No
My husband was away on a business trip, so I was basking in the glory of my solitude with a book snuggled under the covers on the couch. It was just after eleven and I was nodding off listening to the sound of the ceiling fan tirelessly working to cool off the house. A knock at the door startled me awake. I stretched, yawning.
Who’s here so late?
I sat my book on the table and someone knocked on the door again. With every step I took a sense of dread resonated through my body. I shook my head.
This is what happens when you read horror. I’ll be glad when Jake gets back.
I finally made it to the door, but I couldn’t bring myself to open it.
You’re just being silly Lynn.
I touched the doorknob, it was like ice climbed up my arm and ran straight to the pit of my stomach.
“May we please use your phone?” I heard softly from the other side of the door. It sounded monotone, like a robot.
They shouldn’t be able to see me at the door. Maybe they heard me walking?
I opened the door, with the screen door still separating us.
There were two children, a boy and a girl. They were around eight or nine years old. He wore a button down shirt and jeans with a dark cap covering his face. She wore a light-colored dress covered by a heavy cardigan. Her hair covered most of her face too. Odd for summer in Texas. I stared at them. There was something off.
“May we please use your phone? Our mother is worried,” the girl said.
My hand was on the door handle, without me realizing it. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Something was very, very wrong about these kids.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m sorry, I can’t let you in, but I can call your mom for you. Let me grab the phone,” I offered.
“Let us in, ma’am. I need to use the bathroom,” the boy said.
Fear gripped me. “No.”
They tilted their heads up to make eye contact with me. Their onyx eyes were devoid of all emotion. It was like death was staring into your soul. I’m pretty sure I peed myself a little.
“Let us in!” they said in unison, banging on the door. I took a step back and slammed the door. I locked the knob and the deadbolt, pressing my back to the door. “Let us in!”
“One word, two letters, one syllable, no! Leave or I’m calling the police.”
The door rattled. “Let us in.”
I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the salt. The banging followed me to this side of the house.
Salt works on TV.
I salted the doors and windows. My husband found me the next day asleep clutching a box of salt muttering about evil black-eyed children.
Now I’m not allowed to read horror and I refuse to stay home by myself anymore, just in case the black-eyed kids come back for my help.
