At Night. Flash Fiction.

Still sick but doing better. Managed to screw up my back a little yesterday though. I think it’s because I was hunched over for too long while doing some prosthetics.


Hopefully I’ll be back to normal by tomorrow or Sunday.


They had started coming to Jane at night, begging to be let in. Tapping against the window, pleading that it was so cold outside, that they needed to be somewhere safe or they’d die. She ignored them as best she could, burrowing deeper under her blankets, eyes closed and ears covered. She knew it was a trick, if she opened the windows she’d be dead, just like they were. Jane didn’t know if they knew that, but that didn’t matter, they were dead whether they accepted it or not. It was all the people that had gone missing in the last few months. Brian, the little boy from next door, Mr. Jacobs from across the street, Shelly Winters from a few streets over and others whom she did not yet know of. They were there every night, and every night she ignored them. But it was getting harder and harder to remain under the covers. Some nights she felt her hands twitching, itching to feel the cool glass underneath them as she opened the window.

She hadn’t told anyone about it yet, at first she thought it was just a dream, some nightmares over the recent disappearances, but in the morning she found fingerprints on her window. Then it became a problem of who to tell, who would take her seriously? Most people believed that those who disappeared were already dead, even if they weren’t, why would they come to her window at night? No. There was no way people would believe her. They’d think she was hallucinating or going crazy. So Jane suffered in silence.

It was getting harder and harder to ignore the pleading, the begging. Each night she slept a little less. It was wearing her down, she was frightened that if she did sleep, she might sleepwalk her way over to the window and open it. She had caught herself getting out of bed a few times, only realising it when her feet hit the cold wood of her bedroom floor. She had tried sleeping in other rooms in the house, but the tapping and begging followed her no matter where she went. She even tried sleeping in her parents room. They hadn’t been too thrilled with it, but they allowed it. It happened all night, her parents slept right through it, even when they started hammering on the glass, screaming to be let in before it was too late. That more than anything proved to Jane that it was just in her head. A weird nightmare. If it was real someone else would have heard it, her mother was a light sleeper who would wake from a door creaking, there was no way she could have slept through all that noise.

Jane woke to find her hands on the windowsill. She snatched them away and stumbled backwards. The begging was faster now, frantic and spoken in whispers rather than shouts. “He’s coming, please, please let us in, he’s going to get us, please.” Jane stumbled back to her bed, heart thudding in her chest. She got under the covers and covered her head, trying to calm herself. It was ok, nothing could have happened anyway, her father had sealed the window, it wasn’t able to open anymore. She had told him she had heard things the night before, it sounded like people talking, once she had finished telling him about it he had sealed it. She couldn’t open the window and they couldn’t get in. She was safe. Jane let out a breath and allowed herself to finally relax.

The next morning Jane’s mother went to wake her for school, she found her bed empty and the window wide open.


About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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