand out in a crowd. He is plain. There is nothing remarkable about this man.
I would know.
This man is me.
And I’m sure we will meet face to face… very, very soon.
Kent Juniper 