Horror Suspense Thriller

My mom told me to always lock my bedroom door at night. It had two rusty deadbolts, one above and one below the door handle. I turned them each three times every night. Lock. Unlock. Lock. Unlock. Lock. I learned early on that it was useless to ask my mother why. Her eyebrows would pull together, her forehead would get that familiar wrinkle in the middle, and she would shake her head just enough to jangle her earrings, but she would never justify a response.

Half asleep, most nights I could hear the door handle turning. Some nights it would be gentle, others it would be frenzied. I would pull the covers over my head, imagining that the thin piece of fabric made me invisible.

I didn’t know what was behind the door and I didn’t want to find out.

October 7, 1993

I sat across from mom at the table. In front of me was a burnt piece of toast, a hard-boiled egg, and a cup of OJ. My breakfast every morning. “Hey, Mom, do you lock your door at night?” I picked up the egg and tore it in half. Couldn’t stomach the thought of eating.

“Lucy,” her voice was hushed, irritated. “You know we can’t talk about this, please.” Her dark blue eyes were pleading, long stringy brown hair framed her face. She looked tired, like she hadn’t been sleeping well for a long time.

“Come on Mom, do you lock your door too?” I pushed. I had to know.

“Lucy Woolsworth, I’ve told you so many times we can’t talk about this. It’s already too late for me but it’s not too late for you!” she seemed startled by her own words. “I’ve said too much already. Just stop.”

“You never explain anything to me!” I tossed the pieces of egg back on the plate, throwing my backpack over one shoulder. “I gotta go to school.”

She was tearing pieces of her toast apart, she hadn’t taken a single bite either. She nodded once but wouldn’t look at me. Her words were so quiet I almost didn’t hear them, “I’m so sorry, Lucy.”

The dreams started after mom installed the extra locks.

Sometimes I opened the door to a pile of tomatoes, taller than me. They were shiny, fat, and juicy. The green tops were perfect, no little pest bites. I would reach out to take one, sometimes on my tip-toes to get the one on the very top and sometimes from the middle. Before I could even touch it, they all exploded. Splattering me with mater guts.

Mrs. Wade was standing over me, holding an open copy of The Scarlet Letter. “Lucy, why don’t you read the next section?” I had been thinking about the door and the dreams and my mother.

“I…I…” flustered, I started to turn the pages of my own copy, as if the sentence I needed would come alive right off the pages.

“Lucy, see me after class.” She turned on her squeaky leather shoes and headed for her next victim. “James, maybe you can read for us.” He shot me a quick glance, a little smirk turned up one corner of his mouth. He started to turn the pages as if he were lost too. The whole class laughed, like they do if he has anything to say about it, well, except Mrs. Wade, “Okay, that’s enough everybody. James, please read the next part.”

I caught him looking at me a few times after that. He probably thought I was looking at him too. I wasn’t. His desk was between me and the door. It was an ugly green color, there was a smudged window that peered out into the hallway, and it was heavy. It made a loud sound when it opened and shut, but it was a door I didn’t have to fear. It never showed up in my dreams.

In one of the dreams I was standing there at the door, a sickly warm red liquid started to seep from underneath it. It crawled over my toes quickly, it was thick and sticky. It smelled like an old penny. I looked up to see that it was climbing the walls in snake-like tendrils. Eventually swallowing the room whole. I was stuck in place, the goo had turned into glue. Tendrils slithered up my body, they were heavy and suffocating. They stabbed through my eyes and into my mouth with a bright searing pain. Then there was only darkness.

Mrs. Wade looked over her chunky maroon glasses as I approached her desk. All the students had cleared out in a flurry of papers, backpacks, laughter and teasing. It was just us now. Great.

“What’s going on, Lucy? You haven’t been yourself lately.” She folded her hands on top of a stack of papers, mine probably in there somewhere. I don’t remember writing it. I hope it wasn’t about the door.

“Nothing,” I said, avoiding her concerned eyes. “I’m just tired.”

“I’m sure you’re tired. That’s not all though, is it?” her mouth was tightly pursed, her lipstick had smudged outside of her lip line. It was painful to see the messiness of it. I could tell that she expected some kind of explanation but I didn’t have one.

“I’m just tired,” I repeated myself instead.

“I know things have probably been hard on you lately. I’m here for you, Lucy, I hope you know that... This paper,” she pulled one from the stack and I could see that it was riddled with red marks. That’s never good. “Did you even read the instructions?”

I shrugged, I didn’t know what to say, I probably hadn’t.

“You have two days to re-write it.” She pushed the paper into my hands, picked up her red pen, and that was it. End of discussion. At least she didn’t pry.

I was staring at the big red F, it was almost comically larger than it needed to be, when I ran smack dab into James.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, folding the paper so he couldn’t see all the red.

He grazed my arm with one hand and lingered there, “You alright, home skillet?” He actually sounded worried, his head ducked down while he studied my face.

