What The Storm Brought Home

The weather app still said “CLEAR,” but the sky clearly had other plans. One minute everything was normal. The next, the storm hit so violently it almost felt personal. Aria had been curled up on the couch with her wine, half-watching a show and scrolling through social media. Now the wind was throwing itself at her house like it wanted inside. Rain pounded the windows, and lightning flashed across the sky.

She muted the TV, the sudden quiet making the storm sound even louder. Something didn’t feel right.

Another crack of thunder rolled over the roof, loud enough to make the lights flicker. A couple of picture frames on the wall rattled from the vibration. Aria set her phone down on the couch, turned off the TV, and pushed herself to her feet.

She hesitated, then crossed the living room to the front window. The heavy gray curtains were already drawn, swaying slightly from the draft. She pulled one side back just enough to see through the narrow strip of glass.

At first, she could barely make out anything past the heavy rain. The streetlights blurred into dull yellow smudges, and the neighboring houses were only vague shapes. Then a flash of lightning lit up the yard.

A man was standing at the edge of her lawn.

Aria sucked in a breath.

He was just there—no umbrella, no hood, nothing to block the storm—standing tall and completely still, head tilted down as the rain rolled over him like he couldn’t feel it.

She let the curtain fall and backed away, her pulse spiking until she had to steady herself with a hand on the wall.

She moved away from the window, crossed the room, then circled back again. Outside, the storm only got louder. She stopped a few feet from the window and closed her eyes. It would be stupid to look again. It would be worse not to. Aria pulled in a breath, reached out, and drew the curtain back a second time.

He was still there. Same spot. Same posture.

The rain blurred his outline, but lightning gave her enough: the dark green climbing shirt clinging to broad shoulders, soaked athletic pants, boots planted firmly in the grass. The straps of a harness hung twisted at his hips, the frayed ends of a cut rope trailing from one side. His face was shadowed, but she knew instantly that his eyes were on her.

Her throat went dry. She knew the build, the stance, the outfit—every piece of it too familiar.

She dropped the curtain again and stepped away more quickly this time, the back of her legs hitting the edge of the coffee table. The wine glass wobbled but didn’t spill. Her fingers curled into fists.

She crossed the living room and headed down the short hall toward the kitchen. She turned on the light, which flickered once before steadying, then went straight to the drawer by the stove and pulled it open. Forks and spoons clattered together as she pushed them aside until her fingers wrapped around the handle of the biggest knife she owned. She tightened her grip and closed the drawer with her hip.

Coming back, she stopped by the window, drew in a breath, and pulled the curtain aside with a sharp motion.

The lawn was empty.

Aria let the curtain fall shut and stepped back, breath unsteady.

“You’re losing it.” she whispered.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

The sound hit the front door hard enough to make her jump. She spun toward the entryway—only for a second round of knocks to follow, just as steady and sure.

Her bare feet were silent on the hardwood as she made her way toward the door.

“Who is it?” she called, her voice sounding more frightened than she wanted it to.

Silence lingered for only a moment before the knocking came again—three slow, solid hits that shook the frame. Whoever was out there wasn’t interested in announcing who they were.

Her hand went to the lock before she fully decided to open the door. She slid the chain free, turned the deadbolt, and wrapped her fingers around the knob. She pulled the door open. A rush of cold, wet air hit her. The porch light cast a weak circle of light, and he was standing right there.

Caleb.

He was soaked through, rain streaming from his hair and pooling at his feet. His face was expressionless; his eyes fixed on her. He didn’t smile. He just looked at her.

“I’ve been trying to come home,” he said.

Up close, there was no room for tricks or mistakes. This wasn’t a stranger who happened to look like him. It was Caleb. The man she watched fall. The man she intended on marrying but ended up burying instead.

“This isn’t possible,” she said.

They stood there for a moment, the storm breathing around them.

“What do you want?” she asked.

His gaze dropped briefly to the knife, then came back to her face. “I want you to come back with me.”

Her fingers tightened. “Back where?”

