you wake up to knocking. then silence.

it’s still dark out. moonlight coming through the window tells you it’s not closer to midnight than it is to morning. you grab the shotgun by the door out of habit, thumb running over the safety, and open it just a little.

there’s a pale man standing on your porch.

“sorry to trouble you,” he offers a good-natured smile. his accent’s not local. perhaps irish, you’re not so sure.

“just need a place to rest for the night. can i come in?”