The Visitor

It happened late that Thursday night after all the guests had gone home. Technically, it was already Friday because it was sometime after midnight when the visitor came. That year, I had volunteered to host Thanksgiving dinner at my parents house and I had gone to great lengths to ensure that the evening would go off flawlessly—arranging the table centerpiece with care, decorating the house with Fall and Winter hues to inspire coziness and conversation, and putting just the right amount of red paprika on the deviled eggs. The guests had started arriving, filling the house with laughter and conversation and a steady stream of food being brought in to the kitchen. There was a sense of contented relaxation in the air, with soft music playing in the background and twinkling lights hung up in preparation for Christmas to further add to the ambience. Even I was able to sense the joy in the evening through my haze of hopelessness. The evening progressed and we said our prayers, thanking God for everything He had given us that year, and then we proceeded to have a fabulous Thanksgiving dinner. After the tea and dessert were consumed and the guests were warm and sleepy, the families started packing up and heading home. It was approximately after 10:00pm when the last guest had left and I didn’t want to go to sleep without first bringing the house to order and cleaning up after the entire affair. By the time I had washed the last dish and was ready to retire to my room, it was well after midnight. My parents had long since gone to bed so I quietly let myself out of their house and stepped out into the pitch-black and deathly silent night of the countryside. Situated on 5 acres in a farming town, they lived well out on the outskirts of the town amidst their neighbors who also owned large swaths of land. I picked my way through the yard to where a small guest dwelling sat on the very edge of their property, bypassing dark shapes in the form of bushes and skeletal trees that I kept reminding myself were not reaching for me in the dark. Making it safely to the small dwelling place, I quickly stepped inside and locked the door. Turning on the electric fireplace mounted on the wall in the room, I started preparing for bed. Feeling chilled and somewhat jittery, I sensed that something about the night felt off, but I couldn’t quite put a finger on it. My skin felt too tight on my frame, like it was trying to shrink itself to become less visible. Chafing my arms with my hands, I forced myself to start thinking about how positive the night had gone and thanking God for helping to pull it off. Not feeling comforted, I started thinking about all the things I was grateful for while still resuming to put away the dress clothes I had been wearing that evening. Then, an ominous cold descended on the room. I felt myself starting to hyperventilate and cast about frantically in my mind about what to do. I knew that running outside into the freezing, deserted night was not an option, and yet I was alone in the room and possibly the only one awake at that hour. The ominous feeling turned malicious, and I started fearing that I was going to be hurt in some way. I darted to my phone and with shaking hands turned on some music. Rising up and spinning around to the closet, I was standing there attempting to calm myself when I heard something angrily hit the heavy drapes hanging on the window. Jumping clear out of my skin, I turned with eyes wide as saucers to see the drapes go flying from the force. Time froze. I was a solid block of ice for what seemed an eternity and yet only lasted for about 3 seconds. In my frozen and shocked state, I also happened to register that after that angry outburst from the invisible presence, the ominous feeling of danger had lifted and was no longer present. Still shocked and not quite believing what I had just seen and heard, I tiptoed to the drapes and forced myself to peer behind them to see if there was anyone there. There was no one.

Author: ebonyandcrows

Hello and welcome to my page~ My name is Larisa--a very common Slavic name that was either derived from the Latin word hilaris, meaning "cheerful," or from the Greek city of Larissa, meaning "strong fortress." Born in Ukraine, I emigrated with my family to America when I was still a small child and now make my home in the beautiful Pacific Northwest. Growing up immersed in two vastly differing cultures led me to have a burning curiosity about people all over the world. Stemming from said curiosity, I have fallen in love with traveling to other countries, meeting new people and delving into their culture, exploring new cities, and of course, dining on the local cuisine! If I cannot escape into a different country, then my next favorite method of adventure is to lose myself in a spectacular book. I enjoy books of all genres--from fiction and novels, to biographies and ethnographies. As long as it captures my fancy and holds me spellbound the entire time, I will burn through the book like a forest fire! Because of this penchant for reading and travel, coupled with my love of deep and mysterious things, I have been often called a dreamer and I find the title suits me. With that being said, I invite you to stay a while, perhaps make yourself a cup of tea and linger through my posts and feel free to comment or share a thought :-)

52 thoughts on “The Visitor”

  3. Tap, tap, tap… My page must be broke. Wheres page two? Surely there is more, an answer as to who or what that presence was or is, right?

    Loved the flow and suspense sitting on this precipitous cliff of words, which by the way has a nice view over the eerie landscape and ominous clouds. ; )

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    1. I’m laughing! I don’t know what or who the presence was or why they were after me. I do have a few theories though.. Thank you so much for the kind evaluation of my story! I always appreciate your comments ☺️

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        1. Ahh but this isn’t fiction, my dear Poet, this is a true story. I tend to write exactly the way I think and visualize things in my mind. It’s a very straightforward process from brain to paper. More often than not, everything I post here is off the cuff.

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    1. I knew that if I were to brave running back to the house through the dark, I would never be able to stay in that little guest place on the edge of my parents property ever again. And their property is not haunted, I truly think it was a one-off. I slept with the lights on that night and with one eye open.

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      1. I’m surprised you slept at all that night after that! It sounds like a beautiful setting so I’m pleased it has not felt tainted overall by that experience. I like the way you wrote about it, kept me hooked from beginning to end 💖

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        1. Thank you so much Rachel! My parents have a beautiful large yard with flower gardens everywhere and bushes and trees and a private orchard and a large vegetable garden in the back. I love their property, especially in the summer. After I changed into my pajamas and climbed into bed, I called my sister and told her what happened and had her stay on the phone with me for a while until I was able to calm down enough. I dozed fitfully and then made my way to the house as soon as dawn made an appearance and proceeded to sleep in one of the empty rooms in the house. I never told my parents what happened.

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    1. Curious, what would you have done if faced in a similar situation? Remember, it’s a little guest room on the edge of the property, in the country, on a winter night. Everything outside is pitch black and deathly silent. Do you risk running back into the house? Or proceed to stay in the room like I did?

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      1. I probably would’ve went outside to face the fear cuz I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I didn’t check to see if anything was out there. Then I would stay in the guest room if I didn’t see anything

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    1. I’m glad you’re able to get so absorbed in the story! Those kinds of writers are my absolute favorite, where I can feel everything they are describing. I try to do that as much as I can when I recall something, I want the person listening to me to be right there with me in my memory. I also love when people write from the heart, and you do that when you write. That’s why I enjoy reading your posts 💗

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  10. Hauntingly penned, with such remarkably deft delicacy and skill that it preserves the beauty of the prose (or should I say prosaic poetry), and makes the entire piece seem like an effortless work of art – although it is quite apparent that the account is non fictional, and thus all the more chilling. Reading it at nighttime has enhanced the experience for me, yet I hope you never have to encounter such anxiety inducing experiences again.
    There is definitely a world of shadows that tries to extend its murky hand to lift the drapes of this our world and peep in – how we welcome it is up to us and how open we are to it – yet when all is said and done, it is not only unnatural but terrifyingly ominous!
    Felt the piece from start to finish. Thank you for this, Larisa. I love the dark quality of your art.

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    1. Isha, wow, I must go walk a lap around the house just to be able to absorb this stunning praise! How can I even begin to express my gratitude for your endorsement of this piece?! Every word was like an arrow—flying true, never wavering from their course straight through my heart. Thank you so much for your praise, you are indeed an accomplished master of your craft.

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    1. I will pass on haunted houses a thousand times over! I’ve had enough creepy experiences in my childhood also to last me a lifetime. You’re welcome to share your experiences 😉

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