A Knock at the Door By M.M.Wake
Jean started awake at the sound. She didn't know if there had been a noise, but something had disturbed her. Alone, unmoving, eyes white and wide, leaning against the dark pit of the room she listened for the unknown. All was quiet bar the hammering and stammering of her startled heart.
Turning her head slightly she caught a glimpse of the clock on her bedside table, 2:10 it blinked back in red luminous figures. 2:10 and counting. Another 4 hours until the dawn.
Jean lay still and shivered slightly, part of her unnerved by the sudden emergence from sleep, part of her cold due to the chill in the room.
Breathe slowly. Breathe slowly, she told herself counting the beats until her heart slowed to a steadier pace.
Her eyes became more accustomed to the deep shades of night and started to pick out the familiar objects from within. The dark square of a chair, the legs lost in a deeper gloom, a pile of books she had been meaning to take to the charity shop, and the bulky form of her dressing table in front of the window. All looked sinister. The half light from the window lent an unnerving glitter to the mirror, not quite reflective, but cast an uncomfortable, deep pool of shadow behind the glass.
Jean was of a nervous disposition and it didn't take much to alarm her. She had found it best not to read or watch something on television that would be too stimulating before bedtime. Years of anguish, waiting for something fearful to happen had taken its toll, ultimately affecting her health. As a consequence she now consumed a daily assortment of pills for a weak heart and high blood pressure.
Had there ever been a time when she was free from worry? Even as a child she had been full of nervous energy, running with high emotions and a temperament to match. Never carefree like her friends. What had made her like this? Her parents had been full of life. Holidays and dinner parties and dancing, often leaving Jean and her two sisters on their own.
Was that the reason, all those nights alone as a child?
Jean was definitely alone now, with both parents and sisters dead.
Maybe, from her childhood.........?
Then she heard it. The noise. It must have been the noise that woke her. Jean sat bolt upright holding her breath, listening in the dark. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Loudly on her front door, again, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK loudly reverberating though the walls of the house and into her heart.
And then silence.
There was no mistaking that noise, the doleful thud of the front door knocker. She had hated it from childhood. The others had teased her fear. Everything about the beastly thing had caused her to tremble from the brass lions head and the evil blank eyes, to the mouth partly open, half sneering, laughing at her. All these things had entered her small nightmares and rather than diminishing and vanishing with the years, they had become part of her psyche.
Even when the house had become her own, she had not removed the door knocker. She dare not.
A sharp pain in her left side caused Jean to wince and she clasped her hand to her breast.
Don't panic. Don't panic.
Fumbling with her other hand in the bedside cabinet and knocking a pile of books to the floor, she felt for the small bottle of pills kept for such emergencies. The child proof top spun unhelpfully in her weaker hand.
Don't panic. Don’t panic.
Pressing harder and harder the lid finally unscrewed, jerking the bottle and spilling the contents carelessly across the bedspread. Scooping up one of the tiny tablets, Jean placed it under her tongue.
Breathe slowly. Don't panic.
She closed her eyes and waited for the pain to subside.
But the knocking. Who could that be at this time? The knocking! Jean felt a slight wave of fear pass over her. Some faint memory recoiling in her brain with cold recollection, what was it, something from her childhood?
A half remembered shadowy thing, fragmented and broken, hovered in the half light until with a shivering clarity she finally remembered, the perspiration now cold all over her body.
She remembered.
One evening, many, many years earlier when just a girl she had been home alone with her two older sisters. Their parents were out for the evening celebrating an anniversary and were not expected back until the early hours.
The night was bitterly cold and a thick damp freezing fog had descended, shrouding the countryside. The girls shut the curtains tight to block out the misery of the night. The electric lights were sharp and false by comparison and added a sterile, cheerless glare to the rooms. The fire had long since burnt low but the girls were not allowed to make another so they huddled together under blankets on the sofa for warmth and comfort. Each read a book but could not concentrate. They could not block out the misery of the world outside the window.
However, the children soon tired, a natural sleepiness passing over them and one by one their eyes closed, lulled by the ticking of the clock.