“We didn’t run into each other that hard,” I laughed, tucking the shameful paper in my bag.

“No, no, I mean like…” he started to wave his hands around, “in general.”

“Yeah, of course. I’m fine.” We weren’t even friends. We saw each other in English class and in the hallways sometimes so his sudden interest in my state of being felt uncomfortable.

“Well, you know I’m here too,” he said, but there was an uncertainty in his eyes. I realized that he had probably stood outside the classroom and heard my conversation with Mrs. Wade, how embarrassing. I felt my cheeks and ears getting hot.

“Okaaaayyyy,” I said, pushing past him. For once I looked forward to going home.

Then there was the dream about the graveyard. When I opened the door, I was hit with a wall of heat, it surrounded me like a hug that was a bit too tight. I saw faded gray headstones, the letters streaked with age, it was difficult to make out the words. The starved crescent moon cast long shadows over each headstone. It felt as though they were reaching out to embrace me. I took one shaky step inside, the wet ground squished under my bare feet. Squinting, I read the first gravestone, “Lucy Woolsworth, beloved daughter, died October 7, 1993.”

I woke with a heaving gasp, covered in sweat.

“Mom!” I yelled when I got home, dropping my backpack with a loud thud in the foray. It’s one of her pet peeves. “Mom! Mom?” there was only silence. She was always home, waiting for me. My heart started to beat faster as I searched through the rooms.

“Mom!” I got to her bedroom. The door was open a sliver. I pushed it with one hand and peeked in. She wasn’t there. The bed was neatly made up, a quilt thrown over one corner. She never allowed me in her room, it was always closed.

There was a book open on her oversized oak desk. A lamp illuminated the faded yellow pages. Her curtains were drawn so the room was darker than it should be. I stepped closer and there on the pages, I saw drawings of different locks. She had scratched in the margins, “will this work?” I started to flip the pages. “Is she strong enough?” Then came the pages of my door. Sketched in pen, pencil, marker, hundreds of times. Some big, some small. I could hear the blood pumping through my body, it felt like it all rushed to my head in a panic.

The front door slammed and I jumped back from her desk. She can’t find me here. I turned to run from the room but not before noticing that she didn’t have any locks on her door. I guess I got my answer.

“Lucy! I told you not to leave your backpack out here!” she yelled from the foray. “Lucy!”

“I’m coming mom, sorry!” I rushed out to grab my backpack. I noticed that she looked exhausted, she was pale with the darkest circles under her eyes I’d ever seen. “Where were you? You’re always home,” I asked.

“I met with a friend,” she said. “Pizza’s on the way. I’m going to lay down. Do your homework. Lock your door. Love you.” She kissed me on the forehead and was gone behind her door before I could say another word. She never ordered takeout. Even when I begged.

Another dream came to me like a sickness I couldn’t quite heal from. I could hear a soft female voice, “Let me in, Lucy.” Although it was tender and motherly, it made my stomach twist. “Unlock the door, lovie.” I knew I could not unlock the door for her, or it. I backed away and tripped over my backpack. It seemed to enrage whoever it was, she started to beat on the door with loud force. The voice morphed into a deep, angry male voice “Let me in you wretched brat!”

I spent many hours re-writing the essay. I definitely didn’t read the instructions. I’m lucky Mrs. Wade gave me the chance to redeem myself. She could have failed me and moved on, but I was usually a straight A student. Poor James. I was so mean to him and he was just worried about me. I’ll have to apologize tomorrow.

Mom said she was meeting a friend. She didn’t have friends. Where was she?

My bedroom window was open and I could hear the soft rain hitting the pavement. The rustle of leaves.

I grabbed The Scarlet Letter and crawled into my bed, I would try to do better tomorrow. My blinks got slower and longer. I was so tired. I stirred a little when the book fell onto my chest, but I was no match for the exhaustion I felt. It was the culmination of too many sleepless nights. Tonight there was no dream, only darkness.

For the first time ever, she forgot. She forgot the locks. The door handle started to turn and this time she didn’t wake up.

Posted Jul 31, 2025
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17 likes 6 comments

01:53 Aug 07, 2025

This was a fantastic read! Can't wait to see what's next...

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Stephanie Ayotte
02:06 Aug 07, 2025

Thank you so much!

Reply

Elizabeth Hoban
02:48 Aug 06, 2025

Wow - I realize there leaves room for interpretation but its narrow- WOW - this held me captivated throughout even though I picked up early on the clear undertones. I loved the opening sentence - locked me right in! Well done!

Reply

Stephanie Ayotte
12:06 Aug 06, 2025

Thank you so much ! That means a lot to me.

Reply

Randall L
22:12 Aug 02, 2025

Those dreams are ao vivid! Great work.

Reply

Stephanie Ayotte
12:06 Aug 06, 2025

Thank you Randall ! The dreams were fun to write

Reply

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