words per minute
27
MWittgenstein
00:00
Speed
The emergency broadcast interrupted the late-night movie just as the detective on screen was about to reveal the killer. One moment, there was orchestral music and familiar dialogue, and the next, the picture cut to black.
White text appeared without warning.
EMERGENCY ALERT
DO NOT ANSWER THE DOOR IF YOU LIVE ALONE.
The message remained for thirty seconds.
No explanation. No list of affected areas. No instructions beyond that single sentence.
Then the movie resumed exactly where it had left off, as if nothing unusual had happened.
I muted the television.
Outside, rain traced thin lines down the apartment windows. The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen. Pipes shifted somewhere in the walls above me.
Ordinary sounds I had stopped noticing years ago suddenly felt deliberate. I lived alone.
I checked my phone, expecting updates. There were none. Social media filled quickly with speculation. Some people called it a technical error. Others treated it like a joke.
I was reading another increasingly ridiculous theory when someone knocked at my door.
Three measured taps. Not frantic.
Not forceful. Just enough to announce a presence.
I froze. Another three knocks followed.
I stood and walked into the hallway before realizing I had decided to move at all. The peephole sat at eye level near the center of the door.
I stopped short of it. The alert hadn't said to keep the door locked.
It hadn't said to call the police. It had said not to answer.
A voice drifted through the woods.
"Sorry to bother you," it said calmly. "I think the alert was sent by mistake."
I stayed silent.
"You can check the news. Everyone's talking about it."
The doorknob remained perfectly still.
Then the voice spoke again.
"I know you're alone."
A chill worked its way through me.
Silence stretched across the apartment.
When the voice returned, it sounded different.
Older. Tired. Almost pleading.
"Please," it whispered. "I don't want to be by myself."
My phone vibrated in my hand.
A new emergency notification appeared.
THE PREVIOUS MESSAGE REMAINS IN EFFECT.
DO NOT RESPOND TO INDIVIDUALS WHO CLAIM TO BE ALONE.
Before I could process the words, the knocking resumed.
Three measured taps. Patient. Unhurried.
As if the person outside understood that fear eventually gives way to curiosity.
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
The rain eased. The refrigerator cycled off. The apartment settled into a silence so complete I could hear my own breathing.
Eventually, dawn began to brighten the edges of the curtains. The knocking stopped.
I waited until sunlight filled the room before approaching the door.
I didn't touch the handle. I didn't look through the peephole.
Instead, I slid down the wall beside the entrance and sat there listening to the quiet beyond it.
My phone buzzed one final time.
EMERGENCY SERVICES ARE RESPONDING. CONTINUE AVOIDING CONTACT. FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS WILL FOLLOW.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. Outside, the hallway remained silent.
Inside, I finally understood that the hardest part of surviving isn't outrunning danger.
Sometimes it's resisting the unbearable need to know who was asking to be let in.