Don't Open the Door After Midnight - 1. Three Knocks

Tuesday, October 27, 2026

The first thing Ryan Mitchell noticed about Blackthorn Cabin was how completely the forest seemed to swallow it.

He had arrived shortly before seven the previous evening, following a narrow gravel road that wound through the Vermont woodland for nearly two miles before finally opening onto a small clearing. The cabin stood alone beneath towering maples and pines, its dark wooden exterior blending so naturally with the surrounding trees that Ryan almost missed it until his headlights swept across the front porch. Fallen leaves carpeted the driveway, collecting in damp heaps around the stone steps, and the last of the evening light had already begun fading behind the treetops.

It was exactly the sort of place that would have looked inviting in a photograph and considerably more intimidating after dark.

Ryan sat in his car for a moment, studying the property through the windshield. A pair of pumpkins decorated the porch, one of them carved into an exaggerated grin, while a string of small orange lights hung along the railing. Beyond the cabin, the forest stretched into a gathering darkness that seemed unusually dense, even for a wooded area. The nearest town was about twenty minutes away, according to the rental listing, although Ryan suspected it would take considerably longer if he had to navigate that gravel road in the rain.

His phone showed one bar of cellular reception.

"Lovely," he muttered.

He had deliberately chosen somewhere remote, of course. That had been the entire point of the trip. Five days away from Boston, away from unfinished projects and increasingly awkward conversations with mutual friends, and most importantly, away from the apartment that still contained far too many reminders of Owen. Ryan had spent nearly a month convincing himself he was perfectly capable of being alone, and this little holiday was supposed to prove it.

He just hadn't expected alone to look quite so isolated.

Still, the cabin was charming once he got inside. The living room had a large stone fireplace, comfortable-looking furniture, and a collection of books and board games arranged on shelves beside the television. The kitchen was small but properly equipped, with wooden cabinets that looked considerably older than the appliances beneath them. A narrow staircase led to two bedrooms upstairs, and the windows overlooked nothing but trees.

It smelled faintly of pine, furniture polish, and old wood. The floorboards creaked whenever he walked across them, but everything appeared clean and well maintained, and the heater worked without complaint. The Wi-Fi connected immediately, which was a considerable relief after his experience with the mobile reception outside.

On the kitchen counter, the owner had left a welcome basket containing tea bags, coffee, chocolate, and a handwritten note decorated with a little black cat.

WELCOME TO BLACKTHORN CABIN!

We hope you enjoy your stay. Please make yourself comfortable, respect the property, and remember our three very important house rules:

1. Do not enter the basement.

2. Do not answer the telephone after midnight.

3. If someone knocks three times on the front door after midnight, do not open it.

Happy Halloween!

— Evelyn Hart

Ryan smiled when he read it.

The cabin had been advertised as a haunted Halloween getaway, complete with a rather theatrical description of its mysterious history. The rental website had promised a charming rustic experience for anyone brave enough to spend a few nights among the ghosts of Blackthorn, although Ryan suspected the only genuinely frightening thing about the property was the possibility of encountering a bear while taking out the trash.

The house rules were a nice touch, though. He particularly appreciated the old-fashioned telephone mounted on the kitchen wall, with its cream-colored receiver and tightly coiled cord. It looked as though it belonged in a horror movie made sometime before Ryan was born.

The basement door was less decorative. It stood beneath the staircase, made from thick, dark wood reinforced with broad strips of iron. An old-fashioned sliding bolt secured it from the outside, its metal darkened by age. A small sign reading No Guest Access hung from the handle. Ryan assumed the owner stored maintenance equipment or personal belongings downstairs, which explained the first rule well enough.

He hadn't bothered investigating further.

Instead, he'd unpacked his clothes, brought in the groceries he'd bought before leaving Boston, and made himself a simple dinner. By nine, he'd built a small fire and settled on the couch with a blanket and a horror movie he'd already seen twice.

Outside, the rain had begun falling in earnest.

At first, the sound was pleasant, a steady pattering against the roof accompanied by the occasional whisper of wind through the trees. But as the evening wore on, the storm grew heavier. Rainwater streamed down the windows, turning the forest beyond them into a shifting arrangement of black shapes. Branches scraped against the side of the cabin, and every so often a stronger gust rattled the old window frames.

Ryan had grown up in Massachusetts and wasn't particularly bothered by bad weather. He was familiar with old houses making strange noises, too. Still, there was something about being so far from everything familiar that made him more aware of those sounds than he normally would have been.

He kept the television on a little louder than necessary.

Shortly before eleven, his phone lit up with another message from Owen.

Owen: hey. i know you wanted some space but can we talk when you get back?

Ryan read it without opening the conversation.

He could picture Owen sitting in their old living room, probably with his laptop balanced on his knees and a glass of wine on the coffee table. Except it wasn't their living room anymore. Owen had moved into a different apartment two weeks earlier, taking his books, clothes, and most of the kitchen appliances with him. Ryan had helped him carry the boxes downstairs, and afterward they'd stood awkwardly beside the moving van, neither knowing whether to hug.

They had eventually hugged.

That had somehow made everything worse.

Four years together deserved more than the quiet, exhausted ending they'd given each other. At least, that was what Ryan had thought at first. He'd expected a relationship that lasted so long to end with shouting, accusations, tears, or some terrible revelation that would make the whole thing easier to understand.

Instead, there had been a conversation over dinner.

Owen had asked whether Ryan was happy.

Ryan had considered lying.

Then he'd asked Owen the same question, and neither of them had been able to answer.

They hadn't stopped caring about each other. That was perhaps the most frustrating part. They'd simply become two people who shared bills, groceries, and a bed without sharing much of themselves anymore. Ryan had spent the better part of a year trying to repair something neither of them could clearly identify as broken, while Owen had retreated further into work whenever the subject became uncomfortable.

By the time they admitted the relationship wasn't working, Ryan had been too tired to argue.

Now, almost a month later, he still didn't know whether he missed Owen or merely missed having someone to come home to.

He turned the phone facedown.

Whatever Owen wanted to discuss could wait until he returned to Boston.

That was the whole purpose of being here.

By eleven forty-five, Ryan had finished the movie and was considering going to bed. The rain was still falling heavily, but the fire had begun dying down, and the prospect of climbing under a warm duvet was considerably more appealing than watching another group of fictional idiots investigate suspicious noises in an abandoned building.

He carried his empty mug into the kitchen, rinsed it, and switched off the light.

The clock above the fireplace showed 11:58 p.m.

Ryan paused beside the window and looked outside.

The porch lights illuminated a narrow strip of wet grass and the nearest trees, but beyond that the forest disappeared into darkness. One of the pumpkins had tipped sideways in the wind, leaving its crooked smile directed toward the cabin wall. A loose branch moved slowly against the railing, scraping the wood with a faint, irregular rhythm.

He watched it for a moment, then drew the curtain.

He had just reached the bottom of the staircase when someone knocked on the front door.

Three times.

Not the frantic pounding of someone demanding help, nor the hesitant tapping of someone unsure whether the house was occupied. The knocks were deliberate and evenly spaced, each one landing heavily against the wood before the next followed.

Ryan stopped with one foot on the bottom stair.

For several seconds, he stood perfectly still.

The clock behind him clicked over to 12:03 a.m.

He looked toward the kitchen, where Evelyn's note lay beside the welcome basket, and felt an involuntary smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

The timing was impressive. He had to give the owner that much.

He imagined some local employee standing on the porch in a cheap Halloween mask, waiting to see whether the guest would be brave enough to answer. It was a little late for that sort of entertainment, particularly in the middle of a storm, but perhaps that was supposed to be part of the experience.

He didn't move immediately. It was after midnight, he was alone, and however amusing the Halloween theme might be, he wasn't about to open an unfamiliar door without knowing who stood on the other side.

Another knock came, this time followed by a man's voice.

"Hello? Is somebody in there?"

Ryan frowned.

The voice sounded young, strained, and distinctly unhappy.

He approached the door, keeping the deadbolt fastened.

"Yeah. Who is it?"

"Oh, thank God." The relief in the stranger's voice was immediate. "Listen, I'm really sorry to bother you, but I think I'm lost. I saw your lights through the trees, and I didn't know where else to go."

Ryan moved to the narrow window beside the door and carefully pulled the curtain aside.

A young man stood on the porch beneath the yellow exterior light. He was tall, with dark blond hair plastered to his forehead and a gray jacket that had clearly stopped being waterproof some time ago. Rainwater dripped from the ends of his sleeves, and his jeans were muddy almost to the knees. He held his right hand awkwardly against his chest, occasionally shifting his weight as though one foot was bothering him.

