“`html
The chime of the doorbell sliced through the afternoon’s quiet like a surgeon’s scalpel. Andy, sprawled on the couch with a half-finished crossword and a lukewarm beer, grumbled. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Especially not on a Tuesday.
The Enigmatic Visitor
He peered through the peephole. Standing on his porch was a woman he’d never seen before. She was dressed impeccably, almost absurdly, for suburban cul-de-sac life: a crisp, floral dress, matching gloves, and a pillbox hat perched precariously on her neatly coiffed hair. She clutched a small, leather-bound book in her gloved hand. He cautiously opened the door.
“Can I help you?” Andy asked, his voice raspy from disuse.
The woman’s smile was unnervingly bright. “Good afternoon,” she said, her voice a lilting melody that seemed oddly out of place. “My name is Mrs. Eleanor Ainsworth. I’m new to the neighborhood, and I believe I have something of yours.”
Andy raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t imagine what this mysterious housewife could possibly have that belonged to him. “I’m not sure I follow.”
Mrs. Ainsworth held out the book. It was an old, slightly worn copy of “The Collected Works of Edgar Allan Poe.” Andy blinked. “That’s…that’s mine. I lost that years ago, back in college.”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Ainsworth said, her smile unwavering. “I found it tucked away in the attic of my new home. The previous owner was, shall we say, a rather…eccentric gentleman. He left behind many curious artifacts. This book had your name written inside.”
Andy took the book, turning it over in his hands. A wave of nostalgia washed over him. He remembered poring over Poe’s tales late into the night, fueled by cheap coffee and youthful angst. “Thank you,” he said, genuinely touched. “I really appreciate you returning this.”
“Think nothing of it,” Mrs. Ainsworth replied. “However,” she paused, her smile tightening just a fraction, “I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on something else I found. Something a little more…concerning.”
Her eyes flickered towards the house across the street, the one with the perpetually overgrown lawn and boarded-up windows. “The previous owner, Mr. Silas Blackwood, seemed to have been quite obsessed with certain…occult practices. I found a collection of strange objects, symbols, and books relating to…well, let’s just say it involves things better left undisturbed.”
Andy, who had always dismissed such things as nonsense, felt a prickle of unease. “And you think I know something about this?”
“Perhaps,” Mrs. Ainsworth said, her voice low. “The book contained a single, folded piece of paper. On it was written only one word: ‘Ravenwood.’ Does that name mean anything to you?”
Andy felt his stomach clench. Ravenwood. He hadn’t heard that name in years. It was the name of the secluded, abandoned estate where he and his college friends had held a drunken séance one fateful Halloween night. A night he’d tried to forget. A night that ended with…
He stopped himself. He couldn’t tell her. Not yet. “No,” he lied, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ve never heard of it.”
Mrs. Ainsworth’s smile didn’t falter. But her eyes, he now noticed, were as cold and dark as a raven’s wing. “I see,” she said softly. “Perhaps it will come to you. In the meantime, I may need your help to understand the artifacts I found. Consider it a neighborly request.”
She turned to leave, her floral dress swirling around her like a summer breeze. As she walked back towards her manicured lawn, she paused, turning back to face him. “By the way, Mr. Andrews,” she said, her voice dangerously sweet. “Mr. Blackwood always kept a list of important things. I think you might find this useful.”
She handed him a small, folded piece of paper. He took it, his hand trembling. As she walked away, he unfolded the paper and read the single word written in faded ink:
- Andrews
Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through him. The mysterious housewife wasn’t just a curious neighbor. She was something else entirely. And she knew more than she let on. What happens next? Andy closes the door, finding himself trapped in a nightmare he had hoped to forget.
“`
