“Hey. I know you’re in there. If you let me in now I won’t be mad...well not too mad.” The door rattles. “You hear me!” The door rattles even harder. I hold on to the door trying to lend it any strength I possess in my adrenaline soaked arms.
“Hey. I know you’re in there. If you let me in now I won’t be mad...well not too mad.” The door rattles. “You hear me!” The door rattles even harder. 

I hold on to the door trying to lend it any strength I possess in my adrenaline soaked arms.     murder stories
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snarkyjohnny
snarkyjohnny Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
Trigger warning! This short contains elements of domestic abuse and a murder.

“Hey. I know you’re in there. If you let me in now I won’t be mad...well not too mad.” The door rattles. “You hear me!” The door rattles even harder. I hold on to the door trying to lend it any strength I possess in my adrenaline soaked arms.

This felt like a nightmare. I couldn’t remember what had happened. I have lived in this apartment for the last six months. My roommate Sandra was out of town for the week and we lived alone on this floor. “Let me in you bitch!” A fist slammed on the door and I could hear the wood begin to give.

“Little girl, little girl let me in!” The door didn’t take any impact that time. My breathing was getting loud so I tried to calm down. My phone was charging on the nightstand in my bedroom and I couldn’t make myself let go. Just when I thought that maybe he’d left something impacted the door hard enough that I was moved an inch or so back. My hand kept it’s death grip on he knob.

I yelped. I couldn’t help it. “I knew you were inside.” He cleats his throat. “Now, Jenny if you just let me in we can talk. That’s all I want.... just to talk.” I swallowed the lump on my throat before answering. “I don’t know who Jenny is. Please just leave I won’t say anything.” There was silence on the other side of the door.

“This isn’t Jenny?” He asked sounding almost normal. “No. No this isn’t Jenny, I promise.” “Oh my god. I am sorry. I thought my ex Jenny lived here.” He laughed. “Boy is my face red. I’ll just leave.”

I heard footsteps leave from the other side of my door. I was silently crying. What felt like thirty seconds had passed and I hadn’t heard or felt anything. What felt like another minute passed before I could summon the courage to stand and look through the peep hole. I stared and say an empty unobstructed view to the door. I let go the handle and made my way to my bedroom trying to not step loudly. I had made it halfway to my room.

My front door gave. It splintered out and a man fell to the floor. All I saw was long blond hair and a black jacket before I ran. “Jenny! I need to see you!” I ran into my bedroom and slammed the door shut and slid the sliding bolt home. It wouldn’t hold long.

I lunged for my phone and yanked it off the charging cable and began to hit nine one one when my door made a buckling sound. I almost dropped my phone, but I held on and hit the call button. Moments later the door had been hit twice more before someone answered.

“Nine one one what’s your emergency?” “There’s a man trying to get me!” I screamed at the operator. “Ma’am I need your name and address?” “My name is...” I screamed. A fist had just shoved it’s way through the door.

I heard a yell of triumph before I heard him grunt. My hands were over my head. “Ma’am? Ma’am please respond.” The operator was asking trying to mask their urgency. I looked up and saw that the arm that had been shoved through my bedroom door was gone.

I wasn’t taking another chance. “My name is Becky Reid. I live at Nine nine two Sycamore street the Sycamore View apartments.” My voice sounded almost normal by the time I stopped speaking. Nothing had happened. The operator told me to stay on the line and keep talking.

In a few minutes the police showed up at the apartments. I was still huddled on the floor with my phone in my hand. “Ma’am! Miss Reid! It’s the police. Come out slowly.” I was too terrified to move. What if it was him? “Holy Mary!”

Six months later... I was living with Sandra again but this time we had a small rent house. We had left Sycamore after that night. The police had identified the man that terrorized me as Alfred Williams. Fred to his friends apparently. They had found him torn apart in my living room.

There had been no murder weapon at the scene. No one had seen anything. The only thing left besides a 200+ pound man torn apart on my floor was the name Jenny written in his blood on the wall.

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