He wasn't wearing a Halloween costume. He didn't look remotely amused. In fact, he looked miserable.

Ryan kept the door closed.

"What happened?"

"I was hiking earlier. I think I took a wrong turn somewhere, and then it started raining. I've been walking around for hours, trying to find the trail."

"Where did you start?"

"Near the old quarry. There's a parking area and a trail that goes up through the woods. I thought I could make it back before dark, but I must've missed a turn."

Ryan didn't know the local trails well enough to judge the explanation, although he'd seen signs for a quarry road on his drive in. The stranger's clothes and the mud on his shoes were certainly consistent with someone who'd been walking through the forest in bad weather.

"Do you have a phone?"

"Lost it somewhere along the way. I tried going back for it, but everything looked the same once it got dark."

"Are you hurt?"

"Not badly. I slipped coming down a hill and scraped my hand. My ankle's a little sore, but I can walk."

Ryan looked at him through the window. His face was pale from the cold, and although he was trying to stand normally, he occasionally shivered hard enough to make his shoulders jerk.

"What's your name?"

"Caleb. Caleb Bennett."

"I'm Ryan. Look, I can call someone for you. The sheriff's department, maybe. Or emergency services if you need medical attention."

"I don't think I need an ambulance." The stranger glanced down at himself and gave a weak, embarrassed laugh. "Honestly, I just need somewhere dry for a little while. I'm freezing."

Ryan hesitated.

He wasn't normally suspicious of people, but he also wasn't foolish. Being compassionate and being careful weren't mutually exclusive, and there was no reason he couldn't help a stranger without completely abandoning his common sense.

He checked the weather on his phone. Heavy rain was expected throughout the night, with temperatures continuing to fall.

Outside, Caleb rubbed his hands together and turned slightly away from the wind. His lips had begun losing their color.

Ryan sighed.

"Okay. I'm going to let you in so you can get warm, but if that ankle's worse than you're saying, we're calling someone. All right?"

Caleb looked up sharply.

"Seriously?"

"Yes. Just give me a second."

"Thank you. God, thank you."

Ryan unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.

The storm seemed to lean into the house. Cold air swept across the entrance hall, carrying the smell of soaked leaves and damp earth, and the sudden rush of rain against the porch roof almost drowned out Caleb's quiet greeting.

Up close, the stranger looked even more exhausted. A shallow cut marked the back of his right hand, and his jacket was so thoroughly drenched that water streamed from the hem onto the wooden floorboards. He had a handsome face beneath the wet hair, with a straight nose, a defined jaw, and blue-gray eyes that appeared unusually bright under the porch light.

For a moment, however, he didn't come inside.

He stood at the threshold, looking at Ryan with an expression that seemed almost disbelieving.

Ryan moved aside.

"Come on. You're letting all the heat out."

Caleb blinked, as though the words had brought him back from somewhere distant, and stepped into the cabin.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

Ryan closed the door and locked it behind him.

The sound of the storm became muffled immediately, reduced to the familiar drumming of rain against the roof. Caleb stood in the entrance hall, looking down at the puddle forming beneath his shoes.

"Shit. I'm making a mess."

"That's what floors are for. Take your shoes off, though. I'll get you a towel."

Caleb bent to untie his muddy sneakers, wincing slightly when he shifted his weight onto his left foot.

Ryan noticed.

"That ankle doesn't look particularly happy."

"It's fine. Just sore."

"Sit down before you make it worse."

Caleb gave him a faint smile.

"Yes, sir."

Ryan retrieved a towel from the bathroom and found a spare blanket in the living room cupboard. By the time he returned, Caleb had settled on the edge of the couch, his hands resting awkwardly between his knees as though he was afraid of touching anything.

Ryan handed him the towel.

"Here. Dry yourself off. I'll get the first-aid kit."

"You really don't have to do all this."

"Well, the alternative is letting you bleed on the furniture, and I'm pretty sure that comes out of my security deposit."

Caleb laughed.

It was a brief, surprised sound, but it changed his face completely. The tension around his eyes eased, and for the first time he looked less like someone who'd spent hours struggling through a storm and more like an ordinary young man who'd found himself in an embarrassing situation.

Ryan smiled back before heading upstairs.

When he returned with the first-aid kit, Caleb had removed his jacket and was carefully patting his hair dry with the towel. His T-shirt clung to his chest, and his skin was covered in goose bumps.

Ryan pulled a chair closer to the couch and opened the kit on the coffee table.

"Let me see your hand."

Caleb held it out.

The cut was shallow, running diagonally across his knuckles, and although it had stopped bleeding, dirt remained around the edges. Ryan cleaned it gently with antiseptic while Caleb watched with a resigned expression.

"Sorry," Ryan said when he winced.

"No, it's fine. Just stings."

"You should've turned back before the weather got this bad."

"Yeah. I know that now."

Ryan glanced up.

Caleb looked embarrassed enough without needing a lecture, so he returned his attention to the cut and covered it with a small dressing.

"There. Not exactly hospital-quality work, but it'll do."

Caleb examined the bandage.

"Looks pretty professional to me."

"That's because your standards are low."

"Apparently. I did just walk into a stranger's house in the middle of the night."

Ryan laughed and began putting away the medical supplies.

"Speaking of which, you can use the bathroom to change. I've got some dry clothes that should fit you."

"Are you sure?"

"Unless you're planning on sleeping in wet jeans."

"Fair point."

Ryan found an old navy sweatshirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. Caleb was a little taller and broader through the shoulders, but the clothes looked large enough to accommodate him.

He showed Caleb to the downstairs bathroom, then returned to the kitchen.

As he waited, he considered calling the sheriff's department to report the lost hiker. But Caleb was now warm, alert, and apparently suffering from nothing worse than a scrape and a mildly twisted ankle. Ryan could drive him into town in the morning, and if anything worsened overnight, they could seek medical help then.

What mattered more immediately was making sure someone knew he had an unexpected guest.

He opened his messages and found Mara, his closest friend back in Boston.

Ryan: hey, weird situation. some guy got lost hiking and showed up at the cabin. he's okay, just soaked and scraped up. letting him stay until morning.

Her reply appeared almost immediately.

Mara: WHAT

Ryan smiled despite himself.

Ryan: he's fine. i'm fine. don't freak out

Mara: ryan you're alone in a haunted cabin and a random guy shows up at midnight???

Ryan: he's a real person, mara

Mara: that's exactly what they WANT you to think

Ryan: you're impossible

Mara: seriously though. be careful. lock your bedroom door and call me if anything feels weird

Ryan: i will. promise. i'll check in tomorrow

Mara: good. also is he cute?

Ryan shook his head, smiling.

He decided not to answer that last question.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned.

Caleb had emerged from the bathroom wearing Ryan's clothes. The sweatshirt fitted him rather well, although the fabric stretched a little across his shoulders, and his hair was still damp and disheveled from being rubbed with the towel.

He looked considerably more comfortable.

And, Ryan privately admitted, considerably more attractive.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much. Seriously, I was starting to think I'd never be warm again."

"Well, the fireplace is still going. Go sit down. I'll make you something hot."

"Coffee?"

Ryan glanced at the clock.

"It's nearly one in the morning."

"I know. I've had a long day."

"Fair enough. Coffee it is."

He filled the reservoir of the little coffee maker while Caleb settled on the couch, holding his hands toward the fire. Ryan had already discovered that he wasn't particularly talented at using the unfamiliar machine, but he doubted Caleb was in any position to complain.

A few minutes later, he brought two mugs into the living room.

Caleb accepted his gratefully and took a cautious sip.

His expression immediately changed.

Ryan watched him.

"Bad?"

Caleb swallowed.

"That's..." He paused, apparently searching for an appropriate description. "That's definitely coffee."

Ryan laughed.

"I warned you."

"You did not."

"Well, I'm warning you now."

Caleb looked into his mug with an expression of mild astonishment.

"I didn't know coffee could taste angry."

Ryan burst out laughing.

"Okay, that's actually pretty accurate."

Caleb smiled and took another sip, although this time he seemed prepared for the experience.

They sat quietly for a while, listening to the rain and the occasional crackle of burning wood. The storm had begun to ease, but the wind continued moving through the trees, producing a low, restless sound that Ryan imagined would become rather soothing once he got used to it.

Caleb leaned back against the couch.

"Nice place you've got here."

"Thanks. Just renting it for a few days."

"Vacation?"

"Something like that."

"Good place to get away from everything."

"That was the idea."

Caleb looked around the room, his gaze lingering briefly on the staircase before returning to the fire.

Ryan noticed the movement but thought nothing of it.

"You hungry?" he asked.

Caleb turned toward him.

"Actually, yeah. Pretty hungry."

"I've got sandwich stuff. Nothing fancy."

