A very short story. All my posts this season are “inspired by” a letter of the alphabet.

Knock.

Who’s there?

Knock.

I can hear you saying Knock. Who’s there?

Knock, Knock.

Yes, OK, I already asked “Who’s there?”

Knock, Knock, Knock.

She called out, No, you’re only supposed to say it twice, remember? You’re daft, but OK, I’ll play along. Then I say “Who’s there?” and you say, I don’t know… “Yah”, then I say “Yah who?”, then you say “I use Google”.

He’d been up for a while; she’d heard him get out of bed and she had promptly rolled over and gone back to sleep. Knock Knock was a stupid game they’d play, his inventiveness for poor puns greatly outshining her own. But it would make them both giggle. Now, she was sitting up in bed reading, a lazy Saturday morning. She’d been getting back into fairy tales, and as is always the case, they invariably seemed much darker when you read them as an adult. But the goblins and such could only exert their power if you let them in, right? They trick you, but if you don’t fall for it, they have no sway. Like sharks, she mused. Well, not like sharks at all. The thing with sharks was that you could avoid being tricked by them, or indeed eaten, if you just stayed out of the sea. So stay out of the goblin realm and you’ll be fine. She sighed, rubbing her eyes.

Knock, Knock, Knock… Knock.

Oh, come on, it’s getting tiresome.

Silence.

Ian?

No answer. She went back to her book. Oh, changelings, that was another thing all together. It seemed you had to be angry with, or abandon, your baby or your loved one in a moment of crisis and there the goblin would be, ready to steal them away. Her head hurt.

Sighing, she heaved herself out of bed, threw on a sweatshirt and socks, and went to the kitchen. As she started preparing a coffee, she called out Ian, where are you, you egit?

Still no answer. She wandered into the living room, half expecting him to jump out at her. But no. There was no-one in the flat apart from herself. She saw the lights of the washing machine blinking and went to turn it off; there must have been a power cut or power surge or something. Only last week the key code for the front door had failed. Maybe we have a goblin, she chuckled. Grabbing her phone, she went back to the bedroom. He must have gone out to the shops, and he’d left some kind of recording going to freak her out. You could do that these days, AI and all that, but it was a bit of an annoying trick. That said, he was always on his phone, exploring AI, social media, doomscrolling, surfing videos, shopping, playing stupid games. You name it, he did it, he was never without his mobile and would get quite upset if the wifi went down, or his battery was low. She loved him, but sometimes wondered what would happen if she hid it for a while. She imagined it would not be taken well. Back in bed, she messaged him. The message didn’t go. So she tried calling. The number you are calling is no longer available. She huffed, then it dawned on her that usually the automatic message would say the phone was off or out of reach, or something like that, not no longer available. She felt a flutter of anxiety in her stomach.

Knock, Knock, Knock!

She gasped. This time it was not Ian’s voice. Or rather, it might have been, but it sounded demented, anguished. And the third knock was not a voice, but a bang.

Again, again; it became constant, two shrieks and a bang, over and over. Where was it coming from?

Stop it whoever you are, I’m calling the police! She yelled towards the general vicinity of the front door. She grabbed her phone and, aghast, saw Ian’s face on the screen. It was screaming. She turned up the volume…

Knock, Knock!, he cried, and the third knock was on the glass of the screen, his fist hitting it as if wanting to break out. Holding the phone tightly, she ran to the front door and flung it wide open. She didn’t know why, maybe just to look for help. There was no-one there, except for her elderly neighbour crossing the hall. She sank to her knees and looked at her phone again. The image had vanished. It was all she could do to crawl back to the bedroom, sobbing. Her phone beeped. A message. Wiping her eyes, she opened it.

He’s here. He’ll always be here. He couldn’t open the door. That can happen with a key code, can’t it? So he tried to call you. But you didn’t pick up. You let him go. Now he’s here, forever, with me. AI has given me a whole new lease of life. Oh yes, something much more delicious to feast on; credulity, paranoia and obsession, not to mention access to all your, what do you call them? Passwords? And that’s just for starters… How did I get here? Well it was you. And him. On your phones. Searching for fairy tales, even… goblins? You’ve given me a new life. You let me in. So… thank you. You’ll be with me too, won’t you? Be seeing you…

Horrified, she heard the front door slam.

NEW PODCAST AVAILABLE! At link below and on Spotify

K is For…