Horror Stories - 7 Disturbing TRUE Home Alone Horror Stories That Went Terribly Wrong

Episode Date: March 6, 2026

☕ Support the show, send your own horror stories, and help shape future episodes. 🎧 Join the darkness here: ⁠https://buymeacoffee.com/horrorstoriesnetwork⁠ 7 Disturbing TRUE Home Alone Horror Stories featuring real-life encounters that prove being alone at home can sometimes be terrifying. What begins as a normal quiet night quickly turns into something far more disturbing when strange sounds, unexpected movements, and unexplained events start to happen. These true horror stories slowly build suspense, capturing the chilling moment when someone realizes they may not be alone after all. From late-night noises to encounters that defy explanation, each story reveals how quickly a peaceful night can turn into a nightmare. Listen in the dark with headphones for the full experience. After the final story, you may find yourself checking every lock and shadow in your house. #TrueHorrorStories #HomeAloneHorror #ScaryStories #DisturbingStories #RealLifeHorror #PsychologicalHorror #CreepyStories #NightHorror #StorytimeHorror #HorrorNarration 7 disturbing true home alone horror stories, home alone horror stories true, scary home alone stories based on real events, disturbing true horror stories compilation, real life home invasion horror stories, psychological horror true stories, creepy home alone encounters, horror storytime compilation, scary stories to listen at night, true horror podcast stories, unsettling true stories, realistic horror narration, late night horror stories true, someone inside my house story, real paranormal encounter story, intense true horror narration, creepy midnight stories, horror narration youtube, terrifying real life stories, dark true stories compilation, chilling true horror experiences, unexplained real events horror, immersive horror storytelling, creepy house true story, realistic thriller true stories, disturbing encounter true story, horror compilation 2026, true scary stories youtube, night time horror narration, real fear stories, unsettling midnight encounters, horror storytelling channel, creepy footsteps story true, based on real events horror, disturbing home invasion stories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Book on Hilton.com or the Hilton app and save up to 20% to get the stay you expected. When you want savings, not surprises. It matters where you stay. Hilton for this day. Hello everyone and welcome back to horror stories. I know many of you use these episodes to fall asleep, so before you drift off, I'd love it if you could leave a comment

letting me know where you're listening from around the world. Also, don't forget to like and subscribe if you're enjoying the episodes. Story one. It was right in the middle of summer when it happened. My parents had gone away for the weekend to our house in Cape Cod, which is about a two-hour drive, so it wasn't unusual for them to leave me alone for a few days.

My mom had left me a bunch of food in the fridge, pulled pork, some pasta, and a bit of money in case I wanted to order pizza. I wasn't worried at all. I was 17. I had the whole house to myself, and my plan was basically to stay up late playing Xbox. That first night was perfect. I stayed up until almost 3 a.m. playing, with the music blasting, eating junk food and enjoying the quiet. When I finally woke up the next day, it was already past 1 o'clock in the afternoon. I had plans to meet up with some friends at 3 o'clock to play street hockey. So I got in the shower, still half asleep and scrolling on my phone like I always do. when I shower while I'm alone, especially if my parents aren't home.

I usually take my time. 40, maybe 45 minutes go by before I even realize how long I've been in there. I was watching a video when suddenly I heard something, the sound of the back door opening. It's an old, heavy wooden, old, heavy wooden door that makes a very specific creaking sound when it moves. My body went cold. The bathroom is right above the back door and I knew I was supposed to be the only one in the house. At first I didn't even breathe. I just stood there with the water running, listening.

After about two minutes of silence, I tried to convince myself it was maybe the wind. Or maybe my parents had come back early. Still something didn't add up. I turned off the water, grabbed a towel and stabbed. stepped out carefully. Our staircase, the one that goes from the second floor down to the kitchen, is narrow and enclosed. You can't see the kitchen until you reach the last step. Every step squeaks, and with the house being so old, it's impossible to move without making noise. But I tried. I went slowly step by step, trying not to even breathe too loudly. But I tried. But I went slowly,

step by step, trying not to even breathe too loudly. By the time I reached the second to last step, my heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. I stopped there, took a deep breath to calm myself, and told myself I was being paranoid. There was no reason anyone would be in the kitchen. Then to shake off how stupid I was being, I quietly laughed at how ridiculous I was acting, Walked down the last two steps normally and turn the corner. That's when I saw him. In the middle of my kitchen there was a man, standing there barely two feet away from me, looking me straight in the eyes, with a frozen smile stretched across his face.