"That sounds amazing."

Ryan got up and returned to the kitchen. He made two grilled cheese sandwiches and heated some tomato soup, which struck him as perfectly appropriate food for a cold, miserable night.

Caleb joined him at the small dining table, accepting the plate with an enthusiasm that made Ryan wonder when he'd last eaten.

"Careful. It's hot."

"Got it."

Caleb took a bite, chewed, and closed his eyes briefly.

"Oh, man."

Ryan smiled.

"That good?"

"You have no idea."

"It's literally bread and cheese."

"Which are two excellent things."

Ryan laughed.

Caleb ate quickly at first, then slowed down and began asking questions about the cabin. Ryan explained that he'd found the listing online, that he'd driven up from Boston, and that he planned to spend the next few days relaxing.

He didn't mention Owen.

There was something refreshing about speaking to someone who knew nothing about his life, his breakup, or the people he'd been avoiding for the past few weeks. Caleb didn't ask why Ryan was traveling alone or whether he was trying to escape something. He simply listened, occasionally making a joke or asking about the drive.

When they finished eating, Caleb offered to wash the dishes.

Ryan waved him away.

"You can do that tomorrow if you're feeling guilty."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Besides, you've got an injured hand."

Caleb looked down at the small dressing on his knuckles.

"Right. Almost forgot."

"That's reassuring."

Caleb laughed, then grew a little quieter.

"Hey, Ryan?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for opening the door."

Ryan turned from the sink.

"You're welcome."

"I mean it. I was getting pretty desperate out there."

Ryan studied him for a moment. There was no trace of humor in Caleb's expression now, only a sincerity that seemed almost disproportionate to the situation.

He smiled gently.

"Well, you made it inside. That's what matters."

Caleb looked at him for another second before returning the smile.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess it is."

By the time Ryan showed him to the spare bedroom, it was nearly two in the morning. The room was small but comfortable, with a double bed, a wooden dresser, and a window overlooking the rear of the property. Ryan fetched an extra blanket from the hallway cupboard and placed it at the foot of the bed.

"The bathroom's across the hall. If you need anything, I'm in the other room."

"Got it."

"And seriously, if your ankle gets worse, wake me up."

Caleb smiled.

"You worry about everybody this much?"

"Only the ones who show up bleeding on my doorstep."

"That's a very specific category."

"Surprisingly common problem around here."

Caleb laughed, then looked around the bedroom once more.

For a moment, something in his expression softened. His gaze moved over the neatly made bed, the little lamp on the bedside table, and the folded blanket Ryan had just brought him, almost as though he was seeing something unexpected.

Ryan couldn't quite explain the impression.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

Caleb looked back at him.

"Yeah. Everything's great."

"Good. Get some rest."

"I will."

Ryan had almost reached the doorway when Caleb spoke again.

"Ryan?"

He turned.

"Yeah?"

Caleb hesitated.

The pause lasted only a second, but Ryan noticed it.

"Nothing," Caleb said finally. "Just... good night."

Ryan smiled.

"Good night, Caleb."

He closed the door gently and went to his own bedroom.

Once inside, he locked the door. It seemed a sensible precaution, and he didn't particularly care whether that made him seem paranoid. Caleb had been pleasant company, but he was still a stranger, and Ryan had no intention of confusing kindness with an obligation to be reckless.

He checked his phone one last time.

Mara had sent another message.

Mara: one last thing. PLEASE tell me you locked your door

Ryan: yes mom

Mara: good. sleep tight. don't let the ghosts bite

Ryan smiled, placed the phone on the bedside table, and switched off the lamp.

For a while, he lay awake listening to the rain.

The cabin settled around him with the small, familiar noises of an old building adjusting to the cold. Somewhere beyond the bedroom wall, a branch brushed against the wooden siding. The wind made a low whistling sound beneath the eaves, and once or twice he heard the pipes click as the heating system came on.

He closed his eyes.

A few minutes later, footsteps crossed the hallway.

Ryan opened his eyes again.

The floorboards creaked slowly, one after another. He assumed Caleb was going to the bathroom, although he didn't hear the bathroom door open. Instead, the footsteps continued toward the staircase.

Ryan listened as the old wood complained beneath someone's weight.

A pause followed.

Then another step.

And another.

The sound moved downstairs.

Ryan glanced toward the faint strip of light beneath his bedroom door.

Nothing seemed particularly wrong. Caleb might have gone to get some water, or perhaps he couldn't sleep after the long, unpleasant day he'd had.

Ryan rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket closer.

Downstairs, a floorboard creaked.

Then another.

The sounds grew faint, becoming difficult to distinguish from the wind and rain.

Eventually, they stopped altogether.

Ryan waited another minute before closing his eyes. He fell asleep without hearing anyone come back upstairs.

. . .

The smell of fresh coffee woke him the following morning.

Ryan opened his eyes to a room filled with pale, watery light. For several seconds, he lay still, trying to remember where he was. The ceiling above him was made from narrow wooden panels, and beyond the window, branches moved slowly against a dull gray sky. Rainwater clung to the glass in uneven trails, but the storm itself appeared to have passed.

He reached for his phone.

9:17 a.m.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so late.

There were two messages from Mara waiting on the screen.

Mara: morning. just checking that the mysterious stranger didn't murder you in your sleep

Mara: ryan seriously text me when you wake up

Ryan smiled and typed a response.

Ryan: alive and well. no murders so far

Her reply appeared almost immediately.

Mara: GOOD. now answer my question from last night. is he cute?

Ryan glanced toward the bedroom door, remembering the way Caleb had smiled when he'd first come inside.

Ryan: i'm going to pretend i didn't see that

Mara: that means yes

Ryan: goodbye mara

Mara: HAHAHA I KNEW IT

He put the phone down before she could ask anything else.

The smell of coffee had grown stronger, accompanied by the faint clatter of dishes somewhere downstairs. Ryan climbed out of bed, pulled on a sweatshirt, and stepped into the hallway.

Caleb's bedroom door was open.

The bed had been made, somewhat haphazardly, and Ryan noticed that the blanket he'd brought him the previous night was folded neatly at the foot. The sight made him smile. Owen had never been particularly enthusiastic about making the bed, and Ryan had long since given up trying to persuade him that it took approximately thirty seconds.

He headed downstairs, following the smell of coffee.

Caleb was standing in the kitchen, examining the coffee maker with an expression of considerable suspicion. He was still wearing Ryan's navy sweatshirt and gray sweatpants, his own clothes presumably still damp and muddy from the previous night's ordeal. His dark blond hair stuck up in several directions, and the small dressing on his right hand had begun peeling slightly at one corner.

He looked up when Ryan appeared.

"Morning."

"Morning. Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just trying to figure out how to use this thing."

Ryan glanced at the coffee maker.

"Did you break it?"

"Not yet. Although I make no promises."

"That's reassuring."

Caleb stepped aside, revealing a half-filled pot of coffee.

"I figured since you fed me last night, the least I could do was make breakfast. Then I remembered how your coffee tasted, and I thought maybe I should start with something I couldn't possibly make worse."

Ryan walked over and examined the machine.

"You've already done better than me."

"Really?"

"Well, there's actually coffee in the pot."

Caleb grinned.

"High praise."

Ryan poured himself a cup, added a little milk, and took a cautious sip. To his surprise, it was considerably better than the previous night's attempt.

He looked at Caleb.

"Okay. That's unfair."

"What?"

"You're good at this."

"I have hidden talents."

"Apparently."

Caleb leaned against the counter, looking pleased with himself.

Ryan was about to ask whether he'd slept well when he noticed the faint shadows beneath Caleb's eyes.

"You look tired."

Caleb glanced toward the window.

"Didn't sleep much."

"Still worried about getting home?"

"Something like that."

"Well, we'll figure it out. I was thinking I could drive you into town this morning. There's probably somewhere you can call a friend, or I can take you back to wherever you left your car."

Caleb's expression changed.

It was subtle, but Ryan caught it: a brief tightening around the mouth, followed by a downward glance toward the mug in his hands.

"Yeah," Caleb said after a moment. "That'd be good."

Ryan studied him.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Of course."

"Because you don't sound particularly enthusiastic about going home."

Caleb gave a quiet laugh.

"Trust me, I'd rather not spend another night wandering around the woods."

"Well, good. Because I wasn't planning on rescuing you twice."

Caleb smiled, and the tension seemed to ease.

They made breakfast together, or rather, Ryan cooked the eggs and bacon while Caleb attempted to locate the plates and cutlery. He opened nearly every cupboard before finding the forks in the drawer directly beside the stove.

Ryan watched him with growing amusement.

"You know, they're usually in a drawer."

