The Desert Refuge
The house stood in defiance of the barren landscape—a bright blue container home with wooden accents, nestled between rocky hills and miles of sun-scorched earth. To most, it seemed out of place, but to Marisol, it was the escape she had been craving.
She had spent years tangled in city noise, suffocated by expectations and obligations. When she stumbled upon the listing for the container home, something inside her whispered, This is it. Within weeks, she had packed her belongings and driven across three states to claim her solitude.
At first, it was everything she had hoped for—serene, untouched by the chaos of the world. Days were spent reading on the porch, sipping coffee as the morning sun painted the mountains in soft pinks and oranges. Nights were quiet, save for the distant howls of coyotes. She had never felt so free.
But then came the letters.
It started with one—an unmarked envelope tucked beneath the small black grill outside her door. Inside was a single sheet of paper, yellowed at the edges, with three words written in shaky script: Don’t stay here.
Marisol had laughed it off. A prank, surely. Perhaps a local with a twisted sense of humor. She tossed the note into the firepit and thought nothing more of it.
Until the second letter arrived.
This one was wedged between the planks of her wooden porch. He watches from the hills.
A chill ran down her spine.
That night, as the wind howled through the desert, she swore she saw movement near the ridgeline. A figure, just barely visible against the moonlit rocks. She told herself it was just her mind playing tricks.
Until the third letter arrived.
This time, the envelope was inside her house.
Run.
