The Blue Suit Visitor

Mara and I were sprawled across the floor of her attic bedroom, surrounded by discarded fairy lights and old yearbooks. It was our annual sleepover, and we were deep into our favorite ritual: scaring ourselves silly with tales of vengeful spirits and cursed objects. The afternoon sun had long since vanished, leaving the room in a murky twilight. We’d been at it for hours, the flashlight beam dancing across our faces as we tried to outdo each other with ever more absurd plot twists.

Just as I was describing a ghost with a penchant for rearranging porcelain dolls, a sound cut through my narrative. It was a rhythmic thump, like heavy footsteps pacing on the floorboards right outside Mara’s bed. We froze, the flashlight shaking in my hand. I slowly leaned over the edge of the mattress and peered into the gloom. The floor was empty, cluttered with socks and a discarded jacket. ‘It’s just the house settling,’ Mara whispered, but her voice was thin. I tried to laugh it off, but the sound had felt so close, so deliberate.

Later, as we were curled up in our sleeping bags, a knock rattled the bedroom door. Three sharp raps. Mara and I exchanged a look. Her parents were away, and her older sister was at a friend’s place. Cautiously, Mara unlocked the door and swung it open. The hallway was empty, the only light coming from a distant nightlight. ‘Probably the wind,’ she said, but neither of us believed it. We locked the door again and tried to sleep, but every creak of the old house made us jump.

Sometime in the dead of night, I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed a glass of water, or maybe just to reassure myself that the house was actually empty. I slid out of my sleeping bag, careful not to wake Mara, and padded downstairs. The kitchen was lit by the faint glow of the microwave clock. I drank from the tap and wandered through the living room, trying to shake the feeling of being watched. The house was still and silent, but it felt wrong, like the air was too thick.

I decided to head back up, my heart pounding. I climbed the stairs, and as I reached the landing, I saw something that made my blood turn to ice. Sitting in the wingback chair at the end of the hall, facing me, was a man. He wore a deep blue suit, immaculate, but his skin was the color of chalk. His face was a horror: no eyes, no nose, just two black voids and a lipless mouth that seemed to suck the light from the room. I felt a wave of dread and revulsion, a sense that I was trespassing in a place I didn’t belong.

I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to scream, but my voice was gone. The man didn’t move, but his head tilted slightly, as if he could sense my terror. I broke free from the paralysis and tore back to Mara’s bedroom, slamming the door behind me. I shook her awake, my words tumbling out in a frantic whisper. ‘There’s someone in the hall, a man, he’s not human!’ Mara sat up, her face pale. We huddled together, listening for any sound, but the house was silent. When we finally peeked out, the chair was empty.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of sleeplessness and whispered reassurances. When dawn finally broke, we crept downstairs, finding the house exactly as we left it. But as we passed the chair, I noticed a faint, dark stain on the fabric, like a residue of something malevolent. We never spoke of it again, but every creak, every shadow, every sense of being watched in an empty room would forever remind me of the blue suit and the visitor who should not have been there.