Short Stories Of Horror

¿Did You Lock The Door?

You lay in bed, your covers sprawled across your relaxed body. You set an alarm on your phone for seven o'clock in the morning and twist around until you're comfortable. You lay your head on the pillow and close your eyes.

You awake to a feeling of fear. You sit up and blink, glancing around your dark room. The pale light of the moon gleamed in-between the blinds, illuminating a part of your room. All that was visible at the moment was your desk and bookcase.

You couldn't ignore the fact that your heart was racing so you flip the switch of the bedside lamp. The rest of the room became visible and you could see nothing out of the ordinary.

Swaying branches from the tree outside caused the moonlight to shift. An owl hooted from outside. You also heard nothing out of the ordinary.

Yet, you feel like doom was upon you.

After a few moments of deep breathing and thought, you convince yourself that you probably just had a bad dream.

You carefully turn off the lamp and lay down onto your back. You pull the covers up to your chin. You breathe in through your nose and breathe out from your mouth.

You close your eyes and slowly fall asleep.

You awake once more, glancing at your phone to see what time it is. It is a little after one o'clock. You sit up again and grasp your chest.

You hear footsteps just down the hall.

Your spouse was out of town.

No one else lived with you.

A high pitched howl from the neighbors dog caused you to snap out of your confusion and terror and slide under your bed. Not before you grabbed the handgun in your bedstand drawer along with your phone.

You shakily type in the three numbers and press the phone to your ear. The footsteps grew louder as the phone rang.

Someone finally picked up.

"Hello, what is your emergency?"

You try your best to stay calm. "Someone is in my home..."

"Ok—" the dispatcher lowered their voice, "—and what is your address?"

You whisper the address to the person on the other line.

"Can you find somewhere to hide? Do you have something to protect yourself with?"

You close your eyes and let out a shaky breath. "I'm under my bed, I have a gun."

You can hear them clacking away at their keyboard. "Good... Is there anyone else with you? A child? Spouse?"

"No one, please I don't want to shoot this gun."

"They are on the way, stay calm for me ok?" The dispatcher spoke.

You nod your head. "Ok."

You can hear your bedroom door open. The oh so frightening footsteps closer than ever.

You hear whistling, presumably from the intruder. Their boots come into view. They are caked with mud.

A soft voice broke the silence. "Hello? Are you still there?"

"Yes," you murmur, barely audible.

"They're coming, I promise, stay on the line."

You nod.

"Lynda! You cheating bastard!" The intruder shouted abruptly, his words slurring.

You widen your eyes. Who was Lynda?

"Is that the intruder?"

You confirm the dispatcher's assumption and clasp a finger on the trigger.

The intruder kicked the bed, causing it to shake. Tears form at the corner of your eyes. Your hands shake. A slight whimper escapes your mouth.

"I knew it! Get out from there you whore!"

The bed shook more, increasing intensity.

"They are five minutes away... You are allowed to use your gun for defense."

You begin to sob as the man kneeled down and grabbed your arm that held the phone, causing you to drop it.

You plead and beg as you point the gun at him.

He begins to drag you out.

You pull the trigger, aiming for his chest.

No bullet exits the gun. It was not loaded.

You begin to scream as you are completely out from under the bed. The man stood over you, his grimy hand still holding onto your arm. A shard of glass is in his other hand. His face was beet red.

"Please! Please!" You scream as loud as possible.

He slaps you, your head jerks to the side.

You continue to plead as he drives the glass into your eye.

You barely process the pain, all you do is beg for your life.

He jerks the glass out and plunges it back in, this time you feel it.

You scream louder, slapping at him, clawing at him. "No! No! Please! Stop! Stop! Please! I'm sorry!"

He pushes you down with his boot. You are now on your back, warm blood streaming from your left eye, down your face, pooling among your collarbone.

The last thing you hear are the comforting sound of sirens. The last thing you see is a boot, muddy, speeding down toward your face.