“The cliff.”

A sharp memory surfaced: the smell of pine, the wind picking up as a storm rolled in, the rope burning through her hands before it snapped under Caleb’s weight. One second he was there, the next he wasn’t.

“Why?” she asked.

Caleb’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “Because that’s where you left me.”

For a long second, neither of them spoke. Then he said, “Do you remember what you told me? When I was hanging there? When I asked you to help me up?”

Of course she remembered. The look on his face. The panic in his voice when he said her name. The moment everything went quiet right before the rope snapped. The thrill of knowing that everything had lined up exactly the way she needed.

She remained silent.

Caleb’s voice softened. “I asked you to pull me up. And you looked right at me and said, ‘It’s okay… just let it happen.’”

Aria shrugged, the motion small and deliberate. “It would’ve been easier that way.”

Caleb’s jaw tightened the slightest bit. “I hit the rocks, Aria.”

“I know,” she said.

“I felt my whole body break,” he said. “I thought that would be it. Just nothing. But it wasn’t. There’s a place you go when you die.” He listened to the storm for a moment. “It sounds like this.”

A shiver crawled up her spine, but she shoved it down. “I had my reasons.”

“You did it for the money,” he said.

“You’re the one who put me down as beneficiary on everything,” she said. “You made it easy.”

“You moved quick,” he replied. “We weren't even married yet.”

“I didn’t see a point in waiting.”

Something passed over his face, soft and resigned.

“I know,” he murmured. “And that’s why I’m here.”

His hand came up fast, closing around her wrist before she could move. His skin was freezing. The cold bit into her like teeth, sinking deep. Aria drew in a sharp breath.

“Come to the cliff with me,” he said.

She jerked her arm, trying to pull free. His grip didn’t loosen.

“Let go,” she snapped.

She swung the knife with her free hand, aiming straight for his chest. The blade should’ve hit something—muscle, fabric, bone—but instead it passed through him with a dragging resistance, like pushing into thick fog. She stumbled forward from the lack of impact, catching herself on the doorframe.

Caleb didn’t flinch. No wound. No mark. Nothing.

“You’re not real,” she said through gritted teeth.

“You stood there and watched me fall,” he said. “You didn’t even pretend to try. You just smiled.” Caleb stayed on the threshold, one foot inside, one out. “This isn’t over,” he said.

A ripple of cold moved through her, but she held her ground. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“All right, have it your way.” he said quietly before stepping back onto the porch.

The wind surged, and the rain lifted around him, blurring his outline. For a moment he seemed to fade into the storm, his edges thinning before the darkness swallowed him completely. The storm took him. The porch stood empty.

The door slammed shut with a force she hadn’t applied. The deadbolt spun back into place with a heavy clunk. The lights in the entryway flickered once and steadied.

Outside, the noise cut off. No more thunder. No more wind. No more rain.

The sudden quiet pressed in on her eardrums. Aria stood there, breathing hard, knife still clutched in her hand. She stayed like that for a long time. By morning, the sky was a bright, innocent blue.

She watched the forecast throughout the day. Hour by hour it stayed the same. No rain. No storms. Nothing.

By late afternoon, she almost believed that whatever happened had been just a dream.

The second night proved her wrong.

Thunder cracked open the sky without warning, and rain followed instantly, hard and punishing. The house shuddered with each gust. Her gaze drifted toward the front window.

The curtains shivered as she approached. She hesitated, pinched the fabric between her fingers, and pulled it back just enough to see outside.

He was there.

He stood exactly where he’d been the night before, lifting his head as though he’d sensed her at the window. Lightning lit his face, revealing him staring straight at her.

She let the curtain fall.

A moment later, the knocking began, steady and deliberate. Thunder crashed through the house, shaking the picture frames in the hallway.

He wasn’t leaving. Not tonight, and not on any night that followed.

Not until she went back with him.

He would keep coming. Night after night. Storm after storm. And she knew, sooner or later, she wouldn’t be able to ignore him.