"Are You Locked In?" Final part of a Hallowe'en ghost story
That was it, whatever shred of level headedness, or systematic, methodical thinking I had left, vanished like an extinguished flame, but at least my survival instinct kicked in. My phone! Ring Angie, Brett would be driving. I fumbled in my pocket with a shaking hand, hoping I hadn’t left it next to the equipment out there. Got it!
The screen lit up the whole vestibule like a beacon calling the hordes of the undead to a feast of fresh blood. My fingers felt twice the size as I poked the contacts button, scrolled down and hit the Angie icon: a smiling, inebriated young woman holding a half full glass.
“Hello,” I whispered.
“Mickey, is that you?” She sounded shocked. “Where’d you get to?”
“Just get back here, you locked me in, there’s something going on. Now!”
From the nave, the tiny, evil voice of pure innocence called again: “Are you locked in?”
“Angie, hurry.”
Before she replied, the screen went blank as the power drained.
Then, drawing ever nearer, those clear tones spoke sweetly to me once again: “Are you locked in?”
The passing seconds felt like hours as I listened for the car returning. Then I heard tyres screeching outside and car doors opening. From the nave, the lights were flickering badly, whatever approached was casting a transparent shadow into the vestibule.
As the key was thrust into the lock and I heard it turn with a heavy clunk, the girl from the photograph floated slowly through the archway. Her gaunt, insipid face, visible between thick, hanging, oily black hair, smiled with such malice, my legs almost gave way. As she lifted the blade in a single robotic movement, the door pushed inwards, but before the gap had widened enough for me to escape, I felt the cold blade stab into my back with such force, it slammed me against the door.
Even after all this time, I can still hear the anguished cry of Angie and the shouts of horror from Brett when they saw me. But that doesn’t matter anymore, not since my situation drastically changed. I am now able to answer the question I was asked many times that night, it’s the same answer I give her every time she asks me … “Yes, I am locked in.”
The screen lit up the whole vestibule like a beacon calling the hordes of the undead to a feast of fresh blood. My fingers felt twice the size as I poked the contacts button, scrolled down and hit the Angie icon: a smiling, inebriated young woman holding a half full glass.
“Hello,” I whispered.
“Mickey, is that you?” She sounded shocked. “Where’d you get to?”
“Just get back here, you locked me in, there’s something going on. Now!”
From the nave, the tiny, evil voice of pure innocence called again: “Are you locked in?”
“Angie, hurry.”
Before she replied, the screen went blank as the power drained.
Then, drawing ever nearer, those clear tones spoke sweetly to me once again: “Are you locked in?”
The passing seconds felt like hours as I listened for the car returning. Then I heard tyres screeching outside and car doors opening. From the nave, the lights were flickering badly, whatever approached was casting a transparent shadow into the vestibule.
As the key was thrust into the lock and I heard it turn with a heavy clunk, the girl from the photograph floated slowly through the archway. Her gaunt, insipid face, visible between thick, hanging, oily black hair, smiled with such malice, my legs almost gave way. As she lifted the blade in a single robotic movement, the door pushed inwards, but before the gap had widened enough for me to escape, I felt the cold blade stab into my back with such force, it slammed me against the door.
Even after all this time, I can still hear the anguished cry of Angie and the shouts of horror from Brett when they saw me. But that doesn’t matter anymore, not since my situation drastically changed. I am now able to answer the question I was asked many times that night, it’s the same answer I give her every time she asks me … “Yes, I am locked in.”
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