Caleb looked over his shoulder.

"Thank you. Very helpful."

"Anytime."

"Your kitchen is badly organized."

"It's not my kitchen."

"Then you should complain to the owner."

Ryan laughed.

By the time they sat down to eat, the rain had stopped completely. Outside, the forest looked washed clean, the remaining leaves shining against dark, wet branches. Mist hung low between the trees, softening the outlines of the trunks until the deeper woodland appeared to fade into a continuous wall of gray.

Ryan found himself watching it while he ate.

There was something beautiful about the view, but he couldn't quite shake the impression that the trees stood unusually close to the house. The clearing was wider than he'd realized the previous evening, yet from certain angles the forest seemed to press right against the windows.

He supposed that was simply what happened when you spent most of your life in a city.

"Pretty creepy out there, huh?" Caleb remarked.

Ryan turned.

"Yeah. A little."

"Good place for a Halloween vacation."

"That was actually part of the appeal."

Caleb raised an eyebrow.

"You came here because it's creepy?"

"Well, not entirely. But the listing said it was haunted, and I thought that sounded fun."

"Fun?"

Ryan smiled. "Don't tell me you believe in ghosts."

Caleb looked at him for a moment before returning his attention to his breakfast.

"Do you?"

"No. Not really."

"Not really?"

"I mean, I'm open to being proven wrong. But until then, I'd rather assume every weird noise has a perfectly ordinary explanation."

Caleb smiled faintly.

"That's probably sensible."

"Besides, if ghosts were real, I'd imagine they'd have better things to do than wander around old houses frightening tourists."

"Maybe they don't."

Ryan laughed. "Well, that's depressing."

Caleb didn't respond immediately. He took another bite of his eggs, his gaze briefly drifting toward the kitchen window.

Ryan was about to ask what he was thinking when his phone rang.

The caller ID showed Evelyn Hart.

He answered.

"Good morning, Ryan. I'm sorry to bother you so early."

"No problem. Morning."

"I wanted to check that everything was all right. I saw your message about the young man who arrived last night."

"Yeah, everything's fine. He's here with me now, actually. Just having breakfast."

"Oh, thank goodness. Poor boy, wandering around in that weather. Is he hurt?"

"Nothing serious. Scraped his hand and twisted his ankle a little. He seems okay this morning."

"That's a relief. Although I'm afraid I have some rather inconvenient news."

Ryan lowered his coffee mug.

"What happened?"

"One of the larger trees came down across the access road during the storm. A neighbor noticed it when he was checking the drainage ditch this morning. I'm afraid you won't be able to drive out until it's cleared."

Ryan glanced toward the window.

"Seriously?"

"I'm terribly sorry. I've already contacted the road crew, but they won't be able to get there until tomorrow morning. Apparently they've got several fallen trees to deal with after last night's weather."

Ryan considered that.

"Well, that's annoying."

"I know. I wish I could do something, but the access road is so narrow that there's simply no room to get around it. I hope you weren't planning on going anywhere important today."

"No, not really. I was just going to drive Caleb into town."

"Oh, dear. Well, is he comfortable staying another night?"

Ryan looked toward the young man sitting across from him.

Caleb had stopped eating.

He was watching Ryan attentively.

"I think so," Ryan answered. "We've got plenty of food, and everything's working here."

"Good. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to call me. And I'm terribly sorry about the inconvenience."

"It's fine. These things happen."

"Thank you for being so understanding. I'll let you know as soon as the road's clear."

They exchanged a few more pleasantries before ending the call.

Ryan put his phone down.

"Well, looks like you're stuck with me another day."

Caleb blinked.

"What?"

"Tree fell across the road. Apparently they can't clear it until tomorrow."

"Oh."

Ryan watched him.

Caleb had gone strangely still, his fork resting against the edge of his plate. For a moment, he appeared more troubled than Ryan thought the situation warranted.

"Hey, it's not a big deal," Ryan said. "We've got enough food for the two of us, and the power's still on. Could be worse."

Caleb seemed to realize Ryan was looking at him.

"Yeah. You're right."

"You don't have somewhere urgent to be, do you?"

"No." He shook his head. "Nothing like that."

"Good. Then we'll make the best of it."

Caleb gave him a small smile.

"Thanks, Ryan."

Ryan shrugged and finished his coffee.

He didn't think much about Caleb's reaction. The man had already spent a miserable night lost in the woods, and another day's delay probably wasn't particularly appealing.

After breakfast, Ryan suggested they walk down the driveway to see the fallen tree for themselves. Caleb agreed, and twenty minutes later they stepped outside into the cold October air.

The rain had left everything damp and glistening. Water gathered along the edges of the gravel road, and the fallen leaves had become slippery underfoot. The forest smelled of wet soil and decaying vegetation, a rich, earthy scent that Ryan associated with autumn more strongly than pumpkin spice or Halloween decorations.

They walked side by side, their shoes crunching against the gravel.

Caleb had borrowed Ryan's spare jacket, which was a little tight across his shoulders. He kept his hands in the pockets, occasionally looking toward the trees as they passed.

Ryan noticed that he seemed unusually alert to the sounds around them.

Every time a branch cracked or a bird stirred somewhere in the undergrowth, Caleb's head turned almost instinctively.

"Relax," Ryan said after the third time. "I don't think anything's going to jump out at us."

Caleb glanced over.

"Didn't say I did."

"You're looking around like somebody's following us."

Caleb laughed softly. "Guess last night made me a little jumpy."

"Can't blame you."

They continued walking.

The road curved gently between the trees before descending toward a narrow section bordered by a drainage ditch on one side and a steep, wooded slope on the other. About five minutes from the cabin, they found the fallen tree.

It was an enormous maple, its trunk lying diagonally across the road. The roots had torn free from the wet earth, leaving a dark hole beside the ditch. Broken branches were scattered across the gravel, and the crown of the tree had become tangled among smaller saplings on the opposite side.

Ryan stopped.

"Well, shit."

Caleb looked at the obstruction.

"Yeah."

"Definitely not driving through that."

Ryan approached cautiously, stopping a few feet from the trunk. The tree appeared stable enough, but he had no intention of climbing over it unnecessarily.

Beyond the obstruction, the road continued toward the highway, disappearing around another bend.

He took a photograph and sent it to Evelyn.

"At least we know she wasn't exaggerating."

Caleb stood beside him, looking down the road.

Ryan glanced at him.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah."

"You've been pretty quiet."

Caleb turned toward him.

"Sorry. Just thinking."

"About what?"

"Nothing important."

Ryan accepted the answer, although he was beginning to suspect Caleb was a little more complicated than he'd initially appeared.

They turned back toward the cabin.

On the way, Ryan asked where Caleb was from.

"New York," Caleb replied.

"City?"

"Upstate."

"Oh, nice. I've been there a few times for work."

Caleb nodded.

"What about you? Always lived in Boston?"

"Pretty much. Grew up outside the city, went to college there, stayed for work. Not particularly adventurous, I'm afraid."

"Nothing wrong with that."

"Tell that to my friend Mara. She thinks I should move somewhere completely different just for the experience."

"Maybe she's right."

"Maybe. But I like Boston."

"Then stay in Boston."

Ryan laughed.

"Excellent advice."

"I'm full of it."

They walked in comfortable silence for a while.

As they approached the cabin, Ryan looked up at the building through the trees. In daylight, it appeared considerably less intimidating than it had the previous evening. The dark wood had a warm reddish tint, and the stone chimney rose above a roof scattered with wet leaves. One of the pumpkins on the porch had fallen over, and Ryan made a mental note to straighten it.

"Nice place, though," he said.

Caleb followed his gaze.

"Yeah."

"You know, I almost didn't book it."

"Why not?"

"Thought it might be too remote. And then I saw the Halloween theme and figured what the hell."

Caleb looked toward him.

"Halloween theme?"

"Yeah. All the haunted-house stuff. The listing said the cabin had some mysterious history, and the owner left these ridiculous warnings on the counter."

Ryan chuckled.

"Which reminds me. Did you know you knocked exactly three times last night?"

Caleb stopped walking.

Ryan took another step before noticing he'd fallen behind.

He turned.

Caleb stood a few feet away, looking at him with an expression Ryan couldn't quite read.

"What?" Ryan asked.

"Three times?"

"Yeah. Three knocks. That's one of the warnings. If somebody knocks three times after midnight, don't open the door."

For a moment, Caleb didn't speak.

The forest seemed unusually quiet around them. Somewhere high above, water dripped from a branch and struck the leaves below with a soft, irregular patter.

Then Caleb smiled.

"Guess I picked the wrong cabin."

Ryan laughed.

"Or the right one, depending on how you look at it."

