It was a rainy Tuesday afternoon when the doorbell.I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I hesitated before opening the door.
One old man standing with the envelope in his hand. Curiosity piqued, I picked it up, feeling the weight of something significant inside. I closed the door behind me, brushed off the rain, and settled on the couch, the envelope cradled in my hands.
With a flick of my fingers, I tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of parchment, yellowed at the edges, as if it had been written long ago.
I read it twice, confusion swirling in my mind. What could it mean? Who had sent it?
With the envelope in hand, I knew I had a new journey ahead. The rain had stopped, but the world felt charged with possibilities, and I was ready to follow the path that had been laid out before me.
As night fell, I remembered the old trunk that had been in my family for generations, sitting in the corner of my attic. I had always been told to leave it alone, that it held family secrets best left untouched. Heart racing, I climbed the narrow staircase and retrieved the trunk, dust motes dancing in the dim light.
The trunk was heavy, its leather cracked with age. I inserted the key into the lock. It turned with a satisfying click. The lid creaked open, revealing a jumble of letters, photographs, and old trinkets. I rifled through the contents, each item a glimpse into a past I barely knew.
Then, I found it—a faded photograph of a woman who looked eerily like me, standing beside a man I didn’t recognize. On the back was another note, handwritten in the same elegant script.Open in app
Sign up
Sign in
Hello, Love
·
Follow publication
Stranger at the Door
A Short Story
Maliha Noushin
Maliha Noushin
Follow
3 min read
·
Aug 14, 2024
Listen
Share
Photo by Airam Dato-on on Unsplash
My alarm went off. Indeed, it’s time to get up. It must be a weekday because the alarm sounds like a phone ringing. Cold water is coming from the shower.
I have about thirty minutes remaining to get out of here. My neighbor shuts the door behind him. I have just seven minutes to do my hair.
A queue of vehicles is growing ahead of me, which implies that I will arrive at work ten minutes later. I promise not to be late — I never arrive late — but I won’t come as early as usual.
I quickly glanced at my screen’s clock. Another quick look. Three hours had passed already. Time flies by, which indicates a successful workday.
The aroma of sandwiches with tuna. The crunch of Glenda’s rice cracker with houmous on top. A far-off growl in my abdomen. Lunchtime must be approaching.
There was a clang as keys fell to the table near the door. I’m at my house. Tires on cars on gravel. The home of my neighbor. My face is covered in hot steam. I’ve finished my pasta. The knife-scratching plate chink. I’m done eating.
Banging on doors. Hold on, what? Banging on doors? Is that the door I use? It’s half nine at night, though. At this point, I hear the sound of wine being poured. My tongue is tasting dry. A sleepy feeling. Not striking. Why is everyone banging?
“Aid!” Please assist me! Clap. Clap. Clap. There’s no mistaking where it’s coming from — it’s loud and urgent.
The chain snapped. The latch clicks, and a woman shoves into my home a moment later.
“Oh, how very kind of you!”
Mud trails stretch across the floor.
“I was making my way home on foot.” And this fellow just appeared. And he attacked me, too. He stole my bag. God, I’m bleeding, hehe.
A trail of blood down a knee. Following into the kitchen from the hallway.
“Wash this off, please. Thank you so much.”
A burst of liquid. Smeared blood on the tap. There was muck and blood on the granite tabletop.
“I shoved him away before he could react, and then I ran, and he followed. I’m so scared,” the woman said.
The curtains are being scraped. I’m grateful you allowed me in, but I can’t see him. I needed more options.
I kept running, thinking he could do nothing here because of the houses surrounding me. However, I soon noticed that a few houses were sprinting by. I appreciate it.
A cloth with an antibacterial surface cleanser perfumed with lime is kept in the cupboard. I dampened the fabric with warm water and cleaned it.
Can I use your phone? My spouse can come to get me, but I’m too afraid to travel alone. What happens if the man is still alive?
Dialed numbers sound on the phone. Somewhere, I have to have some carpet cleaner and a scrub brush.
Once she departs, I quickly run and lock the door once again. Please have a seat and enjoy my vino. The overpowering lime fragrance makes you gag. And question where everything went wrong. In the distance, I hear the ticking of a clock.
React