In the early hours it happened. In the hours of restless dreams it came, the knocking at the door. KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, the sound deep and hollow and loud enough to penetrate the deepest of sleeps. The girls jumped awake, eyes wide and bleary at the wild and brutal awakening. In the stillness that followed the noise came again, bold and with authority, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, louder, vibrating the small bodies, hearts racing.
They remained silent, locked in fear, a collective inertness. Their parents had told them never to answer the door to anyone.
June, the eldest looked at the clock. It was gone 2 am. Their parents should be back. Maybe it was them, but why would they be knocking?
Holding a finger up to her lips in order to keep the younger sisters quiet, June gathered them hand in hand and pulled them from the sofa. They stood quietly, wide eyed and waiting. And it came again, louder and sharper than before, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. The three wrapped into each other tightly. Being the oldest June eventually took charge and pulling the others by the hand walked towards the door. The front door was outside at the end of a long passage.
The hall was narrow and gloomy, the only light escaping behind them from the open door. The girls peered down along the hallway into the shadows beyond. At the end of the hall was a glass front door behind which loomed a bulky shadow, a figure illuminated by the dim street lamp. The dark shape filled the entire doorway and did not move. The girls stood frozen, clinging together unable to move or speak.
Time and silence ticked along together, the girls within, the darkness and the shadow without.
Eventually the figure moved. For a moment it seemed to step up closer to the doorway, the shadowy face looming, distorted as it pushed against the frosted glass. The girls drew back with sheer terror as the whiteness of an eye seemed to peer blankly at them. The figure paused, a sigh escaping like a rush of high wind caught in the trees, then slowly turned, stepping away from the doorway and into the night.
What had happened later had been a blur. Jean had not remembered the knocking until tonight. It had been buried with other memories.
It had been overtaken by circumstance and life.
Her parents had never returned that night, killed instantly in a head on crash, changing the lives of the girls forever.
But the knocking had now returned. Jean slowly rose from the bed and slipping on an old dressing gown headed for the stairs.
There could be no mistaking, this time the caller was hers.
Copyright M.M.Wake 2012
You can download this story as an ebook @ http://www.feedbooks.com/userbook/21200/a-knock-at-the-door
Turning her head slightly she caught a glimpse of the clock on her bedside table, 2:10 it blinked back in red luminous figures. 2:10 and counting. Another 4 hours until the dawn.
Jean lay still and shivered slightly, part of her unnerved by the sudden emergence from sleep, part of her cold due to the chill in the room.
Breathe slowly. Breathe slowly, she told herself counting the beats until her heart slowed to a steadier pace.
Her eyes became more accustomed to the deep shades of night and started to pick out the familiar objects from within. The dark square of a chair, the legs lost in a deeper gloom, a pile of books she had been meaning to take to the charity shop, and the bulky form of her dressing table in front of the window. All looked sinister. The half light from the window lent an unnerving glitter to the mirror, not quite reflective, but cast an uncomfortable, deep pool of shadow behind the glass.
Jean was of a nervous disposition and it didn't take much to alarm her. She had found it best not to read or watch something on television that would be too stimulating before bedtime. Years of anguish, waiting for something fearful to happen had taken its toll, ultimately affecting her health. As a consequence she now consumed a daily assortment of pills for a weak heart and high blood pressure.
Had there ever been a time when she was free from worry? Even as a child she had been full of nervous energy, running with high emotions and a temperament to match. Never carefree like her friends. What had made her like this? Her parents had been full of life. Holidays and dinner parties and dancing, often leaving Jean and her two sisters on their own.
Was that the reason, all those nights alone as a child?
Jean was definitely alone now, with both parents and sisters dead.
Maybe, from her childhood.........?
Then she heard it. The noise. It must have been the noise that woke her. Jean sat bolt upright holding her breath, listening in the dark. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Loudly on her front door, again, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK loudly reverberating though the walls of the house and into her heart.
And then silence.
