Horror Microfiction

From the Curtis Brown Creative prompt set by author Lucy Rose. 300 word maximum. Prompt highlighted in bold:

Abandoned at the end of the cul-de-sac, the little house sat vacant for years. Quiet. But something is stirring now: a sign that the journey has not been wasted.

You tug at your foot. Heavy, still. Even after so much time; even after they told you it would ease. A mistake, perhaps. Or a lie. Something to keep you moving. 

That cannot matter now. One more street, then it is done. Then, you can rest. Not now. 

Now, you must focus. On what? On the light: red, green, red.

Dim, but enough. Make it your metronome.

Red. Step. 

Green. Step.

Red. 

You are at the edge of the garden. Close. 

Close enough to hear a voice, beyond the glass. Not imagined this time. Different. Lighter. And younger. There is laughter, even. You had not accounted for that. 

Laughter. Had you forgotten? 

You cannot answer; cannot let yourself become undone. You are too close. 

Red. Breathe. 

Green. 

Red. 

You step. To the door. Through. Into a hallway of heavy air, and of dust. No light beneath the living-room door. No matter. Squeeze your eyes tight. Open it slowly. One sense at a time, you think. You would not manage the full brunt of it.

You needn’t have worried. There is nothing  here to overwhelm you. No light, or tree. There is nothing. There is no one. 

Hello?

You hold your breath. Until your lungs ache. Hold, and listen. Listen for footsteps. Listen for that unfamiliar, familiar voice.

Massage the cut flesh of your ankles. Chains tight; tightening still. You will lose feeling soon, you are certain, unless you stand. Keep moving.

Outside, a cul-de-sac. Quiet. Silenced, smothered by untrodden snow, and at its end: a house, and a faint glow. Red; green; red once more.