The Pale Visitor

I’ve been staying at my great-aunt’s cottage in the Highlands since April, and ever since I arrived, I’ve been seeing things out of the corner of my eye. Mostly it’s just little flickers of light, like dust motes catching the sun, but they move with an intent that makes my skin crawl. I’ve tried to rationalize it, blame it on the old wiring or my tired eyes, but I know what I saw.

One evening, I was hiding in my aunt’s bedroom, trying to avoid a call from my mother, and I caught my reflection in the long mirror of the wardrobe. There was a dark shape, like a swirl of smoke, drifting off to the left, just out of frame. I turned, but the room was empty. In the living room, above the fireplace, there’s a large gilt mirror that reflects the whole room. I saw a pale, shimmering light, like a heat haze, float across its surface, but when I looked directly, there was nothing.

Another time, I was cleaning up my little brother’s scattered toy soldiers in the hall, and I saw a flicker of movement in my periphery, a shadow darting around the toys. I spun around, but again, nothing. The air felt cold, and the old floorboards creaked as if someone was stepping away.

Then, two weeks ago, I got news that an old friend, Liam, had passed away in his sleep. We hadn’t spoken in years, but it hit me harder than I expected. I’ve always been a night owl, so I was awake in the living room, lying on the fold-out bed, scrolling through my phone. Suddenly, a wave of unease washed over me, like I was being watched. I looked up, and there he was: a boy, about my age, with blond hair and wearing blue pajamas, standing by the window. Liam had been blond, and blue was his favorite color, and he’d died in blue pajamas. I blinked, thinking I was imagining things, but he was still there, his face pale and his eyes empty. I pulled the blanket over my head and whispered, ‘Please go away.’ When I peeked out again, he was gone.

After that, I started to notice more things. The orbs appeared more often, sometimes in my room, sometimes in the kitchen. I’d see them in the corner of my eye, then they’d vanish. Once, I saw a black orb hovering near my little brother’s crib, and I panicked, rushing to check on him. He was sleeping soundly, but the air around him felt heavy, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was here was paying attention to him now.

I tried to talk to my aunt about it, but she just smiled and said, ‘The house is old, dear. It’s full of memories.’ She didn’t seem alarmed, but I noticed she’d started leaving small bowls of salt by the windowsills, and she always made the sign of the cross before bed.

Last night, I was reading in the study when I saw the boy again, clearer than ever. He was standing in the doorway, his blue pajamas looking almost neon in the dim light. He raised a hand, as if to beckon me, and I noticed his fingers were slightly translucent. I wanted to run, but I was frozen. He opened his mouth, and I thought I heard a whisper, but it was like the sound of wind through dry leaves. Then he pointed at the floor, and I saw a small, dark hole in the floorboards that I hadn’t noticed before. It was like a keyhole, but larger, and faintly glowing.

I don’t know what he wants, but I’m starting to think he’s not here to hurt me. Maybe he’s trying to tell me something. But I’m afraid of what I’ll find if I follow him. I’ve started sleeping with the lights on, and I’ve placed a line of salt across my bedroom threshold. But I can still feel him watching me, waiting. And I know that sooner or later, I’m going to have to look through that hole.

Tonight, I decided to investigate. I waited until the house was quiet, then I crept into the study. The hole was still there, pulsing with a faint light. I knelt down and peered into it. Instead of darkness, I saw a vast, empty space, like a frozen lake under a starless sky. And in the distance, I saw the boy, standing alone, his back to me. He turned his head, and his eyes were black, and he mouthed, ‘Help me.’ I staggered back, my heart pounding. I swear I could feel cold hands on my shoulders, pushing me away from the hole, and I heard a woman’s voice whisper, ‘Not yet.’ I scrambled to my feet and ran back to my room, slamming the door.

I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight. But I know I can’t ignore this forever. Whatever is in this house, it wants me to know something. And I’m terrified that if I don’t help, it’ll never let me go.

I’ve decided to leave the cottage in the morning. I’ll tell my aunt I need to go back home. But as I pack my bags, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m making a terrible mistake. The boy’s face haunts me, and the last thing I see before I close my eyes is that hole, waiting like an open mouth. I guess some visitors aren’t meant to be seen, but they never really leave.

In the end, I stayed one more night, hoping to find peace. But when the clock struck midnight, I heard a soft tapping on my door. I opened it, and there he was, holding an old photograph in his hand. It was a picture of me and Liam, taken years ago at a beach. He was smiling, but his eyes in the photo were black as coal. The boy pointed at the date on the back, and I saw it was the day I’d first arrived. Then he faded, and the photo fell to the floor. When I picked it up, the date had changed to today, and my own eyes in the picture were black. I dropped it as if it were on fire, and now I know: whatever is in this house, it’s already inside me, and the hole is a portal to what I’m becoming.

I’m writing this in my diary, my hands shaking, because I think the transformation is beginning. I caught my reflection in the mirror, and for a moment, I saw the pale foreigner, the boy, superimposed on my face. My eyes were black. I don’t know how much time I have before I’m fully lost, but I know one thing for certain: I should have left long ago, before the visitor found me. But now it’s too late. The black orb has found its home.