The Name On The Door

That evening, Elias crossed Bellweather Street.

The rain had stopped, but the buildings still smelled of wet stone.

The front door of the old apartment block was unlocked.

Inside, the hallway was narrow and strangely warm. A row of brass mailboxes covered one wall. Most had names scratched into little white cards.

The final box was empty.

Elias climbed the stairs.

Second floor.

Third.

Fourth.

At the top, there was only one door.

Apartment 47.

A faded name remained beneath the number.

Mara Vale.

Elias stared at it.

He had heard the name before.

Not in Bellweather.

Somewhere else.

He took out his phone and searched.

The result appeared almost immediately.

A local newspaper article from eleven years earlier.

YOUNG WOMAN MISSING AFTER BELLWEATHER FIRE

The photograph beneath the headline showed the same face he had seen in the window.

Elias read the article twice.

Mara Vale, twenty-seven years old. Last seen in apartment 47. Firefighters had searched the building, but no body had ever been found.

A sound came from behind the door.

Three soft knocks.

Elias froze.

Then a woman’s voice whispered:

“Please.”

He reached for the handle.

The door opened before he touched it.

Inside, the apartment was dark.

At the far end of the room, beside the window, Mara was standing exactly where he had seen her the night before.

This time, she pointed behind him.

Elias turned.

The hallway was gone.

In its place was smoke.