The.uninvited Access

For me, it was the rocking chair.

The air popped. Like a pressure change in an airplane. the.uninvited

It doesn’t seep in through a cracked window or a drafty attic. This cold crawls up the back of your neck while you’re standing in a room that should be warm. It’s the cold that arrives with someone—except no one has opened the door. For me, it was the rocking chair

It arrives in the middle of your perfectly average Tuesday. Maybe it’s a text message from a number you deleted three years ago. Maybe it’s the sudden, heavy silence when you walk into your kitchen, where the air feels different—charged, like before a thunderstorm. It doesn’t seep in through a cracked window

You don’t have to fight it. You don’t have to perform an exorcism. You just have to stop pretending it has a right to your table.

The chair hasn’t moved since. The.uninvited will always try the handle. That is its nature. It is the shadow in the peripheral, the strange noise in the attic, the email you were dreading.