Five feet from the front door, he stopped.
The silhouette, haloed in the porch light, knocked again. The burning table lamp in the adjacent living room couldn’t pierce the hallway’s gloom. Whoever was outside shouldn’t be able to see him. Not through the tempered glass.
He didn’t move. Just in case.
In the kitchen, he could hear the boiling water rattle the pot’s lid. It knocked again. The shadow moved, looked from side to side, leaning out over the railings. Then it left, absorbed by the night down the steps.
From the kitchen, he heard the mail slot creak open.