11/16/2025
A soaked old man spent the night in my house. The next morning, he offered to buy it from me for just $1. “I’m serious,” he said. “I can’t tell you why, but you need to leave immediately.”....Rain hammered the windows like a thousand desperate fingers when I found him — an old man slumped on my porch, drenched to the bone, shivering beneath a sagging wool coat. I hesitated before opening the door. Out here in rural Oregon, you don’t often see strangers wandering after midnight. But something in his eyes — that quiet, pleading fear — made me step aside.
“Come in,” I said. “You’ll freeze out there.”
He didn’t thank me. He just nodded, trembling, as I helped him out of the soaked coat. His hands were veined and cracked, his beard silver-white, his voice barely a rasp when he asked, “Can I stay just until morning?”
I gave him towels, coffee, and the couch. He sat there for hours, staring into the dying fire as if watching something burn that only he could see. I tried making small talk, but his answers were short, cautious, like he was measuring every word.
When I woke the next morning, sunlight spilled through the kitchen blinds. The rain had stopped. The old man was already awake, sitting upright, hands clasped tight on his knees. He looked different — sharper, alert.
