“spooky microfiction story that begins with this first sentence: don’t open the door.”

“spooky microfiction story that begins with this first sentence: don’t open the door.”

"Don't open the door."

The voice popped through the static of the child screen, empty and new. Laura's breath hitched as she gazed at the screen on the end table. Her better half, Imprint, was down the stairs in the carport, and their girl, Emma, had been sleeping for quite a long time.

"Mark?" she called out, however she realized it wasn't him. The voice was excessively delicate, too whispery.

She stood and moved toward the nursery, her feet light against the hardwood floor. The house felt colder than expected, the sort of cool that grips to the bones. She delayed at Emma's entryway, hand shudder over the handle. She squeezed her ear against the wood, tuning in for any sound from the inside.

Once more, the screen snapped.

"Try not to open the entryway," the voice rehashed, firmer this time.

Laura's heartbeat animated. Was it an admonition or a snare? Emma's delicate breathing could be heard now, consistent and quiet, however something about the air felt wrong. It was heavier, like something concealed was watching her, pausing.

"Mark?" she murmured once more, more frantic at this point.

No reaction.

The house squeaked, and some place a few doors down, she heard a low, throaty sound, something like the breeze however hazier, more alive. Her hand naturally went after the handle.

Unexpectedly, Emma's cries penetrated the quiet, sharp and wild. Automatically, Laura wound the handle and pushed the entryway open. The room was faint, moonlight spilling in through the window. The bunk was unfilled.

Behind her, the nursery entryway forcibly closed with a power that made the walls shudder. Laura twirled around, heart beating, however the entryway wouldn't move.

From the shadows close to the den, a soft tone murmured once more, so close it cooled her spine.

"I told you… "Don't open the door."