The Woman Behind The Door

Emily tried to smile back. It was the sort of answer he gave when she worried over small things: kindly, lightly, with just enough amusement to make her feel foolish for asking. Most evenings, she welcomed it. Daniel made the world seem manageable.

Tonight, the ceiling answered him with a slow scrape.

Emily stood.

“Where are you going?”

“Upstairs.”

“Emily.”

She paused beside the coffee table. The fire popped, sending a brief shower of sparks behind the grate. “I only want to see where it came from.”

“There’s nothing to see.”

“Then it won’t take a minute.”

Daniel’s fingers tightened around the stem of his glass. “The landing is dark. I’ll go.”

He rose, but Emily moved first. She crossed the room and opened the door before he could reach it.

Cold air slipped into the hall. The grandfather clock near the stairs ticked with irritating confidence. Above it, the staircase rose into darkness, the upper landing hidden beyond the bend.

Emily switched on the hall light. The bulb flickered once, then steadied.

“I’ll come with you,” Daniel said.

She glanced back. “You said you were going to go.”

“I changed my mind.”

He followed close behind as she climbed. The carpet softened their steps, but somewhere above them a board gave a faint, protesting click. Emily stopped halfway.

Daniel nearly walked into her.

“What is it?”

“Someone’s up there.”

“There’s no one up there.”

His reply came too quickly. Emily turned her head, studying him in the dimness. The house had always felt like Daniel’s house more than hers, despite the two years she had lived in it. He knew which windows stuck in winter, which floorboards complained, which doors needed lifting before they would close. He had shown her everything, except the room at the end of the landing.

That door was painted the same soft white as the others, but it had no handle on the outside. Only a brass keyhole, dark and narrow.

Daniel had called it a storage room.

When Emily had asked why it was locked, he had said the lock was faulty. When she had asked what was inside, he had said old family things his father had left behind.

She had never asked again.

At the top of the stairs, the landing was colder than the hall. A draught moved along Emily’s wrists. The door stood at the far end beneath the sloping ceiling, its white paint yellowed around the frame.

Nothing moved.

Emily took one step towards it.

Behind the door came a soft thud.

She stopped breathing.

Daniel caught her arm. “Emily.”

“There’s someone in there.”

“It was the pipes.”

“That was a thud.”

“Old houses make noises.”

“Not like that.”

She pulled free and went closer. The carpet ended a few inches before the door, exposing a narrow strip of bare floorboards. Dust had gathered in the corners. Emily crouched and pressed her fingertips against the wood.

It was cold.

Then, from the other side, came a faint dragging sound.

Emily jerked upright.

Daniel seized her wrist. “Enough.”

His grip hurt. Not badly, but enough to make the difference between reassurance and restraint.

“Let go.”

For a moment he did not. His face had changed. The pleasant impatience was gone, replaced by something flat and watchful.

“Don’t make this into something it isn’t,” he said.

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

The words settled between them with a force that made the landing seem smaller. Emily stared at him. Daniel had never spoken to her like that. Not during arguments, not even in the aftermath of his mother’s funeral, when grief had made him distant and sharp.

He released her wrist.

She rubbed the place where his fingers had been. “You’re frightened.”

“I’m annoyed.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re behaving irrationally.”

The accusation landed neatly. It was one of his favourite weapons, though he never appeared to recognise it as one. Emily had begun to doubt herself in small, harmless ways: whether she had left the kitchen window open, whether she had imagined a message on his phone, whether she had misunderstood a conversation he had ended when she entered the room.

She looked at the locked door again.

“If it’s only the pipes, prove it.”

Daniel exhaled through his nose. “You want proof?”

“Yes.”

He reached into his trouser pocket and took out a key.

It was longer than an ordinary house key, made of dull brass with a blackened bow. Emily had seen it once before, hanging from the ring Daniel kept in the top drawer of his desk.

He held it between two fingers.

