| Horror and Thriller Fiction posted March 22, 2025 |
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Escaping the past
The Doorbell Rang
by Begin Again
"Yes, Mom, I am packing." Mara sighed. She couldn't blame her mom for her skepticism. She'd gone through all the steps to look for a new apartment and get all the packing material, but then she never followed through.
After the accident, the one that killed her ex-husband, she couldn't bring herself to leave the house. They'd shared it once, filled it with memories and broken promises. And though the house was hers now, it never felt like a home.
But now, as the last of her belongings sat packed in boxes, it was time to leave. She had to move. She couldn't keep living in the past. This house, with all its echoes of him, was holding her hostage. It was time to go — no more excuses.
She sat on the floor, organizing the final things into a box. Her gaze shifted to the clock on the mantel. It read 10:59 PM. She tried to focus on the final packing, but she couldn't. No matter how hard she tried, she waited. Knowing it would come.
She counted off the last few seconds — ten, nine, eight. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled.
Seven, six, five, four — goosebumps covered her arms.
Three, two — icy fingers touched her spine. She wanted to move and hide her head, but she was frozen.
One — the clock read 11:00, and the doorbell rang.
Mara froze. Horrible memories of the night Alex died flashed through her mind. The time when everything had changed. The time of the crash — 11 PM.
She had expected this — she had feared it. She'd felt his presence since the accident, even though he was gone. The police had told her it was an accident. But Mara knew the truth. He had been trying to kill her that night. The steering wheel had jerked violently to the left. The brakes had failed. It was no accident. But instead of her dying in the crash, the car had lurched and crossed the medium. That's all she remembered. She'd been hospitalized for three months in a coma.
The doorbell rang again, louder this time, persistent. She stood there, paralyzed, caught between the past and the future. She moved toward the door. Her hands trembled as she wrapped her fingers around the doorknob.
She'd done this every Friday night for the last year. Tonight was different. Tonight, she wanted to leave it all behind.
She'd decided to leave and needed to end her fears now. She turned the knob, not knowing what or who was on the other side.
She tugged and opened the door.
Her heart pounded. Maybe it was just her nerves — her mind playing tricks on her as she tried to escape.
Then, in the cold silence of the night, she saw it. On the doorstep, partially hidden in the shadows, was an envelope. It was thick and unmarked.
She bent down to pick it up. Her hand trembled as she turned it over. It read — "You can run, but I will follow you. I'll finish what I started."
Her breath caught in her throat. It was Alex's handwriting.
She slammed the door closed. The doorbell rang again. She stepped back, then stopped, staring at the door. She opened it.
Suddenly, the air felt heavy. Cold. The silence of the night was suffocating.
"You'll never escape me, Mara," the voice whispered.
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady her breath. But when she opened them again, she saw him standing in the shadows just across the yard — his figure half-hidden behind the trees, his cold eyes fixed on her.
Her stomach dropped.
Mara stumbled backward, her breath catching in her throat as the figure in the shadows stepped forward. Her body screamed at her to run, but she couldn't move. Alex's cold eyes held her there.
"You thought you could leave me?" he said, his voice like broken glass. "You never could."
She turned and bolted into the house, slamming the door shut, her hands scrambling for the lock. The envelope crinkled in her fist, and she dropped it like poison. Her heart pounded so loudly she could barely hear.
Then — darkness.
When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the couch.
The sound of the television filled the room. The familiar glow of late-night news flickered on the wall. Boxes were stacked neatly around her, just like before. Just like always.
Mara sat very still, listening. She heard a drawer close, the rattling of ice, and then footsteps. A voice spoke — his tone touched with amusement: "You okay, babe? You dozed off again."
Mara turned her head. There he was. Alex. Alive. Whole. Smirking.
She sat up slowly, her body tense, her eyes darting toward the door. It was closed and locked. The clock on the mantel read 11:00 PM.
She pressed her palm to her chest, trying to slow the rising panic. "I — I thought you were —"
"Dead?" he interrupted. "You always say that when you wake up. Still having those bad dreams, huh?"
She stared at him, the weight of realization settling like ice in her bones.
She had never escaped.
The house. The crash. The ghost. It had all been part of the dream. A way out her mind had created — but hadn't delivered.
And now she was here. Still trapped. Still his. The clock ticked over —11:01 PM.
The final chill of the night sank into her bones as she sat there. She was awake and realized her nightmare hadn't ended — it had only opened its eyes.
Her eyes filled with tears. She was never going to leave.
In her mind, the doorbell rang.
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