Short Story: April Fool
James had never been one for pranks. While others delighted in the childish tricks and staged scares of April Fool’s Day, he found it all tiresome—predictable, even. Every year, he watched his friends and colleagues fall for the same tired jokes, rolling his eyes at their gullibility.
He prided himself on never being fooled, never letting paranoia get the better of him. But as the clock struck midnight and a strange message appeared on his phone, warning him not to open his door, James felt—just for a moment—that something was different this time. Something wasn’t quite right.
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April Fool
James hated April Fool’s Day. The endless pranks, the fake news, the forced laughter—it all irritated him. He prided himself on never falling for any of it. This year, he was determined to prove, once again, that he was smarter than everyone else.
At exactly midnight, a message appeared on his phone:
“Don’t answer the door tonight. No matter who knocks.”
James smirked. Nice try. A classic scare tactic. Probably one of his mates trying to spook him before the pranks began. He ignored it and went back to scrolling through his phone.
Another message appeared: “We’re serious. Don’t let it in.”
This one came from an unknown number. That gave him pause. Was this some elaborate prank? He shook his head. Pathetic. He tossed his phone onto the bedside table, switched off the lamp, and rolled over.
At 2:37 AM, the knocking started.
Loud. Slow. Deliberate.
James jerked awake, heart hammering. The sound echoed through his small flat, making the walls feel closer than they should. He grabbed his phone, squinting against the brightness.
Another message: “Whatever you do, don’t open it.”
A cold unease settled in his stomach.
The knocking came again—louder this time. A steady, rhythmic pounding. James sat up, listening. The street outside was silent. No voices, no footsteps. Just the knocking.
He crept towards the peephole. The corridor was dimly lit, the flickering bulb casting jittery shadows. Someone was outside. A tall, thin figure, its head tilted at an unnatural angle. Its grin stretched too wide, too sharp.
James stumbled back, his breath coming in short gasps. No. It’s a prank. It has to be.
His phone buzzed in his shaking hand. Another message, “You’ve always been so smart, James. But not tonight.”
A slow creak made his stomach drop.
He turned just in time to see the door handle twisting.
His locks—he was sure he had locked them—clicked open.
The door swung inward an inch. Then another. Then another.
The figure was closer now, the grin splitting its face in two. It stepped inside.
And James finally realised, too late, that some pranks aren’t meant to be laughed at.
© Colin Lawson 2024
Audio/Video version of this story.
© Colin Lawson Books