Kevin D. Wendiga crouched down and picked the crisp envelope off the grimy wood of his porch. Walking inside to his small, ratty living room, he tore the top off, wondering why someone would make it so hard to open a stupid envelope.

He pulled out the letter.

Dear Mr. Wendiga, it read.

We regret to inform you that you will not live to see the next morning. We will act at precisely 3:28 AM, and you will not be able to stop us. We will come, yes, but there will be nothing you can do. Sit and wait for the inevitable, Mr. Wendiga. Sit and wait.

It was signed simply with one word: D’enouement.

Kevin turned the envelope over, but there was no return address. Not even a stamp. It must’ve been dropped of by hand.

He considered what he should do. This was either a joke, or he should take it very seriously. Then again, they did say it was inevitable.

He sighed. He hadn’t led such a good life anyway, had he?

~

At 3:28 AM, Kevin D. Wendiga inexplicably vanished.