The Skeleton Key

a Horror Short Story by A.E. Jackson

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Tony DeLorenta ran through the dark corridor in search of an exit. He stumbled up a flight of stairs. He fumbled with the handrail which was broken in several places. His foot crashed through the landing at the top of the staircase. All told, Tony was in a tough situation.

Behind him, he was certain, no less than a Wolfman, a Vampire, and a Chainsaw-wielding Madman chased him. The trip started in the Kitchen, and as Tony fled through the Parlor, the Living Room, and the Foyer he could hear them laughing. That sick, deranged laughter that creatures of the night were brought up to appreciate as normal behavior.

Now he made a final mad dash for the Master Bedroom. And what happened next? Tony was shocked to find the door knob fixed in position. Neither turning left nor right. The door fixed in the closed and locked position. He was barred entrance to the most obvious of escape routes. Then he recalled one last room which looked out over the tombstone littered front lawn. The Bathroom.

Tony spun on his heels and ran across the chasm which separated fright from freedom. On the staircase, he caught a glimpse of the Wolfman ascending. He heard the chainsaw motor sputter and cough, and then roar to life. As Tony neared the Bathroom entrance, he froze. His head turned to the right. His eyes bulged in terror. Floating beside the chandelier was the gaunt pale face of the Vampire!

Tony bent his shoulder, and burst into the Bathroom. He slammed the thin wood door behind him. On the counter sat an odd assortment of bottles and jars. One filled with eyeballs still connected to their brain clinging tendrils. Another with a dark liquid that hid the slithering swimming occupant within. Still another honeycombed with webs which were speckled with hundreds of small black spiders. Each jar more hideous than the last. Each bottle more gruesome to behold.

Tony shook with fear and reached to touch the jar which held a single, solid gold skeleton key. He knew this key would unlock all the doors of the house. If he could get past the band of misfits outside, he could flee through the front door and run all the way home. He reached out to grasp the jar, intent on smashing the glass container on the porcelain tiled floor. But he was surprised when he picked up the jar. It was covered, not with dripping blood, but with sticky window decorations.

Outside, Tony could hear his name being called. Along with a chorus of laughter and backslapping.

T H E E N D

© 2018, A.E. Jackson. All rights reserved.

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