Microfiction: Who goes there?



It had been a tragic mistake. In her awkward, stiff-necked way, her mother had tried to tell her. Her father had stormed and blustered, ineffectually as always. Even her sister, her fluffy-brained little sister had told her she was blind. But she had listened to no one. No one but him, hearing nothing but the mellifluous, unctuous nonsense that flattered her secret belief that he saw in her a truth everyone else denied. When he called, she answered, willingly falling into those arms she thought of as wings, letting him carry her away from the life that she had known and into…horror.

There was nothing to be done, no going back. The house had no entrance, no way out; the windows were barred. She trembled, because that was what he wanted. She trembled like a lily on a stem too long, his lily, to bend and break as he chose. The house echoed with the sound of his step on the stair. No door would keep him out; he had shown her that, and the punishment for trying. She buried her face in the bedspread, wishing for wings, wishing for…

The door creaked. The footsteps died on the threshold. She wished for death.


Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

11 thoughts on “Microfiction: Who goes there?”

  1. I had to go back and find your story after I read your compilation. I like to read them all after I’ve written mine, so I’m not influenced. 🙂
    This is so beautifully written and so awful. I could feel her terror–so real.
    And I think there are too many who are in situations like hers.

    1. Even in our enlightened days, this happens too often. It isn’t a question of freedom or liberation (or lack of them) it’s simply being mistaken about character and falling into a trap.

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