Behind Closed Door

It had become very quiet in that big, ageing house after everyone had left, and presently Lydia sat in the large, draped bedroom, listening to that pressing silence. She was used to it now. Years of loneliness taught her to be, but that’s not to say that she didn’t, occasionally, hear things, some of which, she had often thought, might be purely imagined. All the same she felt a bit of a kinship with the place, it being almost as old and empty as she was.

She watched the moon hanging outside her window and sighed. Oh, how she missed Henry. It was such a pity that he had died so young.

Several creaking sounds, seeming very loud in contrast to the silence, stirred her from her musings. They sounded familiar, quite a bit like the hallway stairs, she got up to see if a cat, or perhaps a homeless man had somehow crept in, but when she reached the stairs there was nothing. Perhaps it had only been a rat.

Then she heard a shuffling from behind the door at the top. What if it where a burglar? The thought made her nervous. She tried to creep up the dark staircase as quietly a she could, and held on with both hands to the railing.

At length she reached, and, with a shaky hand, reached for the door. The knob was cold against he fingertips, but it did not affect her, she was already a little chilled, and as she turned it she wondered why the thought of her dead husband had just reappeared in her mind.