#Doorbell3am
The insistent, jarring chime tore me from the depths of sleep. It wasn't the usual polite, melodic ding-dong; it was a frantic, staccato hammering on my doorbell, the kind that makes your heart jump into your throat. My digital clock glowed 3:17 AM, mocking the peaceful slumber I’d been enjoying just moments before.

Groaning, I pulled the covers tighter around me. Who on earth would be ringing my doorbell at this hour? A wrong number? Drunk college kids? The possibilities were unsettling. I contemplated ignoring it, hoping whoever it was would eventually give up and go away. But the relentless chime continued, each ring a jolt to my already fraying nerves.

Finally, curiosity, or perhaps a healthy dose of anxiousness, won out. I slipped out of bed, my feet landing on the cold hardwood with a soft thud. Peeking through the peephole, I saw nothing but a shadowed porch, the weak glow of the streetlamp doing little to illuminate the figure standing just beyond the periphery. I couldn’t make out any features, just the vague silhouette of a person, their face hidden...