When I came to this small rural town, I was flushed with inspiration for my mystery novel. My house was pretty small and simple, but its simplicity and rustic furniture filled me with thrilling new ideas for my story.
“I am going to do my best damn writing here.” I promised myself with an optimism I haven’t felt in a long long time. It had been years of writing alone in a void, long tiring years. But it was finally paying off. I finally got a publisher to sponsor my novel.
To begin my relationship with the new town in the most productive way, I decided to spend the first many hours just writing. So I sat down and my fingers filled page after page effortlessly. I was done with a chapter by the time I got up and looked at the time to see that it was already evening.
“Time to get dinner.” I say to myself as I got up content after a successful day of work. I decided to go out and explore the town and see if there were some nice places to eat. I just got out of the house when I met a short old woman. Her face lit up after locking eyes with me.
“Oh dear, you must be the new one in town.” She said gently while nodding. “I am Polly, your neighbor.”
I loved Polly’s presence. She reminded me of my grandmother who died a few years back. Her homey scent and loving eyes made me feel safe. I introduced myself to her and told her I would love to visit her some time for tea if she was alright with it. She told me I was welcome anytime.
“Any good places to eat in this town?” I ask her.
Her face twisted into confusion and then pity. She just shook her head and said “No place would be open right now dear. You better get back to your house and lock it. Or if you want something to eat, you are more than welcome to stay with me for the night.”
Before I could reply and take up on her offer, she quickly rushed inside my neighboring house and locked her door. I took a little time to adjust to the weird behavior. Why did she ask me to stay with her for the night? And why did she not wait for my answer? Probably just weird things old people do, I thought.
I walked down the narrow street and found that all the doors were locked. I kept walking for a long time around the town and did not see anyone. But fortunate for my rumbling belly, I did see a sign for a diner nearby. I quickly followed the route and came to the diner’s entrance. It was locked.
“Oh man, they are already closed at seven?” I sigh and was about to return disappointed when I saw a sign laying nearby on the ground that said “Knock thrice and introduce yourself to enter”. So I did.
Knock
I hear a knock back from the inside. Huh? Weird. Why did the person inside knock back and not open the door?
“Hey I am Wade. Any chance I can get something to eat?” I say.
I hear the door open slightly and see a small boy poking his head out.
“What are you doing sir?” He inquired, looking worried and puzzled.
I tell him that I am just a little hungry and was wondering if I could get something to eat. He just carried his expression of confusion and shook his head.
“No, sir. Go back to your house. Or your imagination will catch you.” He said in a calm but hurried tone.
Imagination? What was this boy saying?
When the boy saw the look of confusion on my face he seemed to have realized something.
“Oh, you are the new one in town. Sir, go back to your house and lock it. This town is cursed, and if you don’t hurry your imagination will come to haunt you. Don’t trust your head. Go back sir. And if someone knocks at your door, knock back.” He said and quickly closed the door.
I stood there puzzled for a while and then chuckled. “Curse?” I laughed. This town really is such a perfect place for writers. Even the folk living here make up stories. I wonder if this is just some sort of culture or if these people are really afraid of curses. Probably the latter, I figured. This was not a modern town you know.
Looking above I could make out that it was going to be a stormy night. The winds had suddenly picked up and I figured my best bet for dinner was probably cooking some noodles. So I started rushing back to my house. When I entered my street, everything was dark. No houses had their lights on so I took out my phone and turned on my flashlight.
AND MY HEART SKIPPED A BEAT. It vanished as soon as my eyes adjusted to it. I saw a tall man pounding on Polly’s door. I only saw that he had no eyes before he vanished into thin air. My heart was beating like a drum and the sound of silence filled my ears. It took me a few minutes to gather the courage to laugh.
“Oh my god. That boy really did manage to talk me into scaring myself. Why did I imagine someone there? Such a stupid thing.” I chuckle to myself and get back to my house. I closed the doors and saw my mystery work in progress lying there on the table. I smiled at it because I had gotten so many great new ideas that I could not wait to put down. But I had to eat first or my stomach would murder me.
So I started cooking. I was making the only thing I knew how to make, noodles. When I was about to be done with the cooking, I heard a knock. And it made every hair on my body stand up with shock. It was no ordinary knock.
Knock, knock knock, knock, knock knock knock
That had to be a coincidence right? I just heard a knock in the same way the protagonist in my novel is known for knocking. The same kind of beat and rhythm I had imagined when I was writing my story down.
“Who is it?” I inquired but no reply came back.
That’s when I remembered the boy’s words. “If someone knocks at your door, knock back.”
But why should I knock back? Curses aren’t real. I was not stupid enough to believe that there was something evil on the other side of the door that just wanted to hear a knock back. But… I wanted to knock back. Some part of me knew it was the only thing keeping me safe. I wanted to knock back so bad, but I didn’t.
“No knock backs? Are you sure you're alright in there?” I heard a voice say. Not any other voice though. The voice was of the daughter of my protagonist who was killed in my story. I had imagined the very same voice when I was writing the character. But how? What? I was so confused and terrified at that moment that I could do nothing.
“OPEN” The young girl’s voice commanded in a pitch that boomed in the thunder.
I just stood there, frozen. That’s when the door broke down and I could see her, just as I had imagined her in my mind.
“Your readers will want an answer to who killed me. That’s the whole point isn’t it?” She laughed while crying. “But they won’t realize, the killer is you. YOU KILLED ME.”
I realized that my feet were frozen in place. I could not move and talk… and I could not breathe. I started to suffocate and fell down. I kept gasping for air but none came in. I realized the last thing I was going to see was a girl I killed.
“Leave him! Take me!” I hear a broken and weak scream. I tried to look and saw Polly standing behind the young girl. Polly looked so scared. She looked so fucking scared. The crying girl turned around, and Polly started to suffocate, while I was let go. I took in deep big breaths, but by the time I got on my feet to help Polly, she was already dead, and the girl gone.
Ever since that day I lock myself every night. And whenever I hear death knocking on my door, I knock back.