Short Story: 1809

Short Story: Always Lock The Front Door

'Gather around children,' I say to my Grandchildren. Tom and Mary have always been full of energy since the day they were born, they are now tweleve and thirteen. I wish i was like that, but since I am eighty, my body isn't capeable of it, sadly. They both sit on the sofa in front of me, their eyes peering at me while I rock slowly in my wooden chair.
'Do you want to hear a story about why you should always lock the front door?'
'Yes!' They chant.
'Okay, here goes... It was an ordinary day....'

Nothing seemed odd on a normal day in May, the 20th of May. Karen, your mother, was coming home and when she reached her front door, she noticed that it was slightly open. At this point she didn't think much of it as she had left the door open in the morning as she was expecting a delivery. Yet still, she walked inside.
Karen's eyes wondered around her hall, something seemed different. Then she figured it out, the pictures of her family, which had been hung on the wall, were now smashed on the floor. And the flowers which had been healthy and colourful, were now shrivelled and dead. She searched her bag worridly, finally finding a screw driver which she always carried with her as her car door always got jammed. Shakily, she held it out in front of her, as a weapon as she made her way to the kitchen.
When Karen was in the kitchen she heard a faint sound of dripping, not realising that it was coming from her bedroom, everything else was silent which is why she knew exactly what the sound was.
Karen went to her kitchen because that's where she could see the CTV she had previosuly put up at her front door. She watched it and everything seemed normal until the time got to 18:06. The footage displayed the word error. Still she continued to watch it. Then when the time reached 18:09, although there was no visual, she heard a scream. When Karen heard this she jumped, finally feeling huge amounts of fear. At 18:12 the footage was normal.
Karen then left the kitchen, horrified to what she could see next. The dripping noise was constant. The faint words of 'help' echoed around the house, this made her feel that she was now imagining things. Cautiously, she made her way up the stairs, the dripping noise getting louder and louder. The voices saying 'help' 'help me' faintly, but was it all in her head?
When Karen reached her room, she gasped and tried to scream but no words came out.
Her roomate, Hilary, was hanging from Karen's wardrobe. The blood from her neck, which had clearly been slit, dripping down into a metal bucket. Her hands and feet had been nailed to the wardrobe door, and her head was drooping down. Nothing that Karen had ever felt compared to what she was feeling now. Confusion. Anger. Sadness. Scared, no words could explain how scared Karen was. But that wasn't all that happened, taped to Hilary's chest was a not reading:
I am watching you, always. When you think you are alone, you're not. When you think you are safe, you're not. This is just the beginning of what is about to come. I would remember the number 1809, i would remember it well, for that might be your last moment. If I were you, i would sleep with one eye open tonight, and every night, because after all, this is just the beginning.
Ps. Remember to lock the front door.

'And that's why she didn't sleep that night.'