I don't even know how to explain what I saw. He didn't move. He didn't say anything. He just smiled. But what stuck with me the most wasn't his express. It was his arms. He didn't have them hanging naturally at his sides. He had them twisted behind his back at a strange impossible angle, rotatored in a way that didn't even seem human. It was so unnatural it made my stomach turn. I think I stopped breathing for a second. And before I could think, I stepped forward and punched him straight in the jaw. It was more of a desperate swing than a clean punch, but the first force made him stumble backward. I didn't stay to see what he did next. I dropped the towel, sprinted up the stairs naked, and slammed my bedroom door. My hands were shaking so badly it took

me several tries to turn the lock. Then I wedged a chair under the doorknob like in the movies. I called 911 with trembling fingers, barely able to get the words out. The operator tried to calm me down, asking if I could describe the guy, but all I could manage was that there was someone in my house. Then while I was there pressed to the floor still holding the phone, I noticed something. The light under my door disappeared. The floorboards in the hallway creak softly. It hit me that he was right outside my room. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I just stared at the gap under the door, watching the faint shadow of his feet shifting, barely, almost imperceptibly. The operator kept repeating, Sir, sir, can you hear me? But I stayed frozen. Every sound, every

creak, made my stomach tighten even more. After what felt like an eternity, the light came back. I heard the floorboards creak again, this time moving away slowly. Then silence. I I didn't dare move until I heard pounding on the front door and someone yelling, Police! When I finally opened up, two officers were standing in the hallway. I must have looked out of my mind, shaking in half naked, but the relief I felt was overwhelming. They searched the house, every room, every closet, even the basement. But whoever that man was, he was gone.

He had vanished completely. Since then, my parents refused to leave me alone at night. I still double-check every door and every window before I go to bed, and sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night convinced I hear that creek again. The police never found him, and I never got an explanation for who he was or what he wanted. Story 2. It happened a few years ago in a quiet rural area of the...

United Kingdom. My friend Zara, who worked as a small-scale influencer, had just had her second child. Her husband had gone on a short golf trip with his friends, something he often did. Leaving her alone with the kids, she was used to it. But that weekend was different. It was late October, one of those stormy nights when the thunder seemed to rattle the walls, and every gust of wind sounded like a whisper against the window. She told me that as the evening went on, she started to feel uneasy. The house sat at the edge of a long country road,

surrounded by fields with no close neighbors. By nine o'clock, the rain had turned into a downpour, and she was finishing a cup of coffee in the kitchen. After putting both children to bed, she did her usual routine. Check the locks, made sure the windows were closed, and then noticed something strange. The back door was slightly ajar.

At first she thought maybe she hadn't closed it properly earlier, but before she could even reach her hand toward the handle, a sudden dizziness washed over her. Her vision blurred, her legs went weak, and everything went black. When she came to, she was sitting upright in one of her own kitchen chairs, breathing hard through her nose. It took her a few seconds to understand why. Her mouth was sealed shut with duct tape.

Panic hit almost instantly. She tried to move, but her arms were taped behind the chair back, and her ankles were tied together. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her ears. Then with a soft click, the ceiling light turned on. In front of her stood a man wearing a dark hoodie with a hood up and a scarf covering his mouth. He was calm, disturbingly calm. His voice sounded muffled but steady when he spoke.

I'm not going to hurt you, he said. Just tell me, do you keep money in the house? Zara tried to answer, but all that came out were desperate, muffled sounds behind the tape. The man took it as a know and began moving around the kitchen collecting things. Her jewelry, her husband's watch. anything that looked valuable. He stuffed it all into a large black duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Then as he approached the door, he stopped.

His next words chilled her to the bone. Don't worry, he said quietly. Your children are still asleep. That single sentence hit her harder than anything else. The thought that a stranger had been close enough to her children to know they were sleeping nearly broke her. Before leaving, he turned back to her and said, almost gently, I'm sorry about this. Then he disappeared into the storm outside. Zara stayed motionless for a few seconds before twisting her face enough to peel the tape off her mouth. As soon as she managed to get it off,

she screamed for help, even though she knew no one would hear her. After struggling and tearing at the tape For what felt like forever, she finally managed to free her hands. She ran upstairs to check on her children. Both were still asleep, untouched. The police arrived shortly after she called them. They found fingerprints, and later that same week they arrested the man. It turned out he knew who Zara was because of her online presence. He told officers he had been watching her for some time.