There was no mistaking that noise, the doleful thud of the front door knocker. She had hated it from childhood. The others had teased her fear. Everything about the beastly thing had caused her to tremble from the brass lions head and the evil blank eyes, to the mouth partly open, half sneering, laughing at her. All these things had entered her small nightmares and rather than diminishing and vanishing with the years, they had become part of her psyche.
Even when the house had become her own, she had not removed the door knocker. She dare not.
A sharp pain in her left side caused Jean to wince and she clasped her hand to her breast.
Don't panic. Don't panic.
Fumbling with her other hand in the bedside cabinet and knocking a pile of books to the floor, she felt for the small bottle of pills kept for such emergencies. The child proof top spun unhelpfully in her weaker hand.
Don't panic. Don’t panic.
Pressing harder and harder the lid finally unscrewed, jerking the bottle and spilling the contents carelessly across the bedspread. Scooping up one of the tiny tablets, Jean placed it under her tongue.
Breathe slowly. Don't panic.
She closed her eyes and waited for the pain to subside.
But the knocking. Who could that be at this time? The knocking! Jean felt a slight wave of fear pass over her. Some faint memory recoiling in her brain with cold recollection, what was it, something from her childhood?
A half remembered shadowy thing, fragmented and broken, hovered in the half light until with a shivering clarity she finally remembered, the perspiration now cold all over her body.
She remembered.
One evening, many, many years earlier when just a girl she had been home alone with her two older sisters. Their parents were out for the evening celebrating an anniversary and were not expected back until the early hours.
The night was bitterly cold and a thick damp freezing fog had descended, shrouding the countryside. The girls shut the curtains tight to block out the misery of the night. The electric lights were sharp and false by comparison and added a sterile, cheerless glare to the rooms. The fire had long since burnt low but the girls were not allowed to make another so they huddled together under blankets on the sofa for warmth and comfort. Each read a book but could not concentrate. They could not block out the misery of the world outside the window.
However, the children soon tired, a natural sleepiness passing over them and one by one their eyes closed, lulled by the ticking of the clock.
In the early hours it happened. In the hours of restless dreams it came, the knocking at the door. KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, the sound deep and hollow and loud enough to penetrate the deepest of sleeps. The girls jumped awake, eyes wide and bleary at the wild and brutal awakening. In the stillness that followed the noise came again, bold and with authority, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, louder, vibrating the small bodies, hearts racing.
They remained silent, locked in fear, a collective inertness. Their parents had told them never to answer the door to anyone.
June, the eldest looked at the clock. It was gone 2 am. Their parents should be back. Maybe it was them, but why would they be knocking?
Holding a finger up to her lips in order to keep the younger sisters quiet, June gathered them hand in hand and pulled them from the sofa. They stood quietly, wide eyed and waiting. And it came again, louder and sharper than before, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. The three wrapped into each other tightly. Being the oldest June eventually took charge and pulling the others by the hand walked towards the door. The front door was outside at the end of a long passage.
The hall was narrow and gloomy, the only light escaping behind them from the open door. The girls peered down along the hallway into the shadows beyond. At the end of the hall was a glass front door behind which loomed a bulky shadow, a figure illuminated by the dim street lamp. The dark shape filled the entire doorway and did not move. The girls stood frozen, clinging together unable to move or speak.
Time and silence ticked along together, the girls within, the darkness and the shadow without.
Eventually the figure moved. For a moment it seemed to step up closer to the doorway, the shadowy face looming, distorted as it pushed against the frosted glass. The girls drew back with sheer terror as the whiteness of an eye seemed to peer blankly at them. The figure paused, a sigh escaping like a rush of high wind caught in the trees, then slowly turned, stepping away from the doorway and into the night.
What had happened later had been a blur. Jean had not remembered the knocking until tonight. It had been buried with other memories.
It had been overtaken by circumstance and life.
Her parents had never returned that night, killed instantly in a head on crash, changing the lives of the girls forever.
But the knocking had now returned. Jean slowly rose from the bed and slipping on an old dressing gown headed for the stairs.
There could be no mistaking, this time the caller was hers.
Copyright M.M.Wake 2012
You can download this story as an ebook @ http://www.feedbooks.com/userbook/21200/a-knock-at-the-door