"Yeah," Caleb said quietly. "I guess so."

They resumed walking.

Ryan glanced at him once more, but Caleb was looking straight ahead.

He wondered whether the young man was embarrassed about the coincidence.

Then he forgot about it as they reached the porch and found that one of the pumpkins had rolled into a puddle.

"Well, that's depressing," Ryan said, bending to retrieve it.

Caleb laughed.

"Rough night for everybody."

"Apparently."

Ryan set the pumpkin upright beside the steps, brushed the wet dirt from his hands, and followed Caleb inside.

Neither noticed the narrow basement window beneath the kitchen, its glass darkened by the shadow of the house.

Nor did Ryan notice how carefully Caleb avoided looking toward it.

The afternoon passed more pleasantly than Ryan had expected.

He'd originally planned to spend most of his holiday reading, sketching, and occasionally going for walks through the surrounding woods. But with the access road blocked and the weather still uncertain, he found himself perfectly content remaining indoors.

Caleb turned out to be surprisingly easy company.

He didn't seem particularly interested in monopolizing Ryan's attention. After lunch, he found an old mystery novel on the living room shelf and settled on the couch while Ryan opened his laptop at the dining table.

For nearly an hour, they occupied the same room without much conversation.

The fire burned quietly in the fireplace. Outside, the sky had begun clearing, allowing occasional shafts of pale sunlight to filter through the branches. The light moved slowly across the wooden floorboards as clouds passed overhead, illuminating dust motes that drifted lazily in the warm air.

Ryan found the atmosphere unexpectedly peaceful.

He'd grown accustomed to living with Owen, but toward the end of their relationship, sharing a room had often felt strangely lonely. They would sit together in silence, each absorbed in their own work, with the occasional practical question about groceries or bills serving as the only real conversation of the evening.

This was different.

Caleb seemed perfectly comfortable simply being there.

He occasionally turned a page, shifted position, or glanced toward the window, but otherwise left Ryan to his work.

After a while, Ryan became so absorbed in adjusting the typography on a poster design that he forgot Caleb was in the room at all.

Until a voice spoke directly behind him.

"What's that supposed to be?"

Ryan startled so badly that his hand slipped on the trackpad.

"Jesus!"

Caleb immediately stepped back.

"Sorry!"

Ryan pressed a hand against his chest.

"God, you scared me."

"I didn't mean to. I thought you heard me coming."

Ryan looked up at him.

Caleb was smiling apologetically, holding his book loosely at his side.

"Well, I didn't."

"Sorry."

Ryan let out a breath and turned back toward the screen.

"It's fine. What were you asking?"

Caleb leaned forward slightly.

"That thing in the corner. What's it supposed to be?"

Ryan followed his finger.

"A bird."

Caleb tilted his head.

"Really?"

Ryan looked at him.

"What did you think it was?"

"I don't know." Caleb considered the illustration. "A potato with wings?"

Ryan stared at him.

Caleb's mouth twitched.

For several seconds, Ryan attempted to maintain a serious expression. Then he laughed.

"Get away from my computer."

Caleb grinned.

"Just offering constructive criticism."

"Your services are no longer required."

"Harsh."

Ryan shook his head, still smiling, and returned to the design.

Caleb remained beside him for another moment.

"Seriously, though. It's really good."

Ryan looked up.

"Thanks."

"Did you draw all of that yourself?"

"Most of it. Some of the textures are scanned."

"That's pretty cool."

Ryan smiled faintly.

"Well, it's what I do."

"Doesn't mean it isn't cool."

Something about the simple compliment pleased Ryan more than he'd expected.

He wasn't unused to receiving praise for his work, but Caleb sounded genuinely interested, and there was something refreshing about discussing the design without having to explain the client's brief, the budget, or the endless revisions that usually accompanied a professional assignment.

He turned the laptop slightly and showed Caleb the rest of the poster.

They talked about it for a few minutes before Caleb returned to the couch.

Ryan worked for another half hour, then decided he'd accomplished enough for one afternoon.

He closed his laptop and stretched.

"Want to take a break?"

Caleb looked up.

"From what? I've been reading."

"From your very demanding literary schedule."

Caleb smiled.

"Sure."

Ryan discovered a cupboard full of board games, playing cards, and jigsaw puzzles. He suggested cards, mostly because he didn't have the patience to assemble a thousand-piece picture of a lighthouse.

Caleb immediately proposed poker.

Ryan eyed him suspiciously.

"You any good?"

"Terrible."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

Twenty minutes later, Ryan discovered that Caleb was either a remarkably quick learner or an accomplished liar.

"You're cheating."

Caleb looked offended.

"I would never."

"You've won four hands in a row."

"Skill."

"You said you were terrible."

"I said I was terrible at poker. I never said I was terrible at lying."

Ryan laughed and threw his cards onto the table.

"Unbelievable."

Caleb grinned and gathered the imaginary winnings.

They played for nearly an hour, with Ryan losing badly enough that Caleb eventually began offering him advice between hands.

At some point, Ryan realized he hadn't thought about Owen all afternoon.

The realization surprised him.

For weeks, he'd been unable to go more than an hour without some small reminder of the relationship. A song, a familiar restaurant, a passing reference to a place they'd visited together. Even ordinary routines had become uncomfortable because they carried memories of how things used to be.

Yet here he was, sitting at a table in an unfamiliar cabin with someone he'd met less than twenty-four hours earlier, laughing over a card game.

It felt good.

Almost embarrassingly good.

Caleb was shuffling the deck when Ryan spoke.

"Can I ask you something?"

Caleb looked up.

"Sure."

"What do you do? For work, I mean."

Caleb's hands slowed.

"A little bit of everything, I guess."

"That sounds vague."

"It is."

Ryan smiled.

"Trying to maintain an air of mystery?"

"Is it working?"

"Not particularly."

Caleb laughed, but his gaze dropped toward the cards.

"I was figuring out what I wanted to do next," he said after a moment. "Things didn't exactly go the way I planned."

Ryan considered that.

"Yeah. I know the feeling."

Caleb glanced at him.

"Something happen?"

Ryan hesitated.

He hadn't intended to discuss his breakup during the holiday, particularly not with a stranger. But Caleb had been easy to talk to all day, and for some reason, Ryan didn't feel as reluctant as he usually did.

"My boyfriend and I broke up a few weeks ago."

Caleb's expression softened.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"How long were you together?"

"Four years."

"That's a long time."

"Yeah."

Caleb put the cards down.

"You doing all right?"

Ryan smiled faintly.

"Better than I was."

"Was it bad?"

Ryan thought about the question.

"Not in the way people usually mean. There wasn't any cheating or anything dramatic. We just... stopped being happy together, I guess. Neither of us wanted to admit it for a long time."

Caleb listened without interrupting.

Ryan rested his elbows on the table.

"The strange thing is, I think we both knew it was over months before we actually said anything. We'd come home, make dinner, sit on the couch, go to bed. We barely argued because there wasn't much left to argue about. Everything was just kind of... routine."

"That sounds lonely."

Ryan looked at him.

The observation was so simple that it caught him off guard.

"Yeah," he admitted. "It was."

Caleb nodded slowly.

"Sometimes I think being lonely when somebody's right there with you must be worse than being lonely by yourself."

Ryan considered that.

"Maybe."

Caleb looked down at the cards again, his expression briefly distant.

Ryan wondered whether he'd experienced something similar.

"What about you?" he asked. "Do you have anyone? Someone waiting for you back home?"

Caleb gave a small smile.

"No. Nobody like that."

"No girlfriend?"

Caleb shook his head.

"No girlfriend. I've had a few boyfriends, though."

Ryan's eyebrows rose slightly.

"Oh."

Caleb looked amused.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just didn't know."

"Well, you didn't ask."

Ryan laughed.

"Fair point."

Caleb leaned back in his chair.

"Had a couple of relationships. Nothing that really lasted."

"Why not?"

Caleb considered the question for a moment.

"Bad timing, mostly. Sometimes you meet somebody you like, but your lives are going in different directions. Sometimes one of you wants something the other can't give."

Ryan nodded.

"Sounds familiar."

"Yeah?"

"Pretty much."

Caleb smiled, although there was something thoughtful about it.

For a moment, Ryan wondered how long ago those relationships had been. Caleb spoke about them with a peculiar mixture of affection and resignation, as though they belonged to a much more distant part of his life.

Ryan was tempted to ask.

Instead, he picked up his cards.

"All right. One more game."

Caleb's smile returned.

"You're going to lose."

"You're very confident for somebody wearing borrowed clothes."

"Doesn't affect my ability to play poker."

"We'll see."

And for the next half hour, Ryan's biggest concern was discovering just how thoroughly Caleb had been misleading him about his supposed lack of skill.

