There is a knock at my front door.
I know who it is without having to answer. The elderly woman next door used often to come by, always armed with some excuse to chat for hours. I know she lived alone well before I moved in, but I refuse to answer the door anymore.
I used to let her in and offer her tea and conversation on an almost daily basis. She stopped coming by about a month ago. It was around that time I happened to see someone visiting her. He went over every night for a week. I’m not normally one to pry, but it was hard to ignore him; you could hear him rap his knuckles on the door with a force that I thought would break it.
After he stopped going by, it was quiet for weeks. She resumed visiting me about two nights ago.
I can hear her frail voice calling my name. Last night she knocked at my door until dawn. I found dried blood on the wood and there were smudges on the frosted glass where she’d pressed against it.
I think she’ll stop after tonight. Her funeral is tomorrow morning.
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