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At The Door

Something was banging on the door again. The Reverend Philip Moorstock paused in the aisle to listen. 

Thud. 

Thud.

Thud.

Outside, the rain fell in sheets. Wind howled between the rafters. The chapel ceiling was a sea of shadow.

Thud.

His predecessor had taken Philip aside, whispering hurried instructions:

Ignore the knocking. Ignore the door. Never open it after sundown. 

Thud.

Thud. 

The Reverend gritted his teeth. 

Because when you open the door–

Thud.Thud.Thud.Thud.

The door trembled violently. With a cry the Reverend threw it open, and screamed into the rain:

“For the sake of–”

The graveyard stretched out ahead of him, empty but for the fog and the dead. 

…He’d opened the door. 

You never opened the door. 

Because when you opened the door–

Thud…

Thud…

Thud…

High up in the ceiling, the knocking began. Slowly, slowly, the reverend lifted his head. 

You let it inside.



Georgia Cook is an illustrator and writer from London, specialising in ghost stories and fairy tales. She has been shortlisted for the Staunch Book Prize and Reflex Fiction Award, and published as both an author and reviewer. She can be found on twitter at @georgiacooked

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