Chapter 6 – The Locked Door
390 Words
The morning light was pale and gray, pressing through Luna’s curtains like a reluctant guest. She rose slowly, her body heavy from another restless night. She thought of the bread on her desk, the rolls Rick had left—proof that he could walk in whenever he wanted, no matter how tightly she closed her door.
Her chest tightened at the thought.
When she came down for breakfast, Aunt Marjorie was already in the kitchen, humming as she poured tea. Rick sat at the table, his gaze fixed on a book but his attention locked on her the instant she entered.
“Sleep well?” he asked.
Luna forced a smile. “Better than before.”
His lips twitched. “Good. I’d hate to think this house makes you uncomfortable.”
The words were casual, but Luna heard the unspoken meaning: this house is mine. You are mine.
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After breakfast, Luna wandered to the library again. She needed space, even if only in her head. The quiet shelves, the smell of old paper—they reminded her of safety, of her parents.
But when she reached for a book, she realized another had already been pulled halfway out. She tugged it free, and a folded piece of paper slipped out.
Her heart stuttered. She unfolded it slowly.
The handwriting was neat, sharp:
Don’t trust him.
Her breath caught. She spun, scanning the room, but no one was there. The library was still, silent.
She stuffed the note into her pocket, heart hammering. Who had written it? And more importantly—who had hidden it there for her to find?
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That night, Luna locked her bedroom door. She tested the knob twice, three times, to be certain. Then she crawled under the blanket, gripping her mother’s pendant tight in her hand.
But just as her eyes began to close, the doorknob rattled.
Luna bolted upright. The sound was quiet, deliberate. A test.
Her voice trembled. “Who’s there?”
Silence.
The knob stilled. Then came the faintest whisper through the wood:
“Doors don’t keep me out, Luna.”
Her blood froze. She pressed her back against the headboard, clutching the blanket like armor.
The footsteps retreated, slow and measured, until the hallway fell silent again.
But she knew—Rick was right. Locks wouldn’t save her. Not here.
- Writer
