The Visitor

The jingle of the door made her look up, but no one was there. She shrugged and reached for her book again. Perhaps it was just the wind. 

She pulled her legs up on the chair into a fetal position. 

Late nights were the worst, yet she needed the money.

There was another jingle.

Again, no one.

Carefully, she placed her book on the table.

The air around her vibrated. Shaking off her worst fears, she stood up.

That was when the cold hand clamped over her mouth and the maniacal laughing behind her started.

© 2020, Friday Fictioneers, 11 September 2020

Photo prompt provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Published by Fia Coldwell

Suspense Writer

16 thoughts on “The Visitor

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