The new house., a short story by kitosdad. Date added: 2011-02-12. Times viewed: 1362.

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The new house.

I had only received the keys to the house two days ago, and after making hasty arrangements with a local removals company, I had moved into my new house within forty-eight hours.
Yesterday had been bedlam, with my directing the placement of my few pieces of furniture to their various new locations, and finally my being left with an assortment of boxes still to be unpacked.

Sleeping in a strange house is always a daunting task for most people, but somehow I had succeeded in falling into a slight slumber.
The noise that had awakened me from my light sleep was disturbing to say the least.
I dismissed the idea that it was caused by some small boxes falling over due to some unbalancing, for the noise was that of a heavy piece of furniture being pushed along the floor, and then of cupboard doors being flung open in the kitchen.

My first thoughts were to phone the Police immediately, but then I remembered that I had left my cell phone in the car, which was now securely locked in the garage below. Damn!
You always laugh when you see these things happening on films ... how could they forget the phone? ... but this was real life, and it was happening to me!

I quietly opened the bedroom window and looked down on a deserted avenue. What else had I hoped to see at four o'clock in the morning, an avenue thronged with people?
I toyed with the idea of creeping downstairs and confronting the intruder, but I'm a bit of a coward, so I settled on securely locking the bedroom door and placing a stout chair under the handle. There now, I had only to await daylight, or at least the appearance of someone in the avenue below whom I could enlist in calling the Police.
As things turned out I had no time to wait for help ... the door to my room was being forcibly pushed. Something on the other side was grunting with the effort of trying to move the stout chair which was the only thing between myself and "it."
I admit, I was filled with terror and scared witless at the thought of what might be there on my bedroom landing. I was undecided as to whether to remain silent, or to scream my head off in the hope of waking others in the avenue. Surely someone would hear my cries.
I stood silent and breathless beside the chair. My throat was dry and I realised that I had not inhaled for a long time. My heart was beating like a drum within my chest. Please God, please make it go away.
My vivid imagination was conjuring all manner of images for what was desperately trying to get into my bedroom. I felt faint and helpless. Rather like a little child when confronted by a large dog.
What could I do? What could I use to defend myself against such a foe? Everything in the room was useless as a means of defence. If only I hadn't left my damned phone in the car!
A sudden loud banging on the front door brought me suddenly to reality. I opened my eyes to find it was broad daylight. I looked at the bedroom door. The chair was still there serving as a defence against the nameless horror of earlier. Again came the banging at the front door, so I quickly donned my dressing gown and stumbled down the stairs. I was surprised to find two police officers standing there. They were making enquiries about a prisoner who was at large after escaping from a local mental institute. Had I heard any disturbances during the night? Should I relate my night of terror to them, or just forget it? I decided to do just that.
I made a cup of steaming fresh coffee and ambled into the garage to retrieve my phone from the front seat of my car. As I did so I became aware of a sudden movement behind me, and a huge pair of gnarled hands closed tightly around my throat.

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