#64 Knock

‘Knock. Knock. Knock.’

The sound at the door again. All day long and every night too.

‘Knock. Knock. Knock.’

The wind is howling today, like a wounded dog. The rafters rattle and the the windows shake.

‘Knock. Knock. Knock.’

Will I ever escape this torment? The constant banging reverberates around my skull as if there was a smith in there, plying his trade with hammer and anvil.

‘Knock. Knock. Knock.’

I must have done something terrible in a previous life to deserve this. Or perhaps it was a terrible deed in this life that has led me here.

‘Knock. Knock. Knock.’

The house has a green door. It’s paint is flaking off, long in need of repair. The once polished brass handle and knocker both hang loose and dull.

‘Knock. Knock. Knock.’

I lift my hand again, reaching up towards the door. My knuckles are green.

I ‘Knock. Knock. Knock.’


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