It was a quiet, rainy night, March 19, 1978. The dim light in her small kitchen seemed to hold the shadows at bay, while raindrops tapped insistently on the windows. She stood at the sink, rinsing off dishes from her shift at the diner, humming along with a song on the radio—some indistinct tune that played just loud enough to fill the silence. The moment felt strangely suspended, like the rain outside could go on forever, like the evening’s mundanity was infinite.

Then, the doorbell rang. She startled, the sponge slipping from her hands into the soapy water, eyes narrowing toward the front door. Midnight visitors weren’t something she was accustomed to, especially here in her secluded little corner of town. The hum from the radio wavered as she stepped away from the sink, a damp dishrag still in hand, murmuring to herself, “I wonder who that is…”

She approached the door cautiously, a strange feeling gnawing at her, as if the moment had slipped off-kilter. The door creaked open, the cool night air slipping in. At first, she saw only rain, dark and heavy, pooling in the gutters. She looked up and down the empty street, her gaze sweeping over the shadows. No one there. The wind blew a little harder, and she thought to close the door and lock it, chalking it up to a prank or a dream.

But then her gaze fell. She took in a small shape, nestled at her feet—a basket, oddly out of place against her doorstep’s worn concrete. She crouched down slowly, disbelief mixing with a quiet dread.

It was a small, glowing yellow triangle, its color almost too bright against the dull blankets around it. It lay there, seemingly out of place, shimmering like a piece of another world. A single blue eye blinked up at her from the center of its form, watching her in a way that felt almost familiar, as though it saw something in her she had not yet seen in herself. It… cooed softly, its blankets rustling as though it were an infant..