Short Fiction: Someone’s knocking

“Honey, there’s someone at the door.”

Mark woke with a start. He could hear a faint knocking on the front door. It wouldn’t have been enough to rouse him normally, but Fran made sure he would get up to answer it. He grumbled and climbed out of the bed. He was still grumbling as he walked down the hall.

Helluva way to start the day, he thought. I might as well stay up at this point.

He navigated the house with practiced ease. After so many years not even a blindfold could lead him astray. Or, this would have been true had it not been for the new end table that Fran had bought. Cursing over the stubbed toe, Mark limped the rest of the way to the door.

I should get one of those door cameras, he mused. It might have saved him from leaving the comfort of a warm bed.

Looking through the peephole, he saw that there was no one at the door. As he grumbled again, this time over pranksters, a hand with long, leathery fingers wrapped around his throat. The strength was so great that he couldn’t struggle, instead desperately attempting to breath. The pressure tightened. Mark heard the bones in his neck cracking as another hand came into view.

Reaching past him, the hand gently knocked on the inside of the door.

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