The Inkwell presents: Knock Knock

By The Inkwell

Each month, the community chooses a prompt, and those interested are tasked to write a tale of no more than 2,500 words. And to start 2024 off, we chose to pit our writers against one of the most dreaded of daily events-that of the unexpected visitor. Not so bad, one might say, but we went two better. For not only was the visitor unexpected, but they were unusual and, deity forbid, a salesman! If that isn’t the stuff of nightmares, we don’t know what is.

Seriously, it is the stuff of day dreams and fairy tales. The stranger at your door, offering you a deal you would never consider, let alone expect. Sometimes this can lead to adventure, as Jack found with his beanstalk, or to catastrophe, as Faust can clearly attest. No matter what, though, the results of such interactions are never dull.

So, now that you’ve opened the door and listened to our spiel, the question remains-what will you give for a deal of a lifetime?

Foreclosure - When one is desperate, any offer appears appealing
The Survey - With the world closing in, Caroline finds herself faced with some odd questions
The Lies We Tell Ourselves - How far will a couple go to forget their past?
Eternity and Everything After - Not all saviors are equal

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Inkwell
• Release date: Jan 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224195688

The Inkwell

We are a writing collective founded on Discord that currently includes 20+ writers all helping each other on the climb to completed works.

Book preview

The Survey

Written by S. D. Sampley

The beeping needed to stop. I’d put up with this stupid smoke detector malfunction for far too long, but no matter what I did, nothing worked. It merely continued beeping a steady, infuriating rhythm. 

This couldn’t be right. Smoke detectors shouldn’t beep this much. Hell, even when the batteries were dying, the sound was sparse, not this constant…heartbeat. This was crazy—I’m crazy—machines didn’t even have hearts!

On top of it all, my phone completely lost service at the exact same time, so I couldn’t even call anyone to fix it. Then when I tried to drive into town, an apocalyptic fog rolled in, stunting any opportunity to get help. There was something unnatural about that fog, something that warned me to not set foot inside or I would not be coming back out.

I’d opted to try and fix the nightmare myself, and that was going poorly. Neither the TV or radio could keep me company, either, for they, too, stopped working properly. I could only watch the news or whatever soap opera rerun, with the radio conveniently playing my favorite song on repeat, intercut with unintelligible commercials. For days I’d listened to this cacophony of sounds, and I was fed up. I was going to rip the alarm out with my bare hands and smash every electronic in my house with it. 

I adjusted my earplugs in vain. The piercing screech of the alarm still cut through the sponge like a knife. Even though they were just beeps, after hours upon hours of the endless assault, it now rang more akin to a tornado siren—one that sat directly in the middle of my house.

It was times like these I regretted moving so far out into the country. It was my husband’s idea, but he was scarcely ever here, traveling for work as often as he did. One thing was certain, though, when he returned from this most recent trip, I would give him an earful.

Just as my fingernails found a hold on the underside of the machine, the doorbell rang. I paused, wondering if I’d imagined it, and when several moments passed without a repeat, I shrugged, resuming my struggle. 

Then, it rang again. 

I plucked a plug out, slowly descending the ladder I’d been using. 

Who on earth would come all the way out here in this weather? We’d yet to have a salesman or any religious folk come out in the few months we’d been here, and I doubted they’d make their first trip in these conditions. My heart stuttered in my chest as I recalled a phrase my husband ensured I’d remember while he was away: If they’re not here for your stuff, they’re here for you.

Instead of marching straight to the door, I scuttled down the hall to sneak a look from an adjacent