At 5:02 a.m., my reclusive neighbor hammered on my door and whispered, “Don’t go to work today—by noon, you’ll understand,” then vanished like he’d just broken every rule keeping me alive

The first warning came before sunrise, in the kind of darkness that makes every sound seem intentional.

At 5:02 a.m., someone pounded on my front door hard enough to rattle the frame.

I woke upright in bed, heart already racing, my body moving before my mind caught up. For one suspended second, I didn’t know where I was. My room was a mass of shadows.continue reading …