At least I have the right street, Jacob thought as he pulled up to the cul-de-sac curb. Judging by the number of cars here, there’s got to be a party going on somewhere.
He checked his GPS. YOU HAVE ARRIVED, it said, AT 9 BROKEN CIRCLE. And there was the number nine hanging against the peeling paint of the mailbox post, one of those metal numbers you’d buy at a home improvement store.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of doubt as he looked at the house at the top of the sloped driveway. He’d never been to Stefanie’s house before; he had no idea what it looked like. What if he rang the doorbell and someone else answered? What if no one even lived here? The lawn was awfully overgrown for someone throwing a party. Then again, Stef wasn’t the type to concern herself with the state of her grass. There weren’t any lights on in the house either, but it wasn’t dark enough for lights yet anyway.
“Just get up there and find out,” he muttered to himself. “No point in delaying it.”
But he delayed all the same. Why oh why had he agreed to come to this party? It wasn’t anybody’s birthday or wedding, just a game night. No one would have gotten their feelings hurt if he’d said no. He could have begged off for work . . . except he’d begged off work for this. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, a chance to hang out with his friends and Stef. Mostly Stef.
But now, with that house looming dark above him, Jacob’s breath came uncomfortably fast, and his muscles tensed, an invisible dread pressing him back into the car seat.
“It’s just a house,” he went on. “It’s got vinyl siding! How scary could it be?” But it wasn’t the house, it was what was inside.
It was probably Stef, sure. She’d open the door, flash that wide-eyed smile of hers, and drag him inside to join in a game of Mafia or Signs or whatever new game she’d scrounged off Pinterest. He’d stay for a few hours and leave with a sore throat from laughing, this whole doorstep ordeal barely a memory.
Yeah, it was probably Stef inside.
But what if it wasn’t?
It wasn’t too late. He was still in the car; he could still turn around, drive home, curl up with an episode of MST3K. If Stef asked what happened, he could say the game night didn’t show up on his calendar. A feeble excuse since Facebook reminders made it impossible to miss an event these days, but Stef was trusting. She’d buy it.
He couldn’t do that to her.
Sucking in as much air as he could, he threw open the car door and clambered out. No turning back now. Even though he instantly wanted to.
What if he had the wrong house after all? What if some older woman came to the door and he had to explain why he was in the wrong place and ignore his embarrassment-flushed cheeks? Or what if it was a man cleaning a shotgun? No, that only happened in the movies. But what if it was a stranger, and not the understanding kind? Worse, what if no one came to the door and he was left standing there for hours, not knowing what to do? Okay, it probably wouldn’t be hours. But what if it happened? Or what if—heaven forbid—he tried the door and walked in on some family having their dinner? What if they called the police? What if—
Jacob turned off the driveway onto the concrete path to the front steps. By now, the dread pressure was nearly unbearable. He was going to explode or shake apart or collapse, he just knew it. It was a crisp autumn day, but his cheeks burned with summer heat, and sweat soaked his armpits right through his cardigan.
His mind flashed back unwillingly to childhood nightmares, trying to run but unable to control his body. His arms and legs had that same drugged numbness now, moving through sludge as he mounted the stairs one, two, three. He half-expected a clawed hand to reach out from the land of slumber and seize his shoulder. But this was daytime, and a sharp bite to his tongue confirmed that he was awake. No monsters today, only shame and embarrassment.
Now that he thought about it, he’d prefer the monsters.
The door was there, right in front of him, a thick heavy wooden door with a decorative window in the center. In the dim light filtering through the prismed glass, Jacob could just make out dark shapes in the hall, and he could hear muffled laughter. It could be his friends. Or someone else was throwing a party and he was one wrong move away from crashing it.
Fight or flight was kicking in hard, and fight wasn’t an option. He was going to bolt, he knew it. It wouldn’t be a conscious decision, but he’d find himself back in his car, peeling through the neighborhood way faster than what was safe.
He didn’t run. He raised a fist squeezed so tight he cut off the blood flow and rapped on the door, three quick knocks before he could change his mind.
The laughter died. Something inside shifted, and then he heard footsteps padding toward him. The door peeled open with a creak so painful Jacob thought of an ancient coffin lid being ripped off. The stench of rotting meat didn’t help much either.
The wide eyes that welcomed Jacob weren’t Stef’s. And the hand that dragged him inside had too many claws to be human.
#
The autumn breeze gently swung the loose number six on the mailbox, where it hung upside down from a single nail. Meanwhile, in 9 Broken Circle, Stef and company were wondering why Jacob never showed up at their front door.
—
Jonathan King is a library assistant at North Greenville University and a writer of speculative fiction since he was seven years old. He watches too many superhero TV shows, mutters to himself frequently, and scarcely lets a day go by without eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Image by David Howard
Scary story with a good job of building the tension.
That’s why you should never trust your GPS. Nice twist at the end!