Who's There?

You're home alone. Someone's knocking. Go to the door. Look through the peephole. Read what's standing out there — and decide whether to open it. Some of them are people you know. Some of them only look like people you know. Every fake has exactly one thing wrong with it: a smile that never moves, a badge with nothing printed on it, eyes the wrong colour. You get a few seconds to find it. Get it wrong and it comes inside. Grab something to swing with, or get under the bed and stay quiet — but it knows about the bed, and sooner or later it comes to look. Seven nights. Two lives. Nobody is coming to help you.