By late afternoon, the cabin had begun to darken.

The sun was still above the horizon, but the surrounding trees blocked much of the light, casting long shadows across the clearing. Ryan turned on the lamps in the living room, and their warm glow made the windows resemble dark mirrors, reflecting the furniture and fireplace while concealing the forest beyond.

Caleb offered to help bring in more firewood.

Ryan hesitated because of his ankle, but Caleb insisted he was feeling better, and after watching him walk across the room without difficulty, Ryan agreed.

They stepped onto the porch, where the air had grown noticeably colder.

The rain had stopped, but water continued dripping from the roof and branches. Somewhere deeper in the woods, a bird called once, its cry carrying sharply through the trees before fading into silence.

Ryan approached the covered stack beside the cabin and began gathering logs.

Caleb joined him.

For a few minutes, they worked without speaking.

Then Ryan heard something rustling in the undergrowth.

He looked up.

The sound had come from behind the cabin, near the narrow strip of woodland that bordered the rear clearing. A few leaves shifted against one another, followed by a soft snapping noise.

Ryan watched the trees.

"Probably a deer," he murmured.

Caleb turned.

"What?"

"Thought I heard something."

They stood still for a moment.

The forest had gone quiet.

Ryan was about to return to the woodpile when another sound came from the same direction.

This time, it was heavier.

Not the quick, irregular movement of a small animal, but something slower, accompanied by the distinct crack of a branch breaking under weight.

Ryan frowned.

"Hello?"

Caleb's head turned sharply toward him.

"Ryan."

Ryan glanced over.

"What?"

Caleb's expression had changed.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Call out like that."

Ryan looked at him, surprised.

"Why?"

Caleb hesitated.

Then he gave a small, embarrassed smile.

"Sorry. I just don't think you want to encourage whatever's wandering around out there."

Ryan considered that.

"Well, if it's a bear, I definitely don't."

"Exactly."

They listened for another moment.

Nothing moved.

Eventually, Ryan shrugged and picked up the last of the firewood.

"Come on. Let's get inside before I freeze."

Caleb followed him without argument.

Ryan carried the logs through the front door and stacked them beside the fireplace. When he turned around, Caleb was still standing near the entrance, looking through the narrow window beside the door.

"Everything okay?"

Caleb blinked.

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Just thought I heard something again."

Ryan glanced toward the window.

The porch was empty.

Beyond it, the forest had nearly disappeared into the approaching dusk.

He went over and switched on the exterior light. The yellow glow spread across the steps and the nearest trees, revealing nothing unusual.

"Probably an animal," Ryan said.

Caleb nodded.

"Probably."

He remained by the window for another few seconds before finally turning away.

Ryan watched him go, feeling the first small stirrings of discomfort.

There had been nothing particularly frightening about the noises outside. They were in the middle of the woods, after all. Animals were hardly unexpected.

But Caleb's reaction had been strange. He hadn't seemed startled so much as deeply concerned, as though he'd recognized something about the sounds that Ryan hadn't.

Then again, he'd spent the previous night lost in that same forest. Ryan supposed it was perfectly reasonable for him to be nervous.

He let the thought go.

At least, he tried to.

Caleb cooked dinner that evening.

He insisted that he owed Ryan at least one proper meal, and after some discussion, they settled on pasta with garlic, tomatoes, and chicken. Ryan had most of the ingredients already, although Caleb managed to use an impressive number of pans for something that should have been relatively simple.

Ryan leaned against the kitchen counter, watching him work.

"You know you're supposed to clean as you go, right?"

Caleb glanced toward the sink.

"That's a terrible system."

"Why?"

"Because then you're cleaning and cooking at the same time."

"Yes. That's generally the idea."

"Seems inefficient."

Ryan looked at the dirty cutting board, two saucepans, and frying pan scattered across the counter.

"Clearly your way is better."

Caleb grinned.

"Glad you agree."

Despite the mess, the food turned out surprisingly well.

They ate on the couch with their plates balanced on their laps, watching the flames dance behind the fireplace screen. Outside, the temperature continued dropping, and a thin mist had begun gathering among the trees.

Ryan found himself enjoying the simple domesticity of it all. Caleb was funny without trying too hard, considerate without making a performance of it, and perfectly capable of sitting quietly when neither had anything particularly important to say.

He also had an appealing habit of smiling with his entire face.

Ryan noticed that more often than he probably should have.

After dinner, they washed the dishes together and searched the streaming service for something to watch.

Caleb wanted a horror movie.

Ryan pointed out that they'd already had a fairly creepy afternoon, but Caleb insisted that was all the more reason to enjoy something fictional.

They eventually settled on an older film about a group of college students spending a weekend in an abandoned farmhouse.

Ryan had seen it before.

Caleb apparently hadn't.

Within twenty minutes, he was criticizing almost every decision the characters made.

"Why would you go down there?"

Ryan laughed.

"Because it's a horror movie."

"That doesn't mean they have to be stupid."

"Well, if they made sensible decisions, the movie would be over in fifteen minutes."

"Then let it be over."

Ryan shook his head, smiling.

A few minutes later, one of the characters heard a suspicious noise coming from the basement.

Naturally, he decided to investigate.

Caleb groaned. "Oh, come on."

Ryan laughed again.

"You know, for someone who likes horror movies, you really don't seem to enjoy watching people do horror-movie things."

"I like being scared. I don't like watching people practically volunteer to die."

"Fair distinction."

On the television, the character approached a dark wooden door.

He hesitated, listening to something moving on the other side.

Then he reached for the handle.

Caleb shifted beside Ryan.

The movement was small, but Ryan noticed it because their shoulders brushed.

He glanced over.

Caleb was staring intently at the screen, his expression no longer amused.

The character opened the door.

A sudden burst of music accompanied something lunging out of the darkness.

Ryan flinched despite knowing it was coming.

Caleb didn't.

He simply sat motionless, watching the screen with an expression that seemed almost troubled.

"You okay?" Ryan asked.

Caleb blinked and turned toward him.

"Yeah. Why?"

"You went quiet."

"Oh." Caleb smiled faintly. "Just watching."

Ryan returned his attention to the movie.

After a while, Caleb relaxed again.

The rest of the film passed pleasantly enough, with occasional jokes and commentary from both of them. Ryan found himself laughing more than he'd expected, particularly when Caleb began inventing increasingly ridiculous ways the surviving characters could have avoided their predicament.

At one point, Ryan leaned sideways to reach for his drink, and their knees brushed.

Neither moved away immediately.

Ryan was aware of the contact for perhaps a second longer than necessary before Caleb shifted slightly to give him more room.

It was nothing.

An ordinary accidental touch between two people sharing a couch.

Still, Ryan found himself smiling at the television for reasons that had very little to do with the movie.

By the time the credits rolled, it was nearly ten thirty.

Ryan switched off the television and stretched.

"Well, that was terrible."

Caleb looked offended.

"It was great."

"Three people died because they wouldn't stop investigating suspicious noises."

"Educational."

"What did we learn?"

"Stay out of basements."

Ryan laughed.

"Very relevant advice, considering the house rules."

Caleb's smile faded.

He glanced toward the staircase.

Ryan followed his gaze.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're thinking about the basement?"

Caleb looked back at him.

"Why would I be?"

"Because you keep looking over there."

Caleb gave a small laugh.

"Guess the movie got to me."

Ryan smiled.

"Well, don't worry. I'm not planning on going down there."

"Good."

The answer came a little too quickly.

Ryan looked at him.

Caleb seemed to realize it, because he smiled again.

"One less stupid decision for the horror-movie characters."

Ryan laughed and stood.

"Come on. Let's get some sleep."

They tidied the living room together, putting the blankets away and carrying their empty glasses into the kitchen.

Caleb was rinsing a mug when Ryan noticed movement in the window above the sink.

He stopped.

For a moment, he thought someone was standing outside.

Not clearly. It was more the impression of a dark shape against the glass, a silhouette that seemed to linger just beyond the reach of the exterior light.

Ryan leaned forward.

"What the hell?"

Caleb turned.

"What?"

Ryan looked more carefully.

The window reflected the kitchen behind him, including the overhead light and Caleb standing near the sink. Beyond those reflections, the forest was almost completely black.

The shape was gone.

Ryan frowned.

"Thought I saw someone outside."

Caleb put the mug down.

"Where?"

"By the trees, I think."

Caleb came closer.

Together, they looked through the glass.

Nothing moved beyond the window.

The darkness appeared complete.

Ryan switched off the kitchen light, hoping to reduce the reflection. Immediately, the window became a clearer view of the outside world.

The nearest trees stood motionless beneath the porch light.

