The Latchkey – Part II
“Right, that’s it!” Zoe slammed the remote down as eight-year-old Harry threw another cushion at his sister. “Bedtime. Now.”
“But we’re not tired!” Mia protested, dodging the pillow. “Mum said we could stay up until ten!”
Zoe pinched the bridge of her nose. Three hours. Three bloody hours of this chaos, and she still had two more before their parents returned. The Hendersons had promised “easy kids” when they’d hired her. Easy. Right.
“Fine,” she said, forcing a smile. “One ghost story. Then bed. Deal?”
The siblings perked up, suddenly angelic. They scrambled onto the sofa, eyes bright with anticipation.
“Once upon a time,” Zoe began, settling into the armchair, “there was this tall, thin man called Slender Man who—”
“Oh, come on!” Harry rolled his eyes. “That’s baby stuff. Everyone knows Slender Man.”
“We want something proper scary,” Mia added, crossing her arms. “Something for big kids.”
Zoe hesitated. She knew exactly what would terrify them into compliance. Something her flatmate had whispered about in hushed tones after reading too many forums late at night. Something that had made the news recently, though the details were always vague, always dismissed.
Zoe felt a flutter of unease. She really shouldn’t. But looking at their smug little faces…
“Alright then,” she said, leaning forward. “Have you ever heard of The Latchkey?”
They shook their heads, suddenly quiet.
“The Latchkey doesn’t want to steal you away,” she began, watching their expressions change. “It doesn’t want to kill you. It wants something much worse. It wants your home.” She described the cracked porcelain mask, the twitching fingers that left soot marks, the sound of locks turning in empty houses.
“It starts small,” she continued, watching their wide eyes. “A door left ajar. Items moved. Then one day, you come home and it’s sitting in your chair, smiling that painted-on smile. And you realise you don’t live there anymore. It does. You just… sit there too. Smiling. Forever.”
Harry’s arm crept around his sister’s shoulders. Mia had gone very still, her thumb creeping towards her mouth.
“That’s just a story, right?” Mia whispered.
“Of course,” Zoe lied, feeling a flutter of unease. Why had she told them this particular tale? “Just something people make up to—”
The front door creaked.
They all froze. The Hendersons weren’t due back for hours.
In the silence, Zoe heard it clearly: the slow, deliberate turn of a lock.
“Mummy?” Mia called out, her voice small.
No answer. Just the faint sound of footsteps in the hall. Careful. Patient.
Zoe’s throat went dry. She’d heard those stories about telling The Latchkey’s tale. How speaking its name sent an invitation. How some things should never be summoned, even in jest.
The footsteps stopped just outside the living room door.
Click.
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