Member-only story
I Opened My Door to a Stranger’s
Panic Could Have Killed Me
It was almost 11 PM when I trudged up the stairs to my third-floor apartment. The flickering hallway light — broken for months despite my landlord’s empty promises — cast sickly shadows across the faded carpet. Just another Tuesday in the part of town real estate agents optimistically call “up-and-coming.”
I spotted him immediately.
A man standing at the end of my hallway, utterly still, like a piece of furniture someone had forgotten to remove. Nothing overtly threatening about him — no weapon, no aggressive stance — just the unnatural stillness that makes your primitive brain start firing warning signals.
My keys jangled nervously in my hand as I fumbled with the lock, feeling his eyes on my back. The door clicked shut behind me, and I exhaled. Safe.
Four minutes and twelve seconds later — I checked my phone later — three sharp knocks rattled my door.
My stomach dropped. No one knocks on doors at 11 PM with good news.
“Please,” a woman’s voice called, breathless and urgent. “Can you let me in for a second?”
Every crime show I’d ever binged screamed at me to ignore it. Every news story about home invasions flashed through my mind. My phone was in my hand, 9–1–1…