that he knew her husband was away, and that he had planned the robbery carefully. He had even drugged her coffee before sneaking in through the back door. That was why she passed out so suddenly. He claimed he was desperate, that he had lost his business and didn't want to hurt anyone, but that didn't change what he did. Zara recovered, at least physically, but something like that leaves a mark that doesn't fade easily. She later told me that even though she came to feel some compassion for what drove him to that point,

she never managed to shake the feeling of being watched when she was home alone. Even now, years later, every creek of the house or every gust of wind outside still makes her pulse race. Story 3 This happened in the early 2000s when I was about 12 years old. My dad had passed away two years earlier. And at home it was just my mom, my older sister, and me. To help me cope, my mother took me to an animal shelter to adopt a dog, something I had wanted for as long as I could remember.

That's where I found him. A small shepherd and husky mix curled up in the corner of his kennel. Shy but with the kindest eyes, I knew immediately he was the one. We named him Max. By the time what I'm about to tell happened, he was around a year old, about 88 pounds. And he was basically my best friend. My mom worked night shifts, and my sister would usually take the opportunity to go out with her friends, leaving me home alone. I never complained.

It meant I could stay up late playing video games without her bossing me around. We lived in a quiet middle-class neighborhood. One of those places where people left their doors unlocked and kids played outside until it got dark. I never really felt unsafe until that night. It was one of those warm summer nights when the house seems to fall into total silence. I was in the living room with a controller in my hand when I got thirsty and decided to grab something to drink. From the kitchen, you could see the backyard clearly through the glass door. As I passed by, I noticed the garage door was completely open.

I assumed I'd forgotten to close it after putting my bike away earlier. So, without thinking too much, I went out to shut it. Max was in the basement, his favorite spot in the summer because of the cool cement floor. It didn't occur to me to call him. It was supposed to be a quick trip. I walked out barefoot, and I hadn't even taken five steps. into the yard when I saw it, something moving inside the garage. At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. It was dark and the shadows seemed to shift with the flicker of the street light.

But then I made it out clearly, a crouched figure, rummaging through something in the corner. I froze. My brain was still trying to process what I was seeing when the figure stood up. A man. He turned toward me, and I knew instantly he'd seen me too. The porch light right above my head lit me up like I was on display, while he stayed half hidden in the shadows. Without warning, he started running straight at me. For a second I couldn't move. I opened my mouth, but what came out wasn't a scream.

It was a choked, panicked croak, and that was enough. From inside the house I heard a deep growl. followed by the thunder of paws hitting the floor. Max burst through the open door behind me, his fur bristling, teeth bared, and a guttural growl that even made me flinch. The man stopped dead. He hesitated for just an instant,

long enough for me to see his outline and notice the way his body tensed. Then he turned and bolted for the fence. Max lunged after him, barking so loudly the echoed, carried through the entire neighborhood. The guy reached the fence just in time and vaulted over it in one jump, with Max almost catching his leg.

When the intruder disappeared into the darkness, Max rushed back to me, his tail still stiff and his chest heaving. I dropped to my knees and hugged him hard, shaking. I pulled him inside with me, locked every door and window I could find, and shoved a chair against the back door. Even though I knew it wouldn't do much, I didn't call the police. I didn't even tell my mom or my sister. I don't know why.

I think I was too scared to talk about it. Like saying it out loud would make it more real. The next morning, with the sun already up and my mom back from work, I finally went back out to close the garage. That's when I saw what the man had been going after. My dad's old toolbox, half open on the ground, with the tools scattered everywhere. He must have been looking for something valuable, maybe planning to take the whole box. This time I locked the garage and made sure it stayed that way.

I never mentioned it to anyone. It became my secret. Something I tried to convince myself hadn't happened. But I never forgot the sound of Max's growl, that deep primitive rumble that probably saved me that night. Later that same day, I took him for a walk to McDonald's, bought him a hamburger and an ice cream cone, and said out loud that he was my hero. Story 4. My boyfriend manages several restaurants, which means he often gets home absurdly late.

Sometimes he doesn't come back until 3 a.m. When he has night shifts, I usually wake up to wait for him, half asleep on the couch in case he needs a bath or a coffee. By now it's just habit. That particular night, he calls me around 1.15 and says he'll be home in an hour. If I call you when I'm close, start filling the bathtub. Okay, I tell him, I hang up, make a cup of tea.

and put Netflix back on. Our block has a security gate that locks at 10 p.m. You need a key or someone inside has to buzz you in. At that hour the building is silent. Around 2 a.m., the intercom for my apartment starts ringing once. Then again, and again, held down as if someone has their finger glued to the button. At first, I think someone forgot their key, but it keeps dialing my number over and over, not the ground floor intercom.

