Goodreads asked B SHAWN CLARK:

Can you tell us a two-sentence horror story?

B SHAWN CLARK He stood, mouth agape looking down at the bare bodkin in his trembling hand glistening in crimson, blood etched across his face, when suddenly there came a knocking, a rap, rap rapping at his chamber door made by some unseen force that lurked on the other side, beckoning to him to open the door but waiting for him to invite it in not once, not twice, but thrice before it could make its way into his boudoir.

He knew better than to do THAT.

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