The Obituary's Knock

The knocking always began at three seventeen a.m. No one stood in the hallway.

Just the yellow light and a dark presence. Elias had been gone for six

months. Buried in the suit Mara chose. Mara, you forgot me.

Please. I have been knocking for days. She slammed the door and threw

the deadbolt, sobbing until the sun rose. The ink was smeared and damp.

The name had been changed. And then, three slow knocks came from inside

her bedroom closet.