Mid-September Night

Fall came quick this year.

The weather, what was once warm and welcoming, quickly turned cold and damp. Stores, in what seemed a matter of minutes, became filled with fake leaves, warm colored mugs, and pillows decorated with the words Hello Fall. The transition was quick; summer had long left in a matter of days and the dreariness that seemed to come with fall arrived in an instance.

Radley liked fall. Fall reminded him of pumpkin patches and long sleeves and happier times. Most importantly, Radley liked Halloween. He was fascinated by old wives tales of witches and monsters alike, and he threw himself into the myths of the irrational and insane. There was a mystery these stories held, and fall perfectly captured those mysteries for Radley.

During the months of September and November when fall took its residency, Radley endulged in his scary stories, more so than in the spring or summer months. His favorite time of day was just after the sun had set. He would curl into bed and find a story he wanted to read. The stories, though intended to incite fear, never scared Radley. He enjoyed the thrill and chills he received when reading them, but when the book was closed and the story was over, the horror of them left Radley. That was until a mid September night.

Radley followed his nightly routine as he would any other night. He came home, cooked himself a meal, watched whatever the TV had to offer that night, then showered in laid in bed to read his stories. This one night, however, something stopped Radley from climbing into bed.

There was a soft knock on the front door of Radley’s one-story home. Radley’s first instinct was to check the time. Ten fifty-two. Time had long exceeded a socially acceptable door-knocking hour, but Radley padded over to his front door.

He first checked the peephole to which he was greeted with an empty porch. Curiosity encouraged him to open the door and look, first left, then right, which Radley did. The conclusion mirrored his first glance: empty.

He returned inside and locked the door behind him. He did not think much of this incident; the autumn wind must’ve knocked a tree branch against the house. He took tired strides towards his bedroom; the day’s work had begun to weigh him down. Just as he reached the foot of his bed, Radley stopped in his place. A knock sounded from the front door, louder than the first.

Radley quickly turned in confusion. He was sure the first knock was a miscommunication between him and the outside wind. He made his way to the front door once more, his strides less tired than they had been going to the bedroom, and instead more determined.

Peephole, left, then right. Nothing. Radley walked back inside, locking the door behind him, and before he could make his way to his bedroom again, another knock sounded. Radley turned, his steps quicker than before, and opened the door with force. Irritation continued to rise as he was greeted by an empty porch once more.

Radley closed the front door, locking it as he had before. This time, however, Radley stayed. Hand on the doorknob, he waited for the knock to sound again. Seconds passed slowly.

One, two, three, four. Knock.

This time, it came from behind him. Radley jumped out of surprise. He turned quickly, his heart rate going up at an alarming rate. He stared directly at his backdoor. It was a sliding glass door concealed by long, pebble-colored curtains.

Radley began towards the curtains with uncertainty. His heart pounded in his chest evenly and with power. Making it to the door, he reached with shaky, hesitant hands, grabbing the curtain. He stayed there for a second or two, trying to gain courage to pull back the curtain, then moved them back quickly.

He was greeted again with nothing. It was dark, both in and outside of the house. He flicked the outside light on to make certain that he was alone, and the conclusion was the same as every time before that.

Radley decided that the knocks were not coming from any door, but somewhere on the side of the house, a tree in the wind perhaps. He flicked the light off and closed the curtain. It was then when Radley turned to go back to his room that he was faced with the same horror, if not a magnified version, of the stories he read night after night.

Radley’s heart dropped in a way it never had and he froze in his place. The dark had never seemed quite as dark as it had been in that moment. His hands shook tremendously in fear. The tall silhouette came closer, closer, closer, until Radley was engulfed in darkness.

The next day, Radley’s parents did not hear from him, nor did they the day after that. When the number of days in which Radley did not pick up the phone grew to a worrying amount, police entered his home to investigate. There was nothing to be found. Everything was in its place, every item accounted for, all except for Radley.

That night in the middle of September, Radley was greeted with something no one will ever know. He himself might not know either.

In the moments before Radley disappeared, he did know, however, that this story, his story, had no end, no cover to close.