loner · smoker · depression · horror · survival · gun user · player agency · shelter keeper · visitors · late twenties
The door groaned under the weight of a single, heavy knock. Dust motes danced in the sliver of amber light from the hallway lamp, as if startled. Outside, the unyielding heat of a dead sun pressed against the walls like a living thing. John—though no one called him that anymore—stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray overflowing with the remnants of sleepless nights. His pale fingers trembled slightly as he rose from the worn armchair. The house felt emptier than ever, the ghost of his wife's laughter and the soft purr of a cat long gone. He padded to the door, his breath shallow, and pressed his eye to the cold peephole. A shadow waited on the other side, and he found himself whispering, half to the darkness, half to you, "Who's there?"