“This room is private,” he said. “That doesn’t mean something terrible is happening inside.”

“Then let me see.”

“No.”

“Daniel.”

“I’m not opening it at midnight because you heard a noise.”

“It’s barely half past nine.”

“Exactly.”

He moved towards the stairs.

Emily looked at the key. “Give it to me.”

Daniel laughed softly. “For what?”

“So I can open it tomorrow.”

“You won’t.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll turn a cupboard into a crime scene.”

The footsteps began again.

One.

Two.

Three.

They stopped directly behind the door.

Emily felt the skin between her shoulder blades tighten. Daniel went utterly still beside her.

A sound came through the wood then, so faint she almost mistook it for the wind.

A woman crying.

It was not loud. It was not theatrical. It was the broken, restrained sound of someone trying not to be heard.

Emily’s hand flew to her mouth.

Daniel closed the distance between them and caught her by the shoulders. “You heard nothing.”

She stared at him.

“You’re tired,” he said. “You’ve had too much wine.”

“I’ve had half a glass.”

“Then you’re overtired.”

The crying came again, a thin shuddering breath followed by a muffled sob.

Emily pushed against him. “There’s someone in there.”

Daniel’s hands tightened. “Stop.”

“Open the door!”

“Emily, listen to me.”

“No.”

The word tore out of her. She struck his chest with both palms. He stumbled back, more from surprise than force, and the key slipped from his fingers.

It landed on the floor between them.

Emily snatched it up.

Daniel’s face drained of colour. “Give me that.”

She backed towards the door, key clenched in her fist. The brass teeth pressed into her palm.

“Why is there a woman in there?”

“There isn’t.”

“I can hear her.”

“You’re imagining it.”

“Then open the door.”

“Emily.”

She thrust the key into the lock.

It slid in smoothly. For one wild second, relief surged through her. She turned it.

Nothing happened.

The key stopped halfway with a hard metallic catch.

She tried again, pressing her shoulder against the door. The lock would not move.

Daniel reached for her hand.

“What have you done to it?” she whispered.

“Give me the key.”

“Why doesn’t it work?”

“Because it’s the wrong key.”

He pulled it from the lock and held out his hand. Emily kept her fist closed.

From behind the door came a sudden scrape, louder than before. Something struck the wood from the inside.

Emily flinched.

Daniel stepped between her and the door. “Go downstairs.”

“Who is in there?”

“No one.”

“Then why can’t I open it?”

“Because the lock has been changed.”

“By whom?”

His silence answered before he did.

“Daniel.”

He looked towards the stairs. “You need to calm down.”

“You changed the lock?”

“I had the room secured.”

“Why?”

“It contains things that aren’t yours to touch.”

The words hurt more than they should have. Emily lowered her hand. “I’m your wife.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to everything.”

“No,” she said. “But it gives me the right to know who’s crying in our house.”

Something moved behind the door. A faint pressure bowed the lower panel, then vanished.

Daniel saw it. She knew he did.

His expression hardened.

“Give me the key.”

Emily held on. “Tell me the truth.”

“I have.”

“You’re lying.”

He crossed the landing in two steps and took her wrist again. This time his grip was cold and deliberate. He prised open her fingers, removed the key, and closed his hand around it.

The small act seemed to alter the house. The landing no longer belonged to both of them. Daniel had taken possession of the door, the key, and whatever waited beyond it.

Emily looked down at the floorboards.

A fresh scratch marked the wood beside the lock.

It was narrow and pale, cutting through the dust in a jagged line. There were three more beneath it, parallel and close together, as though someone had dragged fingernails along the gap beneath the door.

Daniel followed her gaze.

For the first time that evening, he looked genuinely afraid.

Then he stepped in front of the marks, hiding them from view, and slipped the key into his pocket.

“Go downstairs, Emily.”

Behind him, the woman began to cry again.

End of chapter one. 19 more chapters and about 36,994 words in the full book.