Uninvited

You open the front door to your house and quickly move inside, shutting the cold night outside. It is four a.m and you are tired after a long night working in the cloakroom of a popular nightclub.
“Bathroom, then bed,” you say to yourself as you walk down the hall.
The house is dark, of course, as it is the early hours of the morning and everyone else is asleep. However, this night the dark is different. Almost oppressive. You stop for a second to listen for sounds. Only the silence answers back. You start walking towards the bathroom at the end of the hall, next to the kitchen, casting wary glances at the closed door to the sitting room on your right.
There’s that feeling again. That hair standing on end, cold shivers down the spine feeling you had a minute ago. This time, you are certain somebody is on the other side of the sitting room door. You stop. You stand completely still in the dark, silent hallway staring at that door. The only sound is that of your own breathing.
Deciding you are jumpy because you have an over active imagination, you release the breath you didn’t know you were holding and take a step towards the bathroom, only to stop once again. This time, every fiber in your being screams at you that there is someone in the sitting room, and that someone is walking along on the other side of the wall as you walk on this side. This time, you know with bone chilling certainty that when you reach the bathroom door and cast a look into the dark kitchen you will see someone standing there.

Not even thinking about it, you turn and rush up the stairs as quickly as you can without waking your roommate. A few quick steps and you are safe in your bedroom. You lock the door, and not even bothering to turn on any lights you quickly undress and crawl into your bed. There, under the thick, warm duvet, you lie silently and listen.
Time seems to slow as you count your heartbeats and listen to nothing but darkness. Was it all your imagination? This thought comforts you, and you relax a little.
But wait. What was that sound outside the bedroom door? That familiar creaking noise the floorboard just outside gives off when somebody steps on it.
Opening your eyes, you look over at your room mate who is sleeping soundly, and never before have you wished so much for a person to wake up. The floorboard creaks again, and there is another sound, as if a weight is pressed against the door. Your stiff, terrified body tenses even more, your heart rushes in your chest and your fingernails dig deep into your palms. Then you shut your eyes tightly as you hear heavy steps walk across the floor in your bedroom and straight towards where you now lie.

No breath can be heard from the intruder, but with the same chilling certainty as you had down in the hallway, you know that whoever it is they are standing beside your bed, staring down at you. Once again time slows. The blood in your veins turns to ice, breaks through your skin and forms a thin layer on your back. Were you to look, you are certain that the breaths coming from your nose would form little clouds as they expel the chill inside.

After what seems like hours, the presence above you leaves without a sound, but you dare not open your eyes to look. Instead you lie still, hardly breathing. Dawn is just hours away.


When you wake after finally falling asleep, you are alone in the house. Grey morning light streams through the thin curtains that hang in front of the window, giving the room a dusty look.
You sit up, rub the sleep from your eyes and stop as something catches your eye. On your friend’s bed there is a sheet of paper with something written on it. Warily you rise and walk over and pick it up. In black ink she has written a short message, and this message is enough to once again make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You throw the note down and walk over to the door, your stomach knotting at what you might see, and desperately hoping it is all a joke from your friend.
Your hand shakes as you grab the doorknob and slowly pull the door open. That same hand joins its’ opposite to cover your mouth a second later, as a shrill cry rises from your throat and your eyes stare in terror.

On the white surface of your bedroom door you can plainly see the outline of two large hands with clawed fingers pressed into the wood.