The notification said WOMAN DETECTED AT FRONT DOOR. The clock said 2:13.

When Jen opens the Ring app, her sister Claire is on the porch. Barefoot. Bleeding. Telling her not to open the door. Not for anyone. Not even her.

Then a second Claire walks into frame behind the first.

Same face. Same hands. Same gray cardigan their mother bought two Christmases ago. One of them is begging to come inside. The other is begging Jen to keep her out.

Jen has not spoken to her sister in fourteen months. Not since the afternoon she found her seven-year-old son two miles from the house, in his pajamas, holding his aunt's hand on the shoulder of a county road. She does not know which Claire is real. She does not know if her husband, decent and reasonable and trying so hard to do the right thing, is about to make the worst mistake of their marriage. She only knows that by sunrise, one of the women on her porch will be gone, and one will be at her kitchen island, and she will have to choose which.

The thing about a test that gives a clear answer is that a clear answer is not always the right one.

A slow-burn domestic horror about a family, a doorbell, and the long quiet hours before dawn. One house. One night. Two sisters at the door, and only one of them is the one you remember.

Don't open the door tonight. Not for anyone. Not even me.

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• Literature & FictionHorrorShort Stories
• Mystery, Thriller & SuspenseSuspenseHorror
• Literature & FictionShort StoriesSingle Authors

• Text-to-Speech: Disabled
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• Print Length: 106 Pages
• File Size: 11 KB