Uninvited Guest

Hey there! A little creepy start to your Wednesday. Enjoy!

It was the little things at first. The door that was open when I was sure I had shut it. The water turning on in the bathroom, even though I hadn’t been in there. Then things started to go missing.

My car keys.

The antique vase in the foyer.

My cat, Dave. Although Dave always ran away, eventually he would turn up.

Late at night I would hear footsteps downstairs. Not stomping hard ones. It was the faintest sound of someone walking bare foot on floorboards. Somehow amplified into my bedroom even though the door was shut. The peeling of a sweaty sole off the polished timber, the faint crack of ankles.

I pulled the covers up to my ears and turned my back to the locked door. Cursing myself for agreeing to rent in a house that even the Real Estate Agent said had quirks. The last 5 owners had skipped out on the rent, but I assumed quirks were banging pipes and dodgy wiring. I didn’t think she meant bloody ghosts. But I was desperate and as long as Casper left me alone, I didn’t care if he walked around and moved my stuff.

The top step always creaked. It shouldn’t be doing it now, not when the only weight bearing person was tucked up in bed and coiled as tight as a spring. I slipped my hand out and grabbed my phone off the bedside table and pulled it under the covers. I dialled 000 and put my thumb over the call button.

What was I going to say? Please send someone around to remove my ghost.

This was stupid. I pushed the covers back and tiptoed across to my door. A sliver of light from the hallway gave me enough illumination to see through the old fashioned keyhole.

A woman was at the end of the hall staring at my door. Her white nightgown torn at the knee. It was filthy and black where it brushed against her bare feet.

She narrowed her eyes and started towards my room, before stopping. She tilted her head and walked backwards into the guest room at the opposite end of the hall. She closed the door.

Screw it. I called the Police and within 15 minutes two cop cars were at my door.

“I know this sounds weird. But I think there is a ghost in my guest room.”

The two officers looked at each other. “Is this a prank, Miss? Because calling us for…” He wore a badge that said Constable Kit.

“Please. I’m frightened and I don’t know who else to call.”

Constable Kit frowned and stepped back to look up at the top storey of her house. “Where’d you see this thing?”

“A woman,” she said ushering them inside. “She went into my guest room, and I haven’t gone in to check.”

She followed them up the stairs, and flicked on the guest room light. The woman was sitting on the end of the bed.

“You see her, right?” Constable Kit said to his partner.

“Yep,” he replied.

“Maam.” He went into the room and skirted the walls. “What’s your name?”

The woman didn’t turn to look at them. She started rocking, her toes pushing of the floor. Her feet were almost blue, like she had been outside, the hem of her nighty looked black but when it brushed against the yellow bedspread it left red smears across the satin.

“Is that blood” she said without thinking and the woman snapped her head towards her and dug her fingers into the bed spread.

“You!” She screamed, her voice was a high pitched wail that made her blood turn to ice.

She charged at her but the Officers stopped her. They wrestled her to the floor and handcuffed her.

It wasn’t until the next morning that she was allowed back into her house. Once the woman was taken away, the officers searched the guestroom and found a secret door inside a wardrobe. They only found it because a tiny smear of blood was on the outside.

Behind the door was a small apartment that might have been used as a servant’s quarters when the house was originally built, maybe for a maid to use as it was just off her employer’s bedroom.

Inside they found Dave. He was alive, he must had gotten locked in and the woman wanted a pet. They also found the bodies of the 5 previous tenants. All in various stages of decomposition. It turns out they never left the house, the woman had been killing them, stuffing them under the floorboards of her secret room.

Come on over and friend me on Facebook at Lisa Lancaster.
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Photo by Dmitriy Protsenko via Flickr, licensed under Creative Commons

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