Horror Stories

The House With Marked Doors

When Mum and Dad bought the house, they thought the brown scratches on the bedroom doors were from a dog. But when they spoke to the agent, he said the previous owners didn't have one.

Mum and Dad replaced the doors. But after the third time, they gave up, as the dark scratches always returned by the next morning.

My parents discarded it as something to do with the quality of wood in the area. Dad said he'd order new doors from out of town come the end of the month.

But I couldn't wait that long.

One night, I decided to stay awake and find out the truth. I put off all the lights, laid in bed with pillow end toward the door, and covered my face with a blanket --leaving a small crack.

Things were quiet for the first hour after twelve. I thought about going to the bathroom just after one. If I decided to go and scared the thing away, then I'd waste hours of sleep. I fought against my bladder and waited.

At two, I heard the first noise. It sounded like something being scraped away. As if someone in the next room worked at the wall with a screwdriver. I held my breath and listened.

It lasted for twenty minutes and by that time I knew something was definitely there. My heart pounded in my chest. I felt like running, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself unless I knew the truth.

The sound stopped and started in intervals.

I thought about checking on Mum and Dad. But judging from all the other nights, no one would be hurt. Whatever made the scratches was only interested in the walls. And if I waited long enough, maybe I could catch the culprit.

My patience thinned as each minute passed. My bladder throbbed, threatening to burst. I gritted my teeth and squashed my knees together.

Just after three AM, the sound came again and closer. I could see a shadow moving in the darkness of the hallway.

The thing, whatever it was, stopped just steps away.

It scraped at Mum and Dad's bedroom door. Then it moved toward mine. I readied my hand for the light.

The creature worked at my door, each scratch like chalk on wood. It sounded hungry as if it devoured the grooves.

My heart pounded in my chest, my ears, the back of my head. I wanted to move, but fear held me still. The dark thing shifted along my carpet, breathing in between the screeching sound of it scratching the wood.

It was now or never.

I shot up and flicked on the light, and then cried as I fell back onto my bed.

Mum and Dad scraped at my bedroom door, their eyes blank, nails rimmed with blood, and their mouths speaking soundless words.