Let Her In

The shrieking howl of what you assume to be the autumnal wind suddenly picks up as you sit at home, trying to enjoy a relaxing cup of hot chocolate. It has been raining heavily for hours, ever since the start of that dreary morning when you glimpsed the spectral flash of shadowy movement from the corner of your drowsy eyes. An illusion, or perhaps an apparition, from outside the bedroom window that you happened to imagine through the squint of waking. The rain continued well into the night, and you eventually learned to enjoy the white noise of nature bellowing outside your home.

You moved out to countryside not too long ago due to personal reasons, and found a warm, secluded hearth out in the middle of the verdant woods. It was quite the steal for a large, two-story cabin, but with no neighbors for miles, or any signs of civilization for that matter, maybe there was a reason you found it for so cheap. Unnaturally tall tree upon endless tree encase the property and nothing can really be seen beyond the tree line besides more of the encumbering forest. There is only a single decaying road leading up to the isolated cabin that doubles as the only exit off the property as well. The ancient woods have thrived there for centuries, its mass of thick roots buried deep into the ground for miles along with any secret its foundational foliage may hide.

With the start of Autumn, a bit of rain is to be expected and any life living out in the forest does its best to seek out shelter.

Just past the splatter of rainfall and the creaking of the boughs, you hear what sounds like a soft knocking at your door. You wait a moment, then nothing. Only the constant downpour pelting the roof. You decide to dismiss it as a delusion formed on the outer edges of your paranoid mind and settle back into your chair.

Suddenly there comes another round of knocking, louder and more assertive than the last. The surprise rapping almost makes you jump as you look once more toward the door. You check the time on your phone: 10:21 PM. You take no chances. You grab your rifle and slowly make your way to the door. But when you open it, you're greeted by something unexpected.

In the doorway of your lone cabin stands a woman huddled under the torrential rain. With long, ebony locks and skin as pale as ivory, what stood out most were her peculiarly long ears poking out from her hair that had a strange, growing charm to them the more you looked. As she greets you with a courteous smile, you happen to notice the small mole beneath her black lips crease just a tiny bit. Her elfish face is covered by large, round glasses that you swear give her eyes a piercing red hue as she looks at you. A drenched, formal black dress clung to her body in layers, appearing out of place along with the rest of her abnormally old-fashioned clothing: A dark brooch and ascot that clipped closed the frilly capelet wrapping around her shoulders, hiding the sheer nylon that covered her décolletage, and long sleeves enclosed by white gloves that you assume protect her hands from the elements. Oddest of all, her only safeguard from the rain seems to be the gothic picture hat atop her head.

"May I come in?" she asks. "It's rather cold..."

Clutched in her hands is an old tome with gilded corners and bound in crinkling, brown leather.