A few leaves stirred in the cold air.

There was no one there.

"Probably just the reflection," Ryan said.

Caleb didn't answer.

Ryan glanced toward him.

Caleb was staring through the window with an intensity that made Ryan vaguely uncomfortable.

"Hey?"

Caleb turned.

"Yeah?"

"You okay?"

"Sure."

"You look like you saw something."

Caleb glanced outside again.

"No. I didn't see anything."

Ryan studied him for another moment before switching the kitchen light back on.

He was beginning to think the combination of an unfamiliar house, a frightening movie, and the increasingly dark forest was affecting both of them more than either wanted to admit.

He decided to check the doors before going upstairs.

The front door was securely locked.

The back door, which led onto a small wooden deck, was locked as well.

As he approached it, however, he noticed something through the glass.

He stopped.

The exterior light illuminated a narrow strip of muddy ground beside the cabin.

And in that mud were footprints.

Ryan leaned closer.

At first, he assumed they belonged to Caleb from the previous night, but the trail didn't lead toward the porch or the back steps. Instead, the prints followed the outer wall of the cabin, disappearing around the corner toward the small basement window.

He frowned.

"Caleb?"

"Yeah?"

"Come look at this."

Caleb joined him.

Ryan pointed through the glass.

"See those?"

Caleb followed his gaze.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Caleb said, "Footprints?"

"Yeah."

Ryan examined them more carefully.

The impressions were deep enough to have retained a clear tread pattern in the wet earth. Whoever had made them had been wearing shoes with thick soles, and judging from the spacing between the prints, they'd been walking rather than running.

What bothered Ryan was their direction.

They led along the side of the house toward the basement window, where the ground narrowed between the foundation and a bed of dead leaves.

Ryan turned on the exterior light above the side of the building. The additional illumination revealed more of the trail. The footprints stopped directly beneath the basement window.

Ryan stared.

He couldn't see any corresponding prints leading away.

There were leaves scattered around the area, of course, and some of the ground was hidden in shadow. Whoever had been there might have stepped onto the grass or taken a different route back.

Still, the sight was unpleasant.

"That's weird," Ryan murmured.

Caleb stood beside him, unusually quiet.

Ryan looked at him.

"You didn't go outside after dinner, did you?"

"No."

"Didn't think so."

He glanced toward the window again.

The basement window itself was narrow and low, almost flush with the surrounding earth. Its glass was dark, and Ryan couldn't see anything beyond it.

He had no idea why anyone would have been standing there.

"Could've been someone checking the property earlier," he said.

Caleb didn't answer.

Ryan took out his phone and photographed the footprints through the glass.

"What are you doing?" Caleb asked.

"Sending it to Evelyn. She might know if someone was working around here before we arrived."

He attached the photograph to a message and explained what he'd seen.

After sending it, he looked toward the back door again.

For a moment, he considered stepping outside to inspect the tracks more closely, but the air was cold, the ground was slippery, and there was no obvious reason to investigate further tonight.

If somebody had been wandering around the property, he would rather not encounter them in the dark.

He checked the lock again.

"Well," he said, trying to sound unconcerned, "this place is certainly delivering on the creepy atmosphere."

Caleb gave a small smile.

But it didn't reach his eyes.

Ryan noticed.

"Seriously, are you all right?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You've been acting a little weird ever since we came back from the road."

Caleb looked away.

"Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize. I'm just asking."

For a moment, Caleb seemed to be considering something.

Then he sighed.

"Guess I'm still a little shaken up from last night. Being out in those woods wasn't exactly fun."

Ryan's expression softened.

"Yeah. I can imagine."

Caleb rubbed his hands together.

"Anyway, it's probably nothing. Like you said, could've been somebody working around the cabin."

"Exactly."

Ryan turned off the exterior light and stepped away from the window.

He'd mentioned the footprints to Evelyn, and he could follow up in the morning. If they heard someone outside or noticed any sign of a break-in, he'd call the sheriff's department.

Until then, there wasn't much else to do.

He glanced toward the staircase.

"Come on. Let's call it a night."

Caleb nodded.

They crossed the living room together, passing the fireplace, where the last of the flames had begun dying into glowing embers. Ryan switched off the lamps one by one, leaving only the kitchen light and the small bulb above the stairs.

The cabin seemed to grow larger as the lights went out.

Corners that had been warm and familiar only minutes earlier became dark recesses, and the broad windows reflected the dim interior against the blackness outside. Ryan could hear the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of settling timber, but beyond those ordinary noises the house had become so quiet that he was suddenly aware of his own footsteps.

He glanced toward the basement door as they passed the narrow hallway.

It stood exactly where it had when he arrived, the old iron handle catching a thin strip of light from the kitchen.

The padlock hung motionless.

Ryan couldn't explain why he looked at it.

Perhaps because of the movie.

Perhaps because of the footprints outside.

Or perhaps because there was something inherently unpleasant about a locked door in an unfamiliar house, particularly one leading into a space he hadn't seen.

He turned away.

Behind him, Caleb stopped walking.

Ryan heard the floorboard creak beneath his foot.

He looked back.

Caleb was staring at the basement door.

For a moment, his expression was so unlike the cheerful, slightly sarcastic young man Ryan had spent the day with that Ryan felt a small, inexplicable chill.

"Caleb?"

Caleb turned sharply.

"What?"

"You coming?"

"Yeah."

He glanced toward the basement one last time before following Ryan upstairs.

They stopped outside their bedrooms.

"Well," Ryan said, "hopefully tomorrow's a little less eventful."

Caleb smiled faintly.

"Hopefully."

"Once they clear the tree, I'll take you into town."

"Thanks."

Ryan nodded toward the spare bedroom.

"Get some rest. And try not to worry about whatever's outside. Probably just animals."

Caleb looked at him for a moment.

Then he smiled.

"Good night, Ryan."

"Night."

Ryan went into his bedroom and closed the door.

He checked the lock, placed his phone on the bedside table, and changed into his pajamas.

Outside, the forest was almost perfectly still.

The moon had risen behind the clouds, lending the window a pale, milky glow. Ryan drew the curtains, switched on the bedside lamp, and climbed into bed.

He checked his messages.

Evelyn hadn't replied to the photographs yet.

Mara had sent him another message asking how his day had gone.

Ryan: good actually. road's blocked by a fallen tree so we're stuck here until tomorrow

Mara: stuck there with the cute stranger? oh no. how tragic

Ryan rolled his eyes.

Ryan: you're exhausting

Mara: and yet you love me

Ryan: unfortunately

Mara: seriously though, you okay?

Ryan looked around the bedroom.

The cabin was quiet. Caleb was across the hallway. Nothing particularly alarming had happened, apart from a few strange noises and the footprints outside.

Ryan: yeah. everything's fine. just an old cabin making old cabin noises

Mara: famous last words

Ryan: good night mara

Mara: night. text me tomorrow

Ryan put the phone down.

For a while, he lay awake thinking about the day.

He'd expected to spend his holiday reading, sketching, and trying not to think about Owen. Instead, he'd somehow acquired a temporary roommate, lost several imaginary fortunes playing poker, and spent most of the afternoon laughing at jokes he probably wouldn't have found particularly funny under ordinary circumstances.

It had been nice.

Caleb was nice.

Ryan had no idea what the young man planned to do once he returned home, and he supposed there was little chance they'd see each other again. But he found himself strangely reluctant to think about tomorrow's drive into town.

It was ridiculous, really.

They'd known each other for less than two days.

Still, the thought lingered.

Ryan turned onto his side and pulled the blanket higher.

He was almost asleep when a sound came from somewhere beneath him.

A dull, dragging noise.

He opened his eyes.

At first, he thought it was the heating system. Old pipes could make remarkable noises, particularly when temperatures dropped sharply at night.

He listened.

The sound came again.

Longer this time.

Something heavy seemed to be moving across a rough surface, accompanied by a faint scraping noise that rose and fell unevenly.

Ryan pushed himself up on one elbow.

The noise stopped.

He waited.

Nothing.

Then, from somewhere below the bedroom floor, came a soft thump.

Ryan sat upright.

The sound had been too distinct to dismiss immediately as plumbing. It reminded him of somebody dropping something heavy onto a wooden floor.

He glanced at the clock.

11:34 p.m.

For a while, he listened to the house.

There were no footsteps in the hallway, no voices, and no further sounds from below. The wind had died down, leaving the cabin wrapped in a stillness so complete that Ryan could hear the faint ticking of the clock downstairs.

He got out of bed.

It wasn't that he believed anything supernatural was happening. But if a raccoon or some other animal had somehow gotten into the basement, he didn't particularly want it chewing through electrical wiring or causing damage that would eventually be blamed on him.

