Hi, this is my entry into the Halloween 2023 competition.
Despite this being an entry for Halloween, readers didn't like the cruel ending and for that I apologise.
I'd originally written it to include the following year's Halloween, but thought the original ending too slushy, so published the shorter, crueller story.
This is the extended, original, soft version.
If you've already read this, then jump forward 11 pages to the second Halloween, '356 days later' and read on.
If this doesn't suit you, then please, read either any other of my stories or another contestant's story.
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The Lesbian, the Witch and the Wardrobe.
Debbie leaned into the freezing wintery blast as she walked through suburban London. She cursed the local council for dimming the street lights even further than before. The night's icy wind whipped around the parked cars, rustling the thick hedges that stood guard over the large Georgian town houses that lined the road.
She loved the symmetry of the old stoic buildings. Unlike typical Georgian houses that open out onto the street, these had little front gardens surrounded by hedges and tall poplar trees. Although, her friends thought hers looked foreboding, more Amityville than Downton Abbey. It stood out, because it was set back further than the others, with a drive on one side and a gateway to the garden behind on the other.
She kicked an imaginary tin can as she wished for something to take her frustration out on. Her new job, which had seemed so promising, ended up being just as mundane as all the other jobs she had ever had. The lack of anything romantic on the horizon added to her melancholy.
She'd forgotten what it was like to have a meaningful relationship after her last few failures. Thankfully, her few close friends had arranged for a get together later, for them to enjoy what local pubs and clubs had to offer for Halloween. Maybe she'd find the woman of her dreams tonight.
She swung her leg at another invisible tin can, wishing that her life had taken a more exciting direction than the one's she'd found since school.
"Fat chance!"
She cursed at herself and then all her subsequent career choices. Even her summer holiday had failed to produce any romance. Only she could go on a Women only Cruise and return empty handed.
As she turned the corner into her street lined by three story Georgian houses, she cheered up. Her new apartment was the best thing to happen to her in years, and she had it all to herself. Until now, she'd endure house shares with temperamental hippies, vegans, Goths, gay and straight men!
She glanced up through the two overhanging trees opposite, trying to glimpse her top-floor flat lounge window. Relieved that the warmth waiting inside was barely a hundred yards away. The strength of the wind bent the tall trees over, hiding her portion of heaven from her for a fraction longer.
The gust relaxed, allowing the tree to flick upright, giving her a clear view of her snippet of Shangri-La. Her heart missed a beat when she saw her large, dark window panel framed by her deep blue curtains, but rather than being empty, a white face peered out of the centre, looking down at the street below.
Debbie froze as the wind forced another tree's branches to once more obscure her view and the interloper from her. She waited a few seconds, and the tree swayed upright, revealing a now empty window. Blinking, she gasped, unsure of what she'd seen, but as reality sank in, her inner voice screamed at her.
'That bloody old hag at 1A. I knew she was getting in.'
.
She cursed, remembering the smell of stale perfume and mothballs that sometimes welcomed her home from work. Debbie picked her feet up and ran as fast as her heels could carry her.
'This time I'll catch the cow, red-handed and teach her a lesson she'll not forget!'
The hood on Debbie's coat flew off as she charged across the road, flicking her long, jet black hair around her face as rain lashed her unprotected head.
Furious as she ran, ignoring the weather, she remembered how she found the apartment's details by accident. After someone had incorrectly filed it in the sold section, gathering dust. None of the estate agency's staff could raise enthusiasm about it, but the grand high-ceilinged rooms appealed to her, and the cheap price, way below market value, won her over.
They had decorated and furnished it to make the ageing apartment sellable. She knew she couldn't let this opportunity pass, especially as it was on the top floor. It avoided the chance of foot stomping, chair scraping neighbours above her.
What was strange was the reluctance of the staff to promote it when she enquired about maintenance and utility charges. She initially assumed they were trying to divert her to apartments with more lucrative commissions. But after a while, she became suspicious that they actually wanted it for themselves or a friend.
Throughout the rental process, she overheard staff whisper and hint about ghosts in the house, but ignored them, knowing Halloween was approaching. Sure, the first week was odd, but then any old building has its strange creaks and groans. But she soon settled into her new home.
Debbie arrived at the building's entrance and her wet hands fought through her handbag for her keys.
'Ha, ghosts my arse, it's that witch of a neighbour poking her nose around vacant apartments and somehow she's gotten a key to mine.'
She slotted the key into the lock, glancing at the windows to the side, seeing them still dark, she hoped to catch the old hag hobbling down, making her escape. Slamming the door behind her, she ignored the postal lockers and streaked up the stairs.
Leaping two treads at a time, she was soon pounding up the second long flight of stairs, surprised not to meet the elderly lady coming down. She reached the top landing, panting heavily as she struggled to insert her key into the still locked door to her apartment. Her heart pounded as she expected, catching the culprit red-handed.
Debbie sucked in a huge breath before she opened her solid wooden front door. With a flick of the light switch and a single leap, she flung herself into her lounge. Inside, she held her arms spread out wide, as if she were about to catch an elephant, giving a theatrical shout of "Aha gotcha!"
Her voice trailed off as her jaw dropped. Never mind the lack of an elderly intruder, the real problem was a huge stout wardrobe standing in the space between her TV and kitchenette, with its doors hanging open. The fresh addition stood like a monolithic sentinel protecting the newly enlarged lounge, and the additional space either side of it.
Debbie's arms flopped down as she digested the revised shape of the already large room. More confusing was how her wall had withdrawn to expose the monstrosity dominating it emitting the strong odour of stale perfume and mothballs.
Both her TV, table, and her kitchenette opposite, now separated the newly carpeted floor from the bare floorboards behind. Her shelves above the sink, containing her crockery, hovered unaided in midair, just as solid as when the wall supported them.
She walked up to the wardrobe and partially closed one of the heavy doors to look at the front, which remained covered in the room's paint. But framed and contoured timber replaced the smooth plaster. She rapped her knuckles on the paint to hear the knock of timber instead of the original wall's plaster and brick.
With the shock of the new feature in her room dwindling, a rustle of clothing on the far side attracted her attention.
