Chapter 10 - The Front Door Visitor
David bolted up the basement stairs two at a time, bursting back into the kitchen with his heart hammering against his ribs. Sarah stood near the island, clutching Lily so tightly that the little girl squirmed slightly in protest.
"Did you open the door?" David gasped, wiping mud and cold sweat from the back of his neck.
"No! I was trying to force the basement latch!" Sarah cried, pointing toward the dark hallway leading to the front entryway. "The doorbell... someone is ringing the front doorbell, David. Over and over again."
The persistent chime rang out once more through the quiet house, cutting through the ambient roar of the rain outside.
David reached into his pocket, pulling out the car keys he had retrieved from the basement. "We're leaving. Right now. Grab Lily’s coat."
"We can't go out the front if someone is standing there," Sarah whispered, her eyes wide with terror.
"I don't care who is out there," David snapped, his patience completely exhausted. He grabbed the heavy iron fireplace poker from the kitchen umbrella stand, holding it like a club as he marched down the hallway toward the front door.
Sarah followed close behind, shielding Lily with her body. The little girl clutched her white stuffed bunny, looking curiously toward the frosted glass panels of the front door where the amber porch light cast distorted shadows.
The doorbell rang a final time, and then stopped. Silence fell over the entryway, heavier and more menacing than before.
David reached the door, planted his boots firmly on the floorboards, and grabbed the deadbolt. He threw it open, swinging the heavy wooden door wide to confront whoever—or whatever—was standing on his porch.
The porch was completely empty.
Driveway, railing, steps—nothing was there. But resting on the welcome mat was a single, vintage leather suitcase covered in water stains and peeling travel stickers from the early 1990s.
David lowered the iron poker slowly, stepping out onto the wet concrete of the porch to inspect the luggage. He knelt down and unlatched the rusty metal clasps. The lid popped open with a dry snap.
Inside the suitcase were children's clothes from thirty years ago—a small teal knitted sweater identical to Lily’s, several pairs of light trousers, and resting right on top, a pristine, dry white stuffed bunny with a blue ribbon tied around its ear.
Sarah stepped out onto the threshold beside him, staring down into the suitcase with a look of profound, dawning horror.
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"It's not a haunting, David," Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible over the rain. "It's an invitation."
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