He put on his slippers, opened the bedroom door, and stepped into the hallway.

Caleb's door was closed.

A thin strip of light showed beneath it.

Ryan hesitated, wondering whether to knock, then decided there was no point disturbing him over what might turn out to be nothing.

He made his way downstairs.

The wooden staircase creaked beneath his feet.

Without the television or the fireplace, the cabin felt very different. The living room was dark, the furniture reduced to broad silhouettes, and the windows reflected vague shapes from the dim stairway light. Ryan switched on the lamp beside the couch, filling part of the room with a warm glow.

He stood still for a moment.

Nothing moved.

Then he heard the scraping again.

It came from beneath the floor.

Ryan turned slowly toward the narrow hallway.

The basement.

Of course.

He approached the doorway but stopped several feet from it.

The old wooden door stood at the end of the short corridor, its dark surface interrupted by the heavy iron handle and the modern padlock. Ryan could see the slight unevenness of the boards, the places where paint had worn away, and a narrow gap beneath the frame.

A faint smell drifted through the hallway.

Damp earth.

Old wood.

Something colder and less familiar that Ryan couldn't quite identify.

He frowned.

The air near the basement door felt noticeably cooler than the rest of the house. He supposed the basement was unheated.

The scraping sound came again. This time, it seemed much closer.

Ryan stopped breathing for a moment.

It was a slow, deliberate noise, followed by something that sounded almost like a soft impact against wood.

Then silence.

Ryan stared at the door.

"Hello?"

His voice sounded unexpectedly loud in the confined hallway.

Nothing answered.

He waited another few seconds.

"Is somebody down there?"

There was no response.

Ryan glanced at the padlock, which remained firmly secured. He could see no sign that anyone had tampered with the door, and the hinges appeared intact.

He considered calling Evelyn again. Perhaps she knew whether the basement contained a furnace or some other equipment capable of producing the noise.

Then a new sound came from the other side.

Not scraping.

Not the movement of pipes.

Three knocks.

Ryan went cold.

They were slow and distinct, with the same deliberate spacing as the knocks he'd heard on the front door the previous night.

He stared at the wood.

For several seconds, he couldn't move.

Then he stepped backward.

It wasn't a conscious decision so much as an instinctive response to something he couldn't explain.

The hallway suddenly felt much narrower.

Ryan reached for his phone, which he'd left upstairs, then remembered he didn't have it.

He considered calling Caleb.

Before he could decide, he heard the faint creak of the staircase behind him.

"Ryan?"

The voice made him jump.

He turned sharply.

Caleb stood at the bottom of the stairs, one hand resting against the banister. He was wearing the same gray sweatpants and navy sweatshirt Ryan had lent him, and his hair looked disheveled, as though he'd been lying in bed.

But he didn't look sleepy.

His eyes were fixed on Ryan.

"Jesus," Ryan muttered, pressing a hand against his chest. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Sorry." Caleb descended the last step. "What are you doing down here?"

Ryan glanced toward the basement.

"I heard something."

Caleb stopped.

For a moment, he didn't move at all.

"What kind of something?"

"Scraping. Like something being dragged across the floor. And then..." Ryan hesitated, aware of how strange the next part would sound. "Knocking."

Caleb's face changed.

The color seemed to drain from it.

"Knocking?"

"Yeah. Three times."

Ryan watched Caleb's eyes move toward the basement door.

He'd seen him become quiet several times that day, but this was different. The cheerful ease that usually softened his expression had vanished, replaced by something tight and unmistakably frightened.

Caleb took a step forward.

"Did you open it?"

Ryan frowned.

"What?"

"The door. Did you open it?"

Ryan frowned. "No. It's bolted shut. I haven't touched it."

Caleb's gaze moved toward the heavy iron bolt.

"Good," he said quietly.

Ryan stared at him.

"Good?"

Caleb seemed to realize how he'd sounded.

"I mean, it's probably nothing. Old houses make weird noises, especially when the weather changes."

Ryan looked toward the door again.

"Yeah, but that didn't sound like pipes."

"Could've been something shifting downstairs."

"Maybe."

Caleb moved closer.

"Come on. Let's go back upstairs."

Ryan hesitated.

Something about Caleb's behavior was beginning to bother him more than the noises themselves.

"You seem pretty nervous."

Caleb gave a faint smile.

"Well, you did just tell me somebody might be knocking from a locked basement in the middle of the night."

Ryan considered that.

"Fair point."

He glanced once more at the door.

Nothing moved behind it.

The smell of damp earth lingered faintly in the hallway, but the scraping had stopped, and the house had returned to its ordinary silence.

Ryan took a slow breath.

"I'll ask Evelyn about it tomorrow. Maybe there's some equipment down there."

"Good idea."

Caleb's answer came quickly, almost eagerly.

Ryan looked at him.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah."

Caleb hesitated.

Then his expression softened.

"Look, Ryan. You've had a long day. You're tired, and this place is creepy enough without us standing around listening for noises. Let's just get some sleep, okay?"

There was something almost pleading in his voice.

Ryan felt a small, unexpected pang of sympathy.

Caleb had been lost in the forest during a storm, injured himself, and ended up spending two nights in a stranger's cabin. It was hardly surprising if he'd become a little jumpy.

And Ryan, for all his skepticism, had to admit that the combination of an unfamiliar house and unexplained sounds had begun getting to him as well.

"Yeah," he said finally. "You're right."

Caleb gave a small, relieved smile.

They walked back toward the staircase together.

Ryan switched off the living room lamp, leaving the lower floor in darkness apart from the weak light above the stairs.

He started climbing.

Halfway up, he noticed Caleb had stopped behind him.

Ryan turned.

Caleb stood at the foot of the staircase.

He wasn't looking at Ryan.

He was staring down the dark hallway toward the basement.

The expression on his face was difficult to describe. It wasn't the startled fear Ryan had seen earlier, nor the discomfort of someone unsettled by an unfamiliar noise.

It looked almost like recognition.

As though whatever had been making those sounds was something Caleb had been expecting.

"Caleb?"

Caleb turned sharply.

For a moment, he appeared startled to find Ryan watching him.

Then he smiled.

"Coming."

He followed Ryan upstairs.

At the landing, they paused outside their bedrooms.

"Sorry for waking you," Ryan said.

Caleb shook his head.

"You didn't."

Ryan raised an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"Wasn't asleep yet."

"Well, hopefully we can both get some rest now."

Caleb nodded.

"Yeah."

Ryan reached for his bedroom door.

"Night."

"Good night, Ryan."

There was something unusually gentle about the way Caleb said his name.

Ryan looked back.

Caleb stood in the hallway, his expression softer now, though a trace of worry remained around his eyes.

For a brief moment, Ryan had the strangest feeling that Caleb wanted to say something else.

But the young man only smiled.

Ryan returned the smile and stepped into his bedroom.

He closed the door, checked the lock, and climbed into bed.

The clock showed 11:49 p.m.

He lay awake for several minutes, listening to the old house settle around him.

Everything was quiet now.

Perhaps Caleb had been right. Perhaps the temperature change had caused something in the basement to shift, and Ryan's imagination had supplied the rest. The knocking was harder to explain, but old heating systems could make surprisingly sharp sounds, and the cabin was full of wooden beams and pipes that had probably been expanding and contracting for decades.

He would ask Evelyn in the morning.

If she couldn't explain it, he'd request that somebody inspect the basement once the road was clear.

There was no reason to do anything foolish tonight.

Ryan pulled the blanket to his chest and closed his eyes.

For a while, he lay there thinking about Caleb.

He remembered the way he'd smiled across the breakfast table, the ridiculous poker game, and the way he'd listened without judgment when Ryan spoke about Owen. Those memories were considerably more pleasant than the noises downstairs, and gradually Ryan felt himself relaxing.

The cabin remained quiet.

No more scraping.

No more knocks.

Eventually, his breathing slowed, and he drifted toward sleep.

Then, just as he was beginning to lose consciousness, a sound came from somewhere deep beneath the floor.

It was faint enough that he almost missed it.

A long, slow creak, followed by a soft dragging noise.

Ryan opened his eyes.

He listened.

The sound came again.

Something scraping against wood.

Something moving with awful patience in the darkness below.

And then, so quietly that he couldn't be certain he'd heard it at all, came what sounded like a single, gentle tap.

Ryan lay motionless beneath the blankets.

He waited for another.

None came.

After several minutes, he told himself it had been the pipes again. He turned onto his side, pulled the duvet higher, and tried to sleep. But it took him a long time to close his eyes. And even longer to stop imagining the heavy basement door beneath the stairs, the cold hallway, and the three deliberate knocks that had sounded so disturbingly like someone asking to be let out.