The Knocking Thing

There was only one rule: don’t open the door. That’s what the old man told me when he gave me the job. No matter what you hear, no matter who comes knockin’, you leave that door bolted shut. You understand me?

I nodded as he handed me the keys. Sure, it sounded odd, but it didn’t bother me enough to ask why. In my mind, I hit the jackpot: not only would I have free reign of his gorgeous lakeside cabin for a week, but I was getting paid to sit around and enjoy it. My only responsibility was to keep an eye on the place.

Each day I lounged around the house while I monitored the security feed, more than happy to savor my little taste of luxury indoors. Then, on the fourth night, I was startled awake by a knock on the door.

“Hello?” said a voice on the other side. “Anyone home?”

I remembered the rule and didn't respond. Another knock followed, louder this time. Paranoid, I pulled up the camera feed and my blood ran cold.

I covered my mouth, choking down a scream. I only saw it for a moment: a gaunt face with eyes like black holes, its body bony and twisted. In an instant, it darted toward the camera and the footage went black.

Before I could react, the kitchen window shattered. I screamed. In a moment of primal instinct, I ran for my only exit: the front door.

I barely made it outside before I was snatched off my feet. Claws in my shoulders, the knocking thing pulled me onto the roof with predatory speed. It pinned me down, hollow black eyes staring into me silently, before its slit mouth unhinged and it ate me alive.