Three Knocks

There was only one rule: don’t open the door

The hour was late, the full moon shone radiant, the air was heavy and the streets soundless amidst the Autumn of the early 19th century. A rusted street sign revealing Relgorn Curve, close by a lamppost dimly shone of the deserted disused flats nearby the neighbourhood along with the road passing by.

A policeman wielding a lantern, wonderingly patrolling the street whilst whistling intently to himself inspecting the area of the flats, without worry or concern of the darkness. Until a lively howling was heard nearby, enough to set a chilling nerve of distress on anyone or anything close by. Though the policeman sighed and shrugged it off presuming it was an old dog, so he continued his way beyond the street to patrol the next neighbourhood.

Moments later, a teenage boy walked hastily whilst cradling a carved grotesque looking pumpkin, stopped to place the pumpkin down nearby one flat door. As he was about to light it with a match, a small vibrant knock on the door was heard. Somewhat startled at first until he ignored it, until another knock was heard at the door, concerned now and breathed heavily he lit the match to edge closer to the door wondering who or what was knocking at the door until another knock was heard, as the boy stepped back slightly fearful.

Suddenly, the door slammed open wide revealing a daunting, disturbing display of pitch-blackness of spooky wailing howls with screeching bats flying and dashing out. The boy screeched aloud in horror, bolting away and beyond from Relgorn Curve, leaving behind the now smashed up pumpkin.

The door closed slowly in an eery creek, at least now the boy learnt his lesson to NOT open the door.