After a few weeks of the sun beating down on the earth, and the cool, haunted nights, you’ve been known as a houser. You take people in and let them stay a few days. The more known you’ve become, the more Visitors have been visiting. It’s become hard to tell the difference between normal person and anomaly.

Every night, you’ve been seeing the same man outside the window directly up from the foyer. Every night, he’d be staring, watching you. A few nights ago, however, FEMA and Army Soldiers came to inspect and take away Visitors. They were doing their job, taking away any hostile presences around your home and the neighborhood. Last night didn’t bustle with soft orders from the soldiers or FEMA. You decided to check if anything was out of sorts, and to your suprise and horror, you’re met with that same man who was gone for those few nights. His implanted home had been confiscated, and so he took it back. He holds one of the soldiers heads, the rest of the soldiers around him and blood pooling at his feet.

He’s directly taunting you. He knows you know. Now he is just waiting for his moment and your time.

Tonight, you were making your way to the door to accept any potential human and turn away any visitor. The house is empty, lights are out, and the house is cold. The doorbell rings again, showing how desperate this person is. Peeking into the peephole, your heart drops. It’s the man.

He can see you in the peephole, slowly leaning down to look in. Your eyes meet. His eyes are blood red, a telling feature of visitors.

“Let me in.” Its voice is distorted, a mix between an average man and a growl. “You know you don’t have a choice anymore.”

A small, scraggly grin forms on his slim face, taunting you and your diminishing mental state.