Uncle Shom Part 1 -

“It found me again,” he said without turning around. “They always find me.”

Uncle Shom smiled, and for the first time, I saw fear behind his bourbon-colored eyes. Uncle Shom Part 1

Uncle Shom stood before it, fully dressed, the silver-handled umbrella in one hand and my pocket watch in the other. He didn’t look surprised. He looked tired . “It found me again,” he said without turning around

“In 1943, I was a radio operator in the South Pacific. One night, during a typhoon, I picked up a signal. Not Morse code. Not any human language. It was a rhythm. A heartbeat. I followed the signal to a cave no map showed. Inside that cave was a door—painted red, with a brass knocker shaped like a hare’s skull. I knocked three times.” He didn’t look surprised

“Who?” I asked, my voice a thin wire.

On the inside of my bedroom closet.

Uncle Shom finally looked at me. His eyes were wet.