It's that kind of insistent buzzing that makes your stomach drop. I pause the show and go to the bedroom window, which looks out onto the building entrance. There are five men at the gate, big, bulky, and standing with a posture that's far too relaxed for that hour. One is right in front of the panel, and I watch impress only the number from my apartment. apartment. My heart sinks. Who the hell is buzzing my place at 2 a.m.? Part of me wants to pick up and yell, Who are you? The other part goes cold. I'm a small woman, and the idea of speaking into the stairwell at that hour makes my skin crawl. I call my boyfriend. He's still on his way, about 45 minutes out. But he promises to phone his father. Luke, a police officer who lives nearby.

Tell him to come straight over and stay with you, he says. I keep my eyes fixed on the gate while I'm on the phone. The buzzing doesn't stop. Whoever it is keeps the button pressed, like they're trying to force someone to let them in. Luke shows up maybe ten minutes later. I watch from the window as he approaches key already in hand. He doesn't hesitate. He walks up to the group and starts talking to them. A few minutes pass and Luke opens the main door, comes in, and climbs up to my floor to check that I'm okay. The relief is so intense I almost start crying. We sit with awful tea and he tells me exactly what he said to them. The men claim they knew someone on my floor. My girl lives on the fourth and that they have. They have to be. They have to them. The men claim they knew someone on my floor. My girl lives on the fourth. And that they have to have. They have. They tell me. They tell us. The men claim they have. The men claim they have. The

had nowhere to stay. One of them even suggested we let them in to see her together. Luke told them flat out no and pointed out that he also knew someone on the floor, me the boyfriend's girlfriend, and that he was her boyfriend's father. He warned them to leave. Apparently, that was what finally made them back off. He told them very clearly that he would personally make sure they were arrested if they came back. And he added that if they didn't go, things could get ugly. They bolted, turned around and ran. Luke opened the door to walk the hallway, make sure they were really gone and checked the area. He said he got the impression they might have been testing the building systematically, buzzing multiple apartments to see who responded. But since they had only been

pressing my number. It all felt like a targeted attempt. Just thinking about it makes my stomach twist again. My boyfriend arrived soon after, and Luke stayed for a while to make sure we were okay. I tried to sleep, but every creek on the stairs kept me wide awake. The night felt smaller, like the world beyond my door had sharpened into something dangerous for the first time. Looking back, it makes me furious how naive I was. I thought a buzz at 2 a.m. would be a drunk neighbor or someone locked out. It wasn't. It was men who had gone out of their way to buzz only my apartment.

I still have that intercom sound lodged in my head. After that, we changed a few habits. I stopped staying up waiting alone all the time. We installed a small alarm for the apartment door, and my boyfriend's dad keeps a copy of the key in case of emergencies. I'll always be grateful to Luke for showing up when he did. If he hadn't, who knows what would have happened. Story 5. That summer was supposed to be quiet.

Just me and my grandparents' house in Spain. Son, work, and a little peace so I could catch up on overdue. university assignments. At first a friend came with me. She had finished her degree and wanted to find seasonal work there. But after a few weeks of unsuccessful interviews, she decided to go back home. My grandparents were scheduled to fly in two weeks, and my cousins would arrive a little after that. So I figured it was better to stay than waste the ticket. I had never been completely alone in a foreign country, and I kept telling myself it would be good for me. A little independence, a little focus. The days passed in silence. I didn't know anyone. I could barely communicate in the language,

and my only interaction with people was the occasional smile or not at the grocery store. By day 10, I had a routine, work, eat, walk, repeat. That day I ran out of grocery. and decided to make the short trip to the neighborhood shop. I was halfway down one of the aisles when a man walking past me said, Hello. I thought he was talking to someone else, but when I looked up, I saw he was staring right at me. I gave him a polite smile and kept going.

