Creepypasta Stories And Rituals

Lucky

I was never a superstitious person: the idea of unknown forces affecting my life never was one that appealed to me. Personally, I thought the idea to be utterly ridiculous, and I scoffed at any fool who believed otherwise. Avoiding black cats, never crossing someone on the stairs, not stepping on cracks in pavements lest the earth should be knocked off its axis, what is this mysterious force that people seem to attribute to such a large part of their lives? All of this seemed like nonsense to me.

This is why, on the 23rd of November, when one particularly humorous subordinate of mine decided to buy a rabbits foot for me as a gift, I burst out laughing. I thought I was laughing with her: I had always been clear in my beliefs about the supernatural, so surely such a gift could only be meant in jest, until I saw the solemn look of sincerity on her face. I stifled my guffaws into a quiet chuckle and attempted an earnest “Thank you”. She continued to hold a sombre expression, regarding me with oddly concerned eyes, as she spoke to me in a quiet whispering voice that was so ludicrously dramatic I nearly burst out laughing again:

“You shouldn't be so sure of what you know.”

Unsure of how to respond to this supposed epiphany without laughing, I thanked her again. She stared at me in silence a moment longer before turning away and leaving quickly. At first I thought her swift departure to be another show of amateur dramatics, then I realized that it was past five, and swiftly departed myself soon after attaching the rabbit foot to my key ring. I did this not because I liked it, but rather ironically. Also, she was a quiet, simple woman and seeing her gift on my key ring may help her feel that I was grateful even though, in truth, I wasn't; neither for the rabbit’s foot or for the one line of wisdom that she had probably attained from some toilet-cubicle door on her various journeys of enlightenment. She was only a secretary after all; I doubt she even read anything unless it had colorful pictures and bold headlines.

The drive home left me feeling rather put out. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, just the usual five o’ clock rush hour traffic. But about half way home I started to get the feeling that something was behind me, I found myself checking the back seat of my car every few minutes, as if someone would be sitting there. Of course there was no one. My Mercedes has central locking, you see, I was perfectly safe. However I could not disregard the feeling that I was being watched, and I even felt a prickle rise on the nape of my neck at one point. I told myself that this was just nerves being stimulated by some stray hormone, a chemical mix up, undoubtedly the remnants of an old evolutionary instinct to watch one’s back for approaching predators, but this did nothing to change my actions as I persisted in checking the back seat. I even felt some relief in stepping onto my driveway when I arrived home despite knowing that beside myself there was no one in the car, and I was greatly irritated to find that I was gripping the rabbit’s foot, now damp with sweat.

It’s safe to say I felt somewhat drained after the unnecessarily strenuous drive and decided that a large supper was in order. As I cooked I began to feel more like myself, and deplored my earlier actions, not least because I had a strain in my neck as a reminder of my own stupidity.

That was when the kitchen door creaked open.

I was stood over my cooker oven, facing away from the door to my cloak room – that is, the room by the front door for clothes and shoes, in case you don’t have one yourself, I know that some people don’t – so when I heard the creak I automatically assumed that it was this door that had opened. It’s heavy oak, you see, with an antique handle mechanism that will push the door open if not closed correctly. I enter the house through this door so I assumed I must not have closed it properly. But this was not the door that had opened. It was the kitchen door to my left, the one that leads into the main hallway. This door is somewhat more modern, and had been closed since I left the house. Only now it was opening. Slowly.