AN ORIGINAL SHORT HORROR STORY
The Intercom
Vance Kellar
The new intercom had a button for our old flat.
“Installer made a mistake,” Tom said. He pressed it with the end of his key.
Upstairs, our daughter answered.
“Dad? I can’t reach the chain.”
Tom dropped the keys. I caught his wrist before he could press again. We had emptied that flat in February. We had watched the demolition from the car, his forehead against the steering wheel.
“Tell her we’re coming,” he said.
Behind the speaker, a chair scraped across a floor.
I knew that sound. The little kitchen chair with the loose leg. I had asked him to fix it so many times.
“Don’t stand on it, sweetheart.” My mouth was against the grille. “Put it back.”
The chain rattled.
Tom was already at the stairs. I ran after him, catching his coat at the first landing. Above us, every door stood open. Each had the same yellow kitchen beyond it.
From all six kitchens came the scrape of a chair.
I pulled the fire alarm. Tom covered his ears. Inside the nearest doorway, the chair stopped moving.
I kept my thumb on the broken glass until the first firefighter reached us.
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