cant tell its horror yet, but hopefully it will be.
‘Knock’ ‘Knock’ Knock’. That same tapping that Thomas Brown had heard time and time again. That same knocking that would disturb his quiet evenings, at the same time, on the same day. Of course, he knew it was just kids messing with his head, trying to spoke him out. Or was it?
Well that didn’t really matter yet, what mattered, was what he was going to do about it. Of course he’d tried before to catch the culprit, but as you may have already guessed by the returning knocks, he had not succeeded. Every Wednesday evening, when the clock strikes six, he’d leap from his country style arm chair, and race to the old oak door. But when he would yank the door open, ( bearing in mind that this is all happening within the first few seconds of the knocks) all he was to find was an empty street greeting him, with the occasional bird tweeting and dog barking.
He knew as well as anyone else that some little runt couldn’t run that fast, and he thought himself to be a fairly quick and agile person, being in his thirties and all. So either he was imagining it or this kid was some creepy magician who could vanish with the wave of his magic wand. Anyway so here he was, sitting in his aging beige armchair, letting his ears ring as the taunting knocks thundered through like stampedes. There were only ever three knocks anyway, so he could bear it, the only thing that bothered him, was the consistency of the knocking. Not just the time and day, but the accuracy between the time delay between each knock; almost as if a robot was on the other side, programmed to bang on the door at approximate times.
On the last knock though today he was going to end it , he’d had enough of this mockery and was tired of being disturbed every Wednesday evening. It wasn’t to do with the fact that this was actually starting to get to him now, or out of fear, the fact that he had just ordered a CCTV for his door, no, it was purely because he was annoyed.
So he sprang from his chair, his brown slippers like springs, and charged his lanky legs to the door. He let out a wave of foul language as he banged his knee against the hard oak. He grasped the door handle, yanked hard; and launched himself into the street. will be.
