Tap, tap, tap. The rain gently hits my window as drops of water stick to the glass. The crackling of my candle across the room adds to the noise and the aura as the smell of vanilla and pine crosses my nose. The soft electrical hum of my fan can be heard and a gentle breeze felt on my face. I sit on my bed doing my math homework, a notebook balanced on my knee. I hear the soft scratching of my pencil led on the paper. The scene feels gentle, comforting. My room, like an embrace, is where I feel most at peace. 

Zzz. My phone buzzes as the screen lights up next to me. I flinch slightly, the letter “c” I was writing becoming a “d”. I glance over and see “Will Berwanger”—my brother’s name—displayed on the screen. I lift my phone to read his text: “Baseball is finished. Can you come get me?” I reply with a thumbs up.

I sigh to myself. Just when I was focused I have to leave to go pick him up. I glance around the room. The candle still casting a gentle glow on the wall, the rain still pattering against the window. I blow out the candle, silencing it’s comfort. 

Trudging down the stairs from my room, I drag my feet. Savoring the tranquility of my room, I find my way to the laundry room on the first floor. I stop for a moment. The sound of the rain is louder now and the house feels dark. The light has been blocked out by clouds. But without the added hum of my fan or the crackle of the candle, everything feels quiet. Too quiet.

Ding. The doorbell. The doorbell?

Ordinarily, a doorbell being rung would be fairly normal. While not an everyday occurrence, it’s nothing extraordinary. However, given the context of where I live, everything about it is weird. First, I live on a dead end. No through street, no subdivision, simply a dead end. Second, I am the very last house on the dead. The only times random cars find their way to my driveway is typically after they make a wrong turn and need to turn around. Third, it’s pouring. There is no door-to-door salesman out in this weather. So, the whole thing just feels…strange. 

Okay, I think to myself with a deep breath. While I have no intention of actually opening the door, I still want to see who is there. I try to slow the rapid beating of my heart as I creep slowly towards the door. Through the kitchen, down the hallway, around the corner, and to the window just to the left of my front door. I lean forward, I see nothing. I lean a bit more, still nothing. I lean more—my forehead only inches from the glass—I see something. 

A man in all black. Soaked by the rain. His face obscured by his hair and a drooping jacket hood. I gasp slightly and lean back. Who could possibly be at my door right now? And of course right when I have to leave. My heartbeat quickens again knowing I need to exit this same front door momentarily to get to my car that is parked in the street.

Ding. The doorbell. Again?

I stand frozen, thinking he must have seen me. Well, this couldn’t have gone worse. I sigh to myself and realize I may be overreacting slightly. I mean, it’s just someone at my door, right? Seriously, what’s going to happen? But, I’m home alone. And it’s the dead end. And it’s the rain. And all explanations I have for his reason to be here have explained themselves away. 

Ding. The doorbell. A third time. My thinking is interrupted. Leave! I think with frustration. I have to leave and now this guy has created a whole other issue. I want to remember the last five minutes and be back in the comfort of my room. I exhale my frustration as I leave my spot by the window and turn back towards the kitchen. 

I stop. A dark flash in the corner of my eye causes me to spin rapidly back towards the window. 

The man is walking around my front yard, peering into the windows that line the front of my house on either side of the front door. WHAT? My annoyance quickly transforms itself into fear as I run quickly back to the kitchen where I know I will be blocked from view of the windows. 

My mind races: What if he doesn’t leave? What if he sees me through the window? What if he already has seen me and that’s why he won’t leave? Does he know I’m the only one home? And the most nagging worry of all: What if he tries to come inside? I flop down into a  chair in the kitchen and glance back at my phone. Four new texts:  “Are you coming to get me?”, “Why haven’t you left?”, “I’m getting soaked”, “Hello?” I type back quickly, my nerves shaking my hands: “Be therr soon,   tan into a oroblem”. My jittery fingers fumble on the small keyboard. I hit send, ignoring the typos.

I take a deep breath, strengthening my resolve. Whatever, I have to leave to get Will at some point, that time may as well be now. I walk back to the front door. 

Nothing. I see nothing. I glance through the windows to the front door: no one. I lean closer to the window to look by the front door: no one. I glance towards the driveway: still no one. 

I open the door gingerly with my car keys in hand, peering around the yard nervously. I look down at my feet as I begin to step out and see a key with a note. I pause. 

“I found this in the street outside your driveway and figured it probably belonged to this house. Take care!” It is a house key. A house key to my house. The house key my brother and I had argued about being lost this morning. I almost laugh. Unbelievable. My fear leaves as relief floods my body. I grab the key and the note, setting them just inside the door. This poor man I had been terrified of was literally just trying to help. All the time I’d spent worrying he’d try and get in while he had actually had my house key in his hand and chose to do nothing with it. Why did I need to assume the worst? I shake my head at myself. I step out into the same rain the nice man had been standing in for ten minutes and find myself remorseful. I think back again to the comfort of my room and the peace I had there. How quickly would that have been robbed from me had a different individual found this house key?