<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It begins as soon as it gets dark.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You can hardly hear it at first, just a gentle tap-tap. It could be the pipes, branches from the tree, anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But then it grows louder. More insistent. And the sound will change as it grows. The wrap of knuckles on wood will become a frenzied drumming. As if there are fists beyond the door. Trying to beat the dead wood into submission.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Desperate for her to open the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tap-tap-tap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She stares at nothing as the kettle boils. The gathering rush of boiling water. The sound of ignition as the heating comes on. The television in the next room. White noise. She wants to fill the emptiness with noise. To drown out the waiting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A mug of tea gently warms her trembling hands as Strictly<\/em> comes on, brash and safe. Comforting primary colours. Some celebrity is doing the two-step to the same old tunes, and yes, it\u2019s obvious there\u2019s something going on between those two. All these things are reassuring. Familiar. They distract.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There it is again. This time it is louder. As if someone is striking the wood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Every night it is the same. From the time the sun goes down. She dreads the dawning of another day; she hopes for it. She hopes and prays it will pass her by.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Please. Pass me by.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Knock-knock-Knock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A hollow sound. Bone on wood. Then, silence. She thinks she can hear voices in the silence. There, beyond the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She looks longingly at the phone. But she doesn\u2019t call. Not yet. This, too, has become a ritual.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And she does not open the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She glances at the television, but the spell is broken. She goes back into the kitchen. She chops onions. Scrapes them from the chopping board into the frying pan before she realises that the hob isn\u2019t switched on. She switches on the hob. Gradually the onions sizzle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ten minutes pass. She adds mince and a jar of sauce. She puts on a pan of water to boil. Ten more minutes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She adds the pasta. She watches as it dances in the salty water. Listens to the bubbling surge. Breathes in the smells of cooking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The pasta is ready. She takes the pan to the sink where the colander is waiting. Knock-knock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then, suddenly, a thunderous banging. They will wear their knuckles out and still they won\u2019t stop. They will beat their fists bloody.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She screams and covers her face in her hands. The pan falls onto the floor. Boiling water spills over the kitchen as it clatters: her ears ring. Her hands are suddenly cold. She looks down. Eddies of swirling water; pasta shapes are scattered around her feet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Finally, she makes the call.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Yes, mum?\u2019 A weary, familiar voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018They\u2019ve started again.\u2019 It is hard, so hard, to get the words out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Look, we\u2019ve gone over this.\u2019 Her daughter\u2019s voice is slightly slurred. She\u2019s been drinking again. \u2018You\u2019re safer indoors. We can get you anything you need, you know that. Just ignore them and they\u2019ll go away.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018But you don\u2019t understand.\u2019 Her voice sounds pathetic, even to her. \u2018It doesn\u2019t go away. It doesn\u2019t ever go away.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n Over the phone, her daughter makes soothing noises. She doesn\u2019t hear them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Why are they doing this to me?\u2019 She says, \u2018It shouldn\u2019t be allowed. You don\u2019t know what it\u2019s like for a woman like me to be on her own after \u2013 all that\u2019s happened. No-one does. A woman my age, living on her own.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n She can still hear her daughter making those noises. Not listening.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018It\u2019s been like this ever since it all began. I can\u2019t cope with it any more, I just can\u2019t. I\u2019m scared. I\u2019m so scared of what\u2019ll happen if I open the door.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Then don\u2019t open it.\u2019 Her daughter says. \u2018You\u2019ll be alright. We installed that security system last year, remember? And the front door,\u2019 Her daughter pauses, just long enough to take another drink. \u2018Reinforced steel, six hundred quid. Nothing\u2019s going to get through that.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n Another pause.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Anyway, it\u2019s probably just kids. They\u2019re idiots, but they can\u2019t do anything. Nothing\u2019s going to happen.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Why don\u2019t you understand?\u2019 The woman\u2019s voice rises. \u2018It\u2019s not kids. It\u2019s someone else. It\u2019s something else!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Oh, come on, you don\u2019t know that \u2013\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018But it\u2019s not coming from the front door! That\u2019s what I\u2019m trying to tell you!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n Without warning, there\u2019s a violent banging. She screams and drops the phone. Trembling she tries to pick it up. As the knocking begins to subside into a rhythmic pounding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Bang-bang. Bang-bang. Bang-bang.<\/p>\n\n\n\n From a closed door. Inside the flat.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A elderly woman shielding against Covid is disturbed by a mysterious knocking on her door. A compelling short story of horror by Fraser Malaney.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":750,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"neve_meta_sidebar":"","neve_meta_container":"","neve_meta_enable_content_width":"","neve_meta_content_width":0,"neve_meta_title_alignment":"","neve_meta_author_avatar":"","neve_post_elements_order":"","neve_meta_disable_header":"","neve_meta_disable_footer":"","neve_meta_disable_title":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[16],"tags":[40,15,37,28,39,38,29],"class_list":["post-753","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-stories","tag-creepy","tag-dundee","tag-horror","tag-scotland","tag-story","tag-suspense","tag-writer"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/nethergatewriters.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/753","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/nethergatewriters.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/nethergatewriters.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nethergatewriters.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nethergatewriters.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=753"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/nethergatewriters.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/753\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":865,"href":"https:\/\/nethergatewriters.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/753\/revisions\/865"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nethergatewriters.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/750"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nethergatewriters.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=753"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nethergatewriters.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=753"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nethergatewriters.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=753"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}