Not The One Who Knocks

Written by Blue-Eyed Devil

Part of the Grimsley Chronicles


Can you hear that howling? Image // Bill Dickinson

‘S’nice place,Grimsley thought to himself.Breaking