My mother always reassured me that the dark was just the absence of light, nothing more. Every night, after tucking me firmly under my princess duvet. She would linger by the door, promising a good dream, oblivious to the true, systemic terror that took hold the moment the hall light vanished.

The first night, I dismissed it. It was exactly 8:00 pm when three sharp, deliberate knocks echoed from my front door. I had just settled into my worn armchair, the evening paper still crisp in my hands. I walked to the door,peered through the peephole, and saw nothing but the empty porch, the street lights casting long, lonely shadows. I figured it was some neighborhood kids prank and went back to my reading.