The Unknown Resident - Part One

The door swung to a close behind the tired girl. A sigh filled the empty house as she slide into the living room and relaxed into the sofa. The keys jingled as she dropped them into her bag in one of the side pockets where they belonged; the small sound echoing in the silence. Each object had its place in her school bag, or any bag for that matter. In this case, the front pockets held her card holder which looked after her bus pass and emergency money (which was only a £10 note), as well as her USB. It held all of her precious school work, what would she do without it? Such a little device held such importance over her life. She considered, as she rested, the impact of losing it. It would be a great hinderance. Having to start her work all over again. A sigh escaped her lips again. Such dull thoughts for a dull life. The slight twinge in her stomach reminded her that she hungry. Her head turned left to look towards the kitchen door; making a mental plan of what food was out there and where. A blur shivered in the corner of her vision as she did so. She turned her full attention to the spot. There had just been something there... Hadn't there?

Shaking off the odd feeling that comes from seeing something that isn't really there, she got off the sofa and lazily strolled into the kitchen. Even though she knew what food was there she still had to have a look, just in case anything took her fancy. Plus she needed to check there really wasn't a figure just past the doorway. To do that, she needed to be quiet and keep calm in hopes of surprising this figure and gaining the upper hand.

She pounced round the corner. Nothing. It was just the kitchen and the dinning room beyond that through a decorative archway. The chuckle she released seemed to echo in the lonely house while the girl pushed all scary thoughts from her mind. She picked up a packet of crisps and a juicy plum to take up to her room. Gathering her bags as she walked through the living room, she noticed the mail had been sorted into a pile on the floor. Her ex-boyfriend, who was always weirdly obsessive about messy things, would have been proud of her for making such a neat stack of paper. Except for one thing... she didn't do it.

Her breath hitched and got caught in her throat. Desperately her thoughts whizzed through her mind while she tired to make sense of them. Her memory of her walking in the door up until this point replayed in her mind. Over and over and over again. Walking through the door. Closing it. Living room. Kitchen. Here. There were some letters on the doormat when she walked in but she had walked on them in order to get to the next room. How? How were they now in an impossibly tidy pile sitting perfectly parallel to the door?

A tremble passed through her body as her eyes never left the spot where the pile lay. It was ridiculous and illogical that what she was seeing was real; yet it was. It was undeniable that before her was the post that she had trodden on whilst walking in. It was undeniable that she had spread the letters apart when she moved her foot from them. It was undeniable that the same post was there before her eyes, placed as if the postman had opened the door and put them there himself.

Before another thought could enter her head she raced up the stairs and into her bedroom. Slightly panting from her sudden use of energy she kept her back against the door; sliding down to come to a rest on the floor. One flick of her eyes and she had scanned the whole room. This time she breathed a sigh of relief that the intruder was not in the room. This relief was short lived as her gaze rested on the doors of her wardrobe. The white wardrobe that was built into the wall of the room stood out against the horrible yellow of the rest of the room. If they weren't renting this house she would have begged her father to repaint the room. Still, her gaze held onto the handles of her wardrobe. There was her name, Charlotte, craved in wood and hanging from the string; swaying slowly. The piece of wood had been made by her younger brother and every time she looked at it she felt pride and love swell in her chest. Not anymore. Now she looked upon it with fear as it swayed. Back and forth, back and forth. It was relentless. It was almost as if it was mocking her.

“Ha ha!” It was saying, “There is someone hiding behind me.”

Charlotte had seen countless movies where the scared young girl calls out to the intruder and asks if anyone was there. It never ended well. What other choice did she have? If she made to run downstairs and out of the house the intruder could easily prevent her before she even left the room. Then there was the possibility that there had in fact been someone downstairs and they were now blocking the front door, just in case she made it past the guy in her wardrobe. How could she be so stupid as to not at least check that the back door was locked?

Or maybe her imagination was running wild again? She had often found herself alone in a house, heard a creak and be a few moments away from calling the police. This time felt different though. This time the pile of letters couldn't be explained like the creak of the house warming up could be. This time the eerie swaying of her name sent shivers down her spine in ways she didn't know were possible. Taking a deep breath she prepared herself to face her fears. “Hello?” She paused. Waited for a noise; any sign of movement within the wardrobe. “Is there someone there?” Her question lingered in the air unanswered.

After several, painfully slow minutes she grabbed her phone in her left hand and fished out a pencil from her bag to rest in her right hand. Charlotte's fingers hovered over the digit nine; poised and ready to hit it three times lightening fast. She gradually hoisted herself up into a standing position. One foot inched forward. The other foot inched forward. In just two steps she was outside her wardrobe doors. The swinging name stopped.

Her shaking breath disturbed the silence. Her heart beat pumped faster and faster. Her right hand reached out to the handle. Swallowing hard and holding her breath she quickly turned the handle and yanked back the door. Nothing. There was no intruder lurking in her wardrobe. Charlotte formed a smile and almost let out a laugh at her imagination running wild. But her smile disappeared as soon as it came. If there was no intruder... if there was no intruder then... then what was in the house?

Fear pulsed through her veins as the twisted truth of her reality sunk in. Something. Something was in this house. Her scared body moved backwards until her knees buckled on the edge of the bed. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled her legs close to her chest and tucked in her head. It was her worst nightmare come true. A haunted house. The fear ridden body rocked back and forth, back and forth.

A buzz in her left hand stirred her from her soon to be comatose state. It was a message from her father. He wasn't coming home tonight. Caught up with something at work which meant he had to stay a day longer in Paris. Another message immediately after telling her that her brother was staying at a friends. Alone. She was going to be stuck on her own. In a house that most likely had a resident ghost. Charlotte couldn't help the sob that erupted from her body at this realisation; couldn't hold back the tear that flowed down her cheek. What was she going to do?