The sharp chime of the doorbell pulled me out of the warm haze of the television. I’d been half-watching, half-drifting, already wondering what my new guest might be like. The booking had come in so close to nightfall that I’d expected him to arrive late—but still, I wasn’t ready.

That must be him.

I pushed the blanket aside and stood. The hallway felt cooler, carrying the faint scent of lavender from the bundle near the door.

I opened it.

No one was there.

The porch light hummed softly, casting a warm glow over the empty boards and the quiet garden beyond. The gravel path was untouched. For a moment, I wondered if I’d imagined the sound.

Then I noticed movement.

In the parking area, beneath the dim yard lamp, a man stood beside a dark Jeep. He was unloading luggage, one suitcase in each hand, his movements slow and deliberate. The light barely seemed to reach him, as if the night clung more tightly to his shape than it should have.

I stepped outside. The cool air brushed my skin as I walked toward him. With every step, his form came into clearer focus—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed entirely in black. He looked like a shadow given shape.

When I was close enough, he turned. The motion was smooth, almost practiced, as though he’d known exactly when I would reach him.

I smiled, letting warmth into my voice.

“Hello! Welcome. I’m Marina—nice to meet you.”

I held out my hand.

He didn’t take it.

He didn’t even look at it.

The silence that followed felt heavy, absolute. I lowered my hand and forced a small laugh.

“Do you need help with your luggage?”

He shook his head once.

“Alright,” I said softly. “Please, follow me. I’ll show you the studio you booked.”

I turned and led the way, aware of his footsteps behind me. They were quiet—too quiet for someone his size—but I felt them anyway, steady and measured.

Normally, I’d fill the walk with small talk. That night, the words refused to come. It felt like walking ahead of something vast and unseen.

We reached the spiral staircase. The narrow black iron steps twisted upward in the moonlight. I placed a hand on the railing and climbed, my footsteps sounding far too loud.

At the top, I unlocked the balcony door. Warm yellow light spilled out onto the wooden floor.

“Please,” I said, stepping aside.

He entered without a word, setting the suitcases down so softly they barely made a sound.

I showed him the basics—the heating, the appliances, the Wi-Fi code. My voice sounded too bright in the small space.

“If you need anything,” I finished, “I’m in the main house. Just ring the bell.”

He said nothing.

“I’ll just need your passport or ID for check-in,” I added.

He reached into his suitcase and handed me a card.

The moment it touched my fingers, something felt off. It was warmer than it should have been, rough at the edges. The design was unfamiliar, the country listed beneath his name one I’d never heard of.

“Would it be alright if I take this to the reception for a moment?” I asked.

He nodded once.

I returned to the main house, my instincts prickling. Inside, I entered his details into the system.

Name: Hunter Black.

I paused.

The name felt wrong. Heavy. Like something that didn’t belong on a booking form.

Shaking it off, I finished and headed back.

As I reached the studio door, I lifted my hand to knock—and froze.

Through a small gap in the curtain, I saw them.

Two glowing red eyes.

They stared straight at me.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I stumbled back, breath caught in my throat. When I looked again, the curtain had fallen shut. The glow was gone.

I told myself it was exhaustion. Bad lighting. Nerves.

I knocked.

The door opened immediately.

I handed him the card. “Thank you. Enjoy your stay.”

I turned to leave.

“Wait.”

His voice was low, deep, vibrating in a way I felt more than heard.

“Would it be possible to change my bed sheets and towels every third day? I’ll pay extra.”

I swallowed. “Of course. Around ten in the morning?”

He nodded.

“Alright,” I said. “Good night.”

Only halfway down the stairs did I realize I’d been holding my breath.

Later, in bed, his voice echoed in my thoughts. Behind closed eyes, I saw that red glow again.

Outside, the garden lay still under the moonlight. The trees barely moved, yet the night felt alert—listening.

A soft creak reached me. Footsteps on the balcony, maybe.

Then silence.

I told myself it was nothing. Old wood. Wind. Imagination.

Still, sleep didn’t come easily.