It was a quiet night, just past midnight, when a knock on the door startled me awake. Living alone in a secluded cabin, I wasn’t expecting anyone. with my heart pounding, I grabbed my phone and cautiously approached the door.
Through the peephole, I saw a man with wild eyes and blood on his clothes. Panic set in, but before I could react, he shouted through the door and said, Please, you have to help me! They’re after me!”
I hesitated as I was terrified. Every instinct told me to call the police, but something in his voice made me pause. He looked desperate, scared—like a man running for his life. Against my better judgment, I cracked the door open.
He burst in, locking the door behind him. “They’re coming! We have to hide!” he gasped, his breath ragged. Before I could respond, headlights swept across the window, and a black SUV roared up my driveway. The man’s face went pale.
I then grabbed his hand, leading him to the basement. We huddled in the dark, listening as heavy footsteps thudded on my porch. The door handle rattled.
For what felt like hours, we waited in silence, until the footsteps finally faded away. When it was over, the man thanked me, tears in his eyes. He left before dawn, leaving me with no explanation, just a haunting question: Who were they, and why were they after him?
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