The Grisly Game

“There was only one rule: Don't open the door.” I listened to Justin give the usual spiel for what felt like the four hundredth time this Halloween season, for the third year in a row to guests who had paid for the privilege of being lied .A. ll while I stood behind the bar preparing ‘eyeball martinis’ and tried not to roll my own eyes out of my skull. The pub wasn't even really haunted. I would have known. Never mind the fact that the ghostly ghoul in question didn’t exist, it had always irritated me that he was fundamentally wrong about the rules. When dealing with the dementedly deceased, or demonically disastrous, there are four rules. 1. Never open the door 2. If you do, remember to turn on a light 3. 3 knocks mean danger 4. Never make bargains or deals When the dead have been hunting you all your life, you learn the rules quickly. Though never quickly enough. The tour ended. We locked up. I made the dark and depressing walk to the Traymore family home, arriving just before 3am as arranged. Lawrence my long suffering confidant was there already, preparing. I ascended the stone steps to the front door and as I raised my hand to ring the bell, 3 loud knocks reverberated through the wood of the door ‘Don't open the...’ I cried out too late. Mr Traymore swung the door open and I felt the pain rip through my body as the spirit of the demon pushed through me. I held back a scream and collapsed into the hallway as the heavy door slammed shut; pushed by hands only I could see. The game had begun. Would this be the night my luck finally ran out? Would this be the night I died?