Randy Neal: Short Horror Story

I hear a loud knocking at my door.

Weird.

I am not expecting anyone.

I slowly get out of bed. The room, damned by darkness, forces me to feel along the walls for the light switch.

Who could it be at this hour?

I make my way to the door, still half asleep. I look toward the window and notice the raindrops racing with every light thud. I live in a secluded area, nothing but trees. Tonight, a pair of headlights stare back at me. It isn’t out of the ordinary for someone to have car troubles on this long stretch of farm road.

I open the door and am met by a tall, beautiful woman. You can tell she’s been out in the rain for a long time. Her hair is wet, stringy, and clings to her face. In the dim porch light, I notice faint red streaks tangled in the blonde strands. Darker than rainwater.

“Sorry to bother you at this hour, mister, but could I use your phone?” the unknown woman says in a very calm tone.

Why was she out at this hour walking in the rain?

“What was she wearing?” the detective across the table asks.

“A long leather jacket. I think she was wearing a purple dress underneath. It looked like she had come from an event. I was wondering how she found her way to my front door.”

I am being questioned about a missing person.

After helping that lady last night, I happened to see a poster of her when I went into town.

“It was like I was having deja vu. I was trying to think of where I had seen her, and it was not until I got home that it dawned on me… It was the lady from the other night.”

I shake my head in disbelief.

“That’s when I knew I had to give you guys a call.”

“What happened after you invited her in?”

I offered her some warm milk and a fresh change of clothes. She denied both.

She slowly picks up the phone off the receiver and begins to dial the same number over and over. Each time she waits… listening… before placing it back down and dialing again.

No response.

I cannot help but notice the red streaks in her blonde hair again. Though it is too dark to see clearly, something about them bothers me.

“Ma’am, are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help?” I ask while walking over to the closet and reaching for the first aid kit on the top shelf.

“Just a little fall is all, mister. I’d hate to ask for another favor, but can I use your bathroom?” the beautiful woman says.

Her voice is calm. Too calm.

I nod and point down the hall.

“Did she seem in a daze?” the detective asks.

“Not at all. She took her time with everything.”

I reach for the cigarettes in my shirt pocket.

“Do you mind?”

“No sir.”

“Oh she was just the most beautiful woman I ever saw. Such a shame things like this happen to people.”

I pat my pockets for a lighter.

As I take a long drag from my cigarette, I realize something.

I am not smoking a cigarette.

My hands are empty.

My surroundings have changed.

My feet are chained together. My head throbs.

“Is he doing that whole talking-to-himself thing again?”

“Yes doctor. Should we up his dosage?”

“Let’s give it a few more days and keep an eye on him in the meantime.”

“Those things he did to that poor woman… what a horror” she shakes her head while looking at the man through the small window.

—————————————————————————————————————————

Randy Neal

Diagnosis: Schizophrenia

Date: April 7th, 1982

Randy continues to mumble to himself about the happenings in December.

He continues to claim he does not remember what happened to the woman.

Through his episodes of mumbling, we were able to obtain some information.

Sara was found under the man’s bed, her body wrapped in bandages.

Randy states the bandages were given to her to wrap wounds he noticed that night, but forensics determined they were placed on the body well after she was deceased.

—————————————————————————————————————————

“I was only trying to help,” he sobs with his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth in the darkness of his cell.

From somewhere in the hallway, a quiet knocking echoes against the door.