I noticed him a few more times while I shopped at the end of aisles, passing nearby, glancing at me. It was subtle enough that I couldn't call him. at anything but coincidence, but enough to make me slightly tense. When I got to the checkout, I realized he was right in front of me in line. He turned, smiled, and gestured for me to go ahead. It was a kind gesture, so I thanked him and stepped forward. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time I paid. Every time I turned my head, his gaze was already waiting. I left the store quick, and started walking back, trying to shake the feeling. As I passed the neighbor's house,

a car slowed down beside me. I turned and it was him, the same man from the supermarket. He rolled down the window and started speaking quickly in Spanish, gesturing for me to get in. I froze. He was smiling, pointing at the passenger seat, and talking faster and louder. I didn't understand much, but I caught words like Kosh and Kasa, Car, House, and just that made my stomach twist. I shook my head. No, thank you. No. He kept insisting, unfazed. I repeated it louder in motion for him to go away, taking a step back. Finally, he frowned, muttered something and drove off slowly. like he wasn't in any hurry to leave. I stood there for a minute, making sure he was really gone before I continued home.

I didn't want him to see exactly where I lived. The house was surrounded by a wall about six feet high, with motion sensor lights along the perimeter and bars on every window. My grandparents always said that made it very safe. That night I was grateful it was. I locked everything carefully, lowered the shutters, and tried to convince myself the man had just been overly friendly. Around 3 a.m., the motion light in front of the main door suddenly turned on. My bedroom faced that side of the house.

It wasn't unusual. Sometimes it got triggered by insects or stray cats. But then the light next to my window came on, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps. They weren't quick, careless steps. They were slow, heavy enough to crunch the gravel. My body went rigid. I couldn't move. I couldn't even breathe normally.

The light turned off after a few seconds and I stayed alert, listening hard. Then it happened again. Light on, footsteps, silence. Whoever it was was right outside my room. I lay motionless under the sheet. staring at the ceiling, with my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my head. After what felt like an eternity, the lights went off and didn't come on again. I didn't move until the sun started filtering through the shutters. When there was finally enough light, I got up and checked the locks.

Everything was still in place. No broken windows, no signs of forced entry. But that didn't calm me down. I called my parents as soon as it was a reasonable hour in their time zone. They immediately contacted family friends who lived nearby. And within hours I had my bag packed and was staying at their house. I spent the next three nights there waiting for my grandparents to arrive. Nothing else happened but the image wouldn't leave my head. The shadow of a man right outside my window, waiting, listening. I still don't know if it was the same man from the supermarket, but it feels too connected to be a coincidence.

I'm grateful my grandparents' house is basically a fortress, even though that night changed something in me. I used to love silence. Now silence feels like the most terrifying sound in the world. Story 6. This happened right after New Year's in 2011. I was 17 years old in my senior year of high school, and I was home alone for the first time in my life. My parents had gone out of state to visit my grandparents, but because I had exams and assignments due, I stayed behind. Normally, they never would have left me alone for that long, nine days in the middle of nowhere, with no siblings around.

But I insisted I'd be fine. I wasn't. Our house sat on ten acres of land in a rural part of Tennessee, surrounded by woods and long stretches of nothing. It was a peaceful place, the kind of quiet where you can hear even the whisper of every leaf outside the window. That night, I was in bed around 2 a.m., texting a friend and half watching YouTube when our three Labradors went off.

It wasn't their usual something's outside barking. It was deeper, louder, desperate. I figured it was probably a raccoon or a deer, maybe even a coyote. Sometimes they showed up. They calmed down after a minute or two and I went back to scrolling. But about five minutes later, I heard a sound that froze my blood. It sounded like a window sliding open. the one in the downstairs room directly beneath mine.

At first I thought I was imagining it. Maybe it was the wind. Maybe I was too tired. But then came footsteps, slow, deliberate, creaking on the wooden staircase that led straight to my bedroom. I went rigid. My door was right beside the final stretch of stairs. If whoever it was came up, they'd be in front of it in seconds. Without making a sound, I reached out and slid the lock.

Then I texted my friend. There is someone in my house. Call 911. I stayed there, my heart racing, barely breathing, listening to the sounds of drawers opening. Things falling, the dull clink of dishes. Whoever was inside wasn't trying to be quiet. They moved through the kitchen and living room,

opening every cabinet, every drawer. I even heard them tear open a trash bag and dump it out onto the floor. The 911 operator tried calling my phone, but I didn't dare answer. I was afraid they'd hear the vibration or my voice. My friend stayed on the line with them and relayed everything I typed. I told them what I could hear, what I thought was happening. The footsteps moved away and then came back. At one point I heard the floorboards creak right outside my door.

I covered my mouth with my hand, praying they wouldn't try the handle. After a few endless minutes, the footsteps started going back down again. Then silence. No barking, no footsteps, nothing. I didn't move for 40 minutes. I just stayed there shaking, gripping my phone, tears running down my face. When I finally saw the flashing lights of police cars through the window, I almost cried from relief. They knocked on my window to tell me it was safe.

And when I opened the door to let them in, something strange happened. The security alarm went off. It had been armed the whole time. The siren screeched so loudly I jumped. That's when an officer told me something that still gives me chills. The only window in the entire house without a sensor was the exact one I'd heard open, the one directly beneath my bedroom. The sensor had recently come loose and my dad hadn't had time to fix it.

Whoever came in knew exactly where to go. The police didn't find anything missing. Whoever it was didn't come for valuables. They only rummaged around like they were searching for something specific. The window was left completely open, the curtain blowing in the cold air. A few days later, my neighbor called to say their house had been broken into, too. Same thing, nothing stolen, just everything turned over. To this day, I don't know who it was or what they were looking for.

They never caught anyone. I still think about that night, about how the dogs tried to warn me. and how easily everything could have gone worse if I hadn't locked the door. When my parents came back, I went days without sleeping. I used to love being home alone. Now even silence makes my heart race. Story 7. This happened when I was around 12 or 13,

living in a quiet rural area with only a few houses scattered along our road, spaced far apart with large stretches of forests between them. It was the kind of neighborhood where you could go an entire day without seeing anyone, and that usually made me feel safe. But that changed one afternoon when I stayed homesick and didn't go to school. My parents worked full time, so I was used to being alone from early morning until late afternoon. Honestly, I liked it, watching TV and pajamas, making soup, and having the whole house to myself. That day started out like any other. However, around 1 p.m., I heard knocking at the front door.

At first, I didn't think much of it and ignored it. I was too tired to get up, and my parents had always told me never to open the door to strangers when I was home alone. But the knocking came again, louder this time. I got up and looked out my upstairs bedroom window. There was a man outside, leaning down. toward the small window next to the front door, trying to look inside. He had a truck parked in our driveway with a company logo on the side. I recognized it, the exterminator. He had been a couple of times before, but my mother hadn't mentioned that he was scheduled to come that day.

That made me nervous immediately. Still, I thought maybe she'd forgotten to tell me something. I decided not to answer and figured he would leave. But as I was walking to the kitchen to get a glass of water, I saw movement near the back window. And there he was again. He had walked around the house to the back deck and was now peering through the windows, cupping his hands around his face to block the reflection. My stomach dropped. He wasn't checking anything.

He was looking inside. I crouched behind the wall, holding my breath. He moved slowly along the deck, stopping to peer into different windows. It felt like forever before he finally disappeared from view. I peaked again carefully, and his truck was still there. Our living room had large glass doors that opened into a sunroom, and the sunroom opened onto the deck. I was about to turn away when I froze.

He was inside the sunroom. I crouched behind a coffee table, terrified he was going to try the handle next. My cat's scooter was sitting by the glass door staring at him. Her fur was puffed up and she was hissing. The man saw her, smiled strangely, and leaned in closer. That's when I jumped up and, with my voice shaking and said through the glass, You can't be in there. He turned his head, startled, and then smiled like nothing was wrong.

Oh, hi, he said casually. You're Emma, right? My blood ran cold. I had no idea how he knew my name. I hesitated for a second and said, Yes, how do you know me? He smiled, showing his teeth. I know your parents.

Can I come in to inspect? I said quickly. They're not home. He looked me over for a moment and then said, Okay, I'll come back another time. His tone was light, but there was something about the way he said it that made my skin crawl.

I just wanted him gone, so I nodded and shut the door. I ran upstairs and looked out the window. He got into his truck, but he didn't leave right away. He sat there watching the house for almost two full minutes before finally driving down the road. I called my mother immediately and asked if she had scheduled the exterminator. She hadn't.

When I told her what happened, she sounded alarmed and told me to lock every door and window until she got home. That night I explained everything again, how he knew my name, how he had walked around the house and even gone into the sunroom. My mother said she vaguely remembered that same extermination. from a visit months earlier, but there was no way he should have known my name, and she definitely hadn't called him that day. She contacted the company he supposedly worked for, and they told her no one had been scheduled to come to our address. We never found out who that

man really was. He never came back, and we never saw that truck again. But for years afterward, every time someone knocked on the door, I would free me. for a second, half expecting to see that same man standing there, smiling like he already knew me.