Martin McGregor

Secret Oktober

Norman walked right up to the front door of five Marshall Avenue. It was the house where Debbie Bates lived. The door frame had been made out of thick white plastic. Even though it was almost eleven o’clock at night, he could still see that the door had become discoloured after a few years of direct sunshine had discoloured its surface. It had a semi-circle of glass panels at the top, which allowed a small amount of light into the hallway. Years ago, this house had a wooden door. It was much more homely looking back then. The plastic doorbell to the right of the door was also discoloured. He never used the doorbells. Norman paused for a second before thinking about knocking on the door handle, and then the door opened up unexpectedly anyway.