The Final Chapter

Clara pulled her blanket tighter and tapped the glowing screen of her tablet. She was obsessed with StoryAnts, a site that took classic literature and reimagined it as interactive "choose your own adventure" games. Instead of just reading passively, she got to steer the characters through the plot, making choices that changed the ending.

Tonight, with the autumn wind rattling her bedroom window, she had loaded up a gothic horror classic.

The protagonist stands in the darkened study, the screen read. A sudden, heavy thud echoes from the floorboards upstairs. Do you [Hide under the oak desk] or [Take the candle and investigate the stairs]?

Clara smiled, tapping [Take the candle and investigate the stairs]. Hiding was boring. She wanted the thrill.

The text faded and generated the next paragraph. You step into the hallway. The house is completely silent, save for the rhythmic tapping of the wind against the glass.

Clara paused. The wind outside her own window was tapping in the exact same rhythm. A coincidence, of course. It was a stormy night.

You hear another thud, the story continued. This time, it is closer. Just outside the study. The floorboards groan under a heavy weight. Do you [Call out into the dark?] or [Retreat and lock the door]?

Just as her eyes scanned the last sentence, a distinct, heavy creak echoed from the hallway outside her actual bedroom.

Clara froze. She lived alone.

She stared at the closed door of her bedroom. Her old house was just settling. It had to be. Her thumb hovered over the tablet, trembling slightly, before she tapped [Retreat and lock the door].

She didn't just tap it on the screen. She slipped quietly out of bed, tiptoed to her bedroom door, and twisted the brass deadbolt until it clicked shut.

She backed away, her heart beginning to race, and looked down at her tablet. The text had already updated.

You lock the door. A wise choice. But the heavy footsteps continue down the hall, stopping directly outside your room. The brass doorknob slowly begins to turn.

Clara’s breath hitched. A second later, the brass doorknob of her own bedroom twisted. Rattle. Rattle. Click. Someone was on the other side of her door.

Panic seized her chest. She looked frantically back down at the tablet, desperate to undo her last choice, to restart the chapter, to click "Hide." But the screen didn't have a back button anymore. The text had changed. The protagonist's name wasn't mentioned anymore.

The creature knows you locked it, Clara, the screen read. It knows you are standing by the nightstand in your oversized gray sweater. You are out of classic tales. This is your story now.

The doorknob stopped rattling. A heavy silence fell over the house.

A single prompt appeared at the bottom of the glowing screen.

Do you [Let me in] or [Wait for me to break down the door]?