“Dennis…” A voice whispered from the dark. “Dennis… Wake up, Dennis. We are coming.”

Dennis jolted up in a cold sweat. He turned to look at the clock. 4:22 AM, just like every morning for the last week.

“Screw it,” Dennis yawned. “I’m up. Might as well make some coffee.”

Dennis rolled out of bed, throwing his blanket to the floor. He sauntered toward the kitchen of his one bedroom apartment, eyes heavy with a decided lack of sleep. As he passed the mirror in the hall, he stopped to look at himself. His once jet-black hair was now showing signs of graying.

His eyes, once filled with joy, now were a dull brown. He almost didn’t recognize the man he had become these last six years. Where once was a young, strong handsome man now stood a forty-three year old weathered man.

“Christ, Dennis,” he snarled at himself. “You’ve really let yourself go since Megan disappeared.”

The words stung as he said this. Megan had been the love of his life. They had met at eighteen while they attended Harledge University. They spend nineteen good years together before fate took her from him. He had spent the better part of the last six years searching for any information about Megan.

Dennis shook his head to clear his mind and turned toward the kitchen. As he set the percolator to boil, he found himself thinking about the voice from his dreams. It sounded so familiar, yet not like anyone he could remember. What did it mean by ‘we are coming’, he wondered. As the week had gone on, the voice seemed to be getting slightly louder. At first, he couldn’t quite make out what the voice was saying.

“At this point it’ll be screaming at me by next Monday.” He laughed to himself. “For all I know, it could be the Devil calling me to Hell.”

As he laughed to himself, there came a soft knock at the door that startled Dennis. He jumped, and grabbed the knife that sat on the counter before slowly making his way toward the door. He had not expected visitors and did not like unexpected guests.

“Who is it?” Dennis called out, trying to sound as intimidating as he could.

“I apologize for calling on you so early, Mr. Madur.” A velvet voice called through the door. “My name is Mrs. Charlotte McBray. I have followed your investigations in the paper, and I believe you are the only person that can help me.”

“Just a moment, Mrs. McBray.” Dennis called out, feeling himself relax from the fright. “I’ll be right over.” ‘My investigations.’ He thought amusedly. ‘Nothing more than superstitious musings of a bygone era written for a tabloid pretending to be news.’

Dennis made his way toward the door, setting the knife down on the kitchen table as he went. He was almost ashamed of allowing himself to be frightened by such a gentle knock as Mrs. McBray made. Dennis composed himself as he opened the door and ushered Mrs. McBray to the sitting room.