Welcome to another stream of consciousness! This prompt was inspired by a suggestion on the Squibler website and their 'most dangerous writing app'; you can check it out for yourselves here.
There was a strange wailing sound coming from the next room.
Pausing on the stairs, he had no idea what it could be. He was home alone; his housemates had gone down to the pub. They had invited him, but he'd declined the offer because he had so much university work to catch up with. Three deadlines were looming, and he hadn't finished any of them. It was his own fault; he had been so caught up with his volunteering and writing that uni had taken a back seat for a few weeks. Now he was pulling all-nighters to try and meet the assignment deadlines. There was no way he was going to pass the assignments.
The noise had stopped. Odd, he thought, coming to the bottom of the stairs. He surely would have heard if someone had come home. But then again, would he have done with his headphones on and his music blasting into his ears? Probably not.
The noise started again; it was louder this time. He reached for the baseball bat resting against a cupboard and held it high. Why they even had a bat was a mystery. None of them were into sports, but Mitch came home with it one day. He probably found it in a bush, knowing him.
Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he crept along the hallway. No other noises were coming from the house. The front door was closed; there were no windows open as far as he knew. Checking the kitchen, the backdoor was also shut. So unless someone had broken in, maybe it was the smoke alarm wailing.
Pausing outside the room, the noise stopped again. Taking a deep breath, he set his hand on the doorknob and closed his eyes.
'Oi, what the hell are you doing?' A voice was loud in his ear, and a hand was on his shoulder.
Swinging around, Mitch jumped back with his hands in the air.
'What the hell are you doing here?' he asked, his heart pounding against his chest.
'Came back for my wallet; what are you doing?'
'There was a noise coming from the sitting room.'
'I don't hear anything.'
It was true; the noise hadn't started again. The house was once again silent.
'Why don't you come out with us? We're just having a quiet one. You've been working so hard recently, come and take a break,' Mitch said.
Taking one look at the door, he lowered the bat and let his hand fall from the doorknob. 'Fine, but I want to be home before the pub closes.'
'Good man, Lewis! Come on.'
Following his housemate to the front door, Lewis placed the baseball bat back where it came from and grabbed his jacket. As he pocketed his keys, the noise started again.
'Don't you hear that?' he asked Mitch, who had opened the front door.
'Hear what?'
The light in the hallway went out, and the sound of a door creaking open sent a shiver up his back. Light spilt out into the end of the hallway.
'Are you coming or not?' Mitch shouted.
'Screw this,' he whispered, hurrying after Mitch. He closed the door behind him, and the wailing stopped.
He didn't see the shadowy figure standing in the doorway to the sitting room.
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