The snowstorm started just after midnight.
By 2 a.m., the entire town had lost power.
I was alone in my cabin when someone knocked on the door.
Three slow knocks.
I almost didn’t answer.
Nobody lived within miles of me.
But when I opened the door…
a little girl was standing barefoot in the snow.
She couldn’t have been older than seven.
Her coat was soaked.
Her lips were blue.
And she was holding a photograph.
“Please,” she whispered.
“My mommy said you would recognize him.”
I looked down at the picture…
and nearly collapsed.
Because the man in the photograph was my brother.
The same brother we buried ten years ago.
(Part 2 in comments…)
I brought the little girl inside immediately.
She was freezing.
I wrapped her in blankets while the storm screamed outside.
Then I asked where she got the photograph.
She stared at me quietly and said:
“My mommy keeps it under her bed.”
I looked closer at the picture.
It was definitely my brother.
Same eyes.
Same leather jacket.
Same scar above his eyebrow.
But something was wrong.
The photo wasn’t old.
It had been printed recently.
My hands started shaking.
“What’s your mother’s name?”
The little girl answered instantly.
“Claire.”
My stomach dropped.
Claire was my brother’s girlfriend before he died.
Nobody had seen her since the funeral.
Then the girl said something that made my blood run cold.
“Mommy says he didn’t die in the accident.”
The cabin went completely silent.
“She says somebody in your family killed him.”
And then…
someone knocked on the door again.
Leave a Reply