The Last Night with the Night Stalker

There was only one rule: do not open the door.

The words echoed in Dianne’s head, yet the urge to do so was twice as strong.

She had never liked Mr Timms; he was creepy and had beady eyes, and Dianne could not wait to leave tomorrow.

Tiimms had gone out, and on her last night, the urge was too strong. She approached the door; it was not locked. It was almost as if Mr Timms was tempting her to disobey.

What could be behind the door?

She had heard Timms walking the corridor at night; the squeaking boards had woken her up. She would hear the door creak open and then close. After an hour, the door would open again. She would then see the shadows of his feet against the dimly lit corridor light as he slinked past her door.

Once before, she mustered the courage to approach the door and almost opened it when she felt a hot voice on the back of her neck.

“I told you, never open that door, do you hear me?” Timms had said.

Dianne had almost wet herself. She had run back to her room without saying a word. Where had he come from?

Tonight, she was going to do it. Her nightie stuck to her clammy body, revealing her slender shape in all its glory. Timms would love this, she thought.

She looked around, but no one was there, and creaked the door open.

She peered inside and, in the dim light, made out the shape of a body sitting in a chair. She switched on the light. It was a skeleton in a wedding dress. She turned in fear just as the door closed.

This time, she could not open it. The haunting creek as someone walked along the corridor echoed in her head.

It was Timms.