Don’t Let Him Know You’re Scared

“Don’t let him know you’re scared,” she whispered. “If he knows, then he won’t stop,”

That was the last words Betty heard before she was dragged into the locked room. It was dark and it smelled like rotten eggs. She reached out with her shaking hands and traced the rough stone walls surrounding her. Her eyes hadn’t adjusted yet, but she could feel that the room was nothing more than a small closet. She inched her foot slowly forward until the tip of her bare foot hit the wooden door. She barely had enough room to stretch her legs.

When she heard the first scratch, she decided that it wasn’t real. That she was making it up. But she couldn’t ignore the reality of itchy fur scuffling over her thigh or the sharp pinch of strong teeth biting at her arms. She didn’t scream until she felt the one nearest to her neck move its tail against her cheek.

In the main house, a middle aged man sat in front of an old screen. He wrote quickly, not wanting to miss a single moment, before closing the book and leaning backwards in his chair to enjoy the show.

Musophobia – a fear of mice and rats.

Do Not Open the Door

The note had been simple. Do not open the door. He placed it under the gap. That way they would see it and then maybe they would listen. All they had to do was keep the door shut.

Beating his fist against the hard wood, he watched with wide, fearful eyes as soft footsteps moved towards him. There was a pause. His breath stilled and beads of cold sweat washed over his body.

The locked clicked and the door opened.

He lunged forward and wrapped his hand around her neck, squeezing until her peach face turned blotchy and red as her eyes filled with tears. He forced her to the ground, his grip tightening as he reached into his pocket and pulled the freshly sharpened pocketknife. He unclipped the blade and pressed the tip against her tearstained cheek.

“I told you not to open the door.”