The Housesitter

There was only one rule: don’t open the door. She knew this. She’d already been told by the agency. Housesitting was usually a good gig, but sometimes super weird.

When she saw it on the fridge, it pissed her off. “Screw you”, she thought. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.”

Becks turned around, walked down the hallway from the kitchen, past the living room towards the bedrooms. At the very end there was the room, with the door that shall not be open. Though she’d walked with purpose and confidence, once she got there, that confidence wavered just a little.

Her had on the knob, she felt a tightening in her chest and her breath shorten but took a deep breath and turned. Attempted to turn. It wouldn’t. “Well, it did say don’t open the door”, she chuckled to herself. “Locked. Deep breath. I’ll find a way.”

She decided to go back to the kitchen, wine would help to work out a plan. One glass in, Becks remembered seeing keys on the cabinet beside the door. Dashing to grab them and running to door, she tried each key.

When the second last key popped that lock, she almost screamed with shock and relief!

Suddenly frozen, she took one more deep breath and turned the knob.

All the lights went out as the door opened.

The smell hit Becks at the same time as the hands on her ankles.