9/11 Short Stories

Laying in the bed of her small cottage in the woods, Jess could hear the faint noise of a firetruck siren wailing in the distance. Exhausted, she pulled up her cloud-like blanket and shut her eyes. It was so quiet; all she could hear were the sirens seemingly getting closer.

Shattering the silence was a “tap, tap, tap,” coming from the window above her head. Passing it off as the wind, she closed her eyes. Then Jess heard the rattling sound of the front door slamming. Heart pounding, now knowing that it was not the wind, she slowly peeled off her blanket, and placed her bare feet on the frigid tile floor. Cautiously, Jess stood up and inched toward the door as a cool shudder trickled down her spine. She wrapped her hand around the icy door knob and slowly pulled open the door, trying not to make it creak. She peered out the door, and that's when she saw it. Standing in front of the door, still as if it were only a statue, was the silhouette of a man. Against her will, Jess shrieked and watched in horror as the man spotted her and took a step closer. She tried to run, but was trapped --

Jess grabbed her shoulder in agony, and fell backward into what would usually be a safe and comforting bed, but all it brought her was panic. Then she heard him shut and lock the door. Trembling, Jess slowly sat up, opened her eyes and saw the man, standing by the door, in one hand, a box of matches, and a knife, drenched in her blood, in the other. Terrified, she scrambled to her feet as the man walked toward her. She backed into a corner, wincing at the excruciating pain in her shoulder. He stepped closer, and with an evil grin spread across his mutilated face, he reached into the match box, pulled one out, and struck it against the box, illuminating the dark space and highlighting the scars that outlined his