The Presence at 3:12 A.M.

I never believed anything weird could happen in my apartment until last week, when I woke up at

3:12 a.m. to the sound of my front door clicking open even though it was locked with the

deadbolt I double-check every night. I didn’t hear footsteps, just the soft thud of the door settling

back into its frame as if someone slipped inside and gently pushed it closed again.

I stayed frozen in bed, listening to the air change temperature, that strange heavy

feeling like when you walk into a room someone just left, only this time it

felt like someone had just arrived. The next morning, nothing was missing, but the rug by the

door was slightly misaligned, and I thought maybe I’d bumped it earlier without noticing.