I Unlocked the Door for a Dead Woman

I Unlocked the Door for a Dead Woman

Author: Randall Conrad

Chapter 8: Into the Dark

I cleared my throat loudly, and the motion-activated light at the stairwell entrance flicked on. Bracing myself, I walked over slowly. The woman stayed inside, watching me through the narrow crack of the door.

My footsteps echoed as I approached, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. The harsh white light flickered on, chasing away the shadows. I could feel Lauren’s eyes on my back, tracking every move.

On the way, I glanced back at her. Through the slim opening, I could only see half her face, with her long hair falling over one eye. The sight made me feel strangely uneasy.

Her mouth was pressed into a thin line, lips almost colorless. Her hair fell in dark curtains, swallowing the expression on her face. I shivered and tried to shake the feeling off.

The stairwell reeked of mildew and old cigarette smoke, like every other apartment building I’d worked in since high school. I flashed back to all those late-night tales my cousin used to tell about the Lady in White haunting the South Side. Supposedly, she drifted through stairwells just like this, searching for her lost child, or her own head. The story always made my skin crawl as a kid. Tonight, it made my hands sweat.

Just as I reached the stairwell, the light timed out and went off, plunging the entrance into darkness. I shuddered and stomped on the floor—the light came on again, and I could finally see inside. It was just a stairwell, empty, leading up and down. No one was there.

My breath fogged in the cold air as I scanned the space—bare concrete, battered railings, not even a spider’s web in sight. Relief washed over me, mixed with embarrassment for letting a stranger’s fears infect me.

Suddenly, I heard a click behind me. I turned to see the woman had closed her door. I let out a long breath—looked like it was just a false alarm. I calmed myself and started to pack up to leave.

The tension in my chest eased, replaced by the familiar fatigue of a long shift. I packed my tools, ready to call it a night and maybe treat myself to a gas station coffee on the way home.

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