The Empty by Joachim Heijnderman

Jane knew it was there. It had to be, even if she couldn’t see it. She could feel its eyes–if it had any–locked on her. Its warm breath clung to her skin, like cobwebs latched to a fly. Its aura always hovered just a few inches from her skin. But she couldn’t see anyone or anything in that room. There was nothing but the chair, the bed, the box of toys, and the lone light bulb, swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

“Leave me alone,” Jane whispered. “Leave me alone, goddammit.”

The light flickered briefly, like an exhausted firefly spurting out a final glimmer with the last of its strength. The bulb’s swinging came to a halt, as did the chain’s creaking. Then, just for a second, she believed it had vanished. It’s presence unfelt, like a dark veil lifted. For a moment, she hoped she was finally alone.

Then it returned. It was there, in the exact spot she’d felt it last. Sitting there, in the empty room, grasping onto the armrests with hands clenched around the thin wood frame. Staring at her without eyes. Whispering her name without a mouth. There was nothing occupying that broken chair as far as she could see, but Jane knew it was there.

“Just leave me alone!” Jane snapped.

She rushed into the small room and grabbed the chain that dangled from the ceiling and violently pulled it, killing the power to the bulb. The layer of dust that clung to it fell gently to the floor. Jane immediately fled the dark room, standing in the doorway. She frantically slammed the door shut and threw herself against the hard wood, using herself to barricade it from escaping.

“Just leave. Leave me alone. Leave me alone!” she muttered, repeating it for what seemed an like eternity.

For a second, she thought she could hear footsteps from the other side of the door. Heavy feet, stomping toward her. She readied herself for the impact against the wood. She steeled her muscles, preparing to face down the massive strength that it undoubtedly had. She imagined the frame buckling, splinters flying and hands grasping at her, pulling her along into the darkness. Any second, it would take her. Any–

“Jane?” said a familiar voice to her right. “What’s going on?”

She turned to look. Her sister, Hannah, stood there in the hallway clutching a suitcase in her hands. Jane stood up, straightened her shirt and brushed her hair behind her ear. “Hannah! What’s up?”

“What’s up? I should be asking you that. Why were you on the floor?”

“I…ehm…I slipped. And I hit my head,” Jane lied poorly. Hannah didn’t seem to be convinced in the least, which didn’t surprise Jane that much considering Hannah worked with actors who were far better at bullshitting than she ever was. “Did you find the place okay?” Jane asked, clumsily redirecting the conversation.

“Yeah. I did. Though Mom and David’s train should be coming in pretty soon. Are you okay to pick them up?” Hanna asked.

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you fell and hit your head against the door, remember?”

Jane bit her lip. “Oh, right. Yeah. Ouch. But I’m okay to drive and pick–,”

“Like hell you are,” Hannah said, dropping her suitcase on the ground. “You should lie down and rest. I’ll pick up Mom and David, and you just get yourself straightened out. Unless you didn’t hit your head, that is.”

“What? No, that’s what happened. But you’re right. Go pick them up, and I’ll be resting up,” Jane said, pressing her back against the door.

“Is that my room?” Hannah asked.

Jane’s eyes darted open, but she restrained herself from shouting ‘No!’. Instead, she folded her arms, cleared her throat and said: “Uh, no. This is just a storage closet. You’re upstairs with Mom.”

“‘K,” Hannah said, shrugging her shoulders. “Be back in a bit.”

“Okay, drive safely,” Jane said, as she waved her sister goodbye. With bated breath, she watched Hannah walk out. For a moment, she expected the knocking to resume the moment Hannah was out the door. She turned toward the door, her breath held and her upper lip clenched between her teeth. She waited for the thing to come again, pounding against the hard aged wood.

But nothing came. She stepped away from the door, expecting it to be kicked open when she least expected. Still nothing. With a trembling hand, she reached for the doorknob, turned it and pulled the door open.

Once again, the room was empty.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please leave me alone. This is my house. Just go away.”

There was no reply. She peered into the darkness, seeing nothing but the empty chair. She couldn’t feel it this time around. The room was truly empty. She reached for the chain and yanked it, but the light did not turn on. She slowly stepped out of the room once again, still on edge.

“This is my house,” she said. “My house!”

“No,” it whispered. “It isn’t.”

—

Joachim Heijndermans writes, draws, and paints nearly every waking hour. Originally from the Netherlands, he’s been all over the world, boring people by spouting random trivia. His work has been featured in a number of publications, such as Metaphorosis, Hinnom Magazine, Every Day Fiction, Asymmetry Fiction, Kraxon Magazine, and Gathering Storm Magazine. He’s currently in the midst of completing his first children’s book. You can check out his other work at www.joachimheijndermans.com, or follow him on Twitter: @jheijndermans