{"id":1712,"date":"2012-10-21T07:27:42","date_gmt":"2012-10-21T07:27:42","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/?p=1712"},"modified":"2017-08-08T19:32:19","modified_gmt":"2017-08-08T19:32:19","slug":"the-closed-door-by-rita-crossley","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/the-closed-door-by-rita-crossley\/","title":{"rendered":"The Closed Door by Rita Crossley"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"
Ghoul Feeding by Paul Mudie<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

The Closed Door<\/h1>\n

by Rita Crossley<\/p>\n

I\u2019m in the kitchen, squeezing a teabag against the inside of my mug with a spoon when the kitchen door slams shut. I turn, shaking off the hot brown liquid that has spilt on the back of my hand. When I touch the handle of the door it feels icy cold and rigid as I try in vain to push it down.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho\u2019s there?\u201d I say hoping to hear a reply but there is silence.<\/p>\n

I tug at the handle in desperation but there is no movement. Then the lights go out along with the background purring of the fridge. The room becomes an unfamiliar world, the glow of the street lamp casting distorted shadows around the walls. Then I jump as my mobile phone comes to life, a tiny glow vibrating along the worktop playing its version of my favourite piece of music. I shake my head and smile as I lean across and grab it in my hand.<\/p>\n

My neighbour from upstairs speaks to me.<\/p>\n

\u201cTom, it\u2019s Becky here. My electricity\u2019s gone off. I\u2019ve tried to get to the power box but the lounge door seems to have jammed. It\u2019s not my day. Can you come up and rescue me? I\u2019m a damsel in distress.\u201d She makes that little giggle that I find so attractive.<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, I can\u2019t help you,\u201d I reply, \u201cI\u2019m trapped in the kitchen.\u201d<\/p>\n

Not the best way to put it. I can hear the tremble in her voice as I explain.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the hell is going on?\u201d she asks.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019ll be just one of those odd coincidences you hear about.\u201d<\/p>\n

I try the door handle again; still cold, still rigid.<\/p>\n

Then I hear her breathing become more rapid and her voice dip to a whisper. \u201cI can here footsteps in the hallway. There\u2019s somebody in my flat.\u201d She whimpers as I too hear the creaking floorboards above me, normally comforting, telling me she is at home and safe. But now the sound is menacing as it draws nearer to her lounge.<\/p>\n

\u201cTom … the door,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n

I wish I’d oiled the hinges on it for her as I\u2019d promised, then I wouldn\u2019t have to hear as it creaks open.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh my God, it\u2019s horrible,\u201d she cries. \u201cI can see its eyes, they\u2019re red; and the smell. Tom, help me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRun,\u201d I shout. A stupid thing to say, but I hear her move, followed by the sound of her hand hitting the window pane over and over again. She gives a loud scream, then silence. I hear her phone drop onto the floor. The sound of flesh being ripped from bone that crushes under the weight of an unimaginable vile creature. A moment later and there is a satisfied sigh.<\/p>\n

I go to the drawer and take out the carving knife. I have to kill it but a stream of fear travels down my spine as I watch the handle on my kitchen door begin to move and the door slowly open.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I’m in the kitchen, squeezing a teabag against the inside of my mug with a spoon when the kitchen door slams shut. I turn, shaking off the hot brown liquid that has spilt on the back of my hand. When I touch the handle of the door it feels icy cold and rigid as I try in vain to push it down.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_bbp_topic_count":0,"_bbp_reply_count":0,"_bbp_total_topic_count":0,"_bbp_total_reply_count":0,"_bbp_voice_count":0,"_bbp_anonymous_reply_count":0,"_bbp_topic_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_reply_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_forum_subforum_count":0,"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[88],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1712","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-horror"],"aioseo_notices":[],"amp_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1712","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1712"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1712\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3229,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1712\/revisions\/3229"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1712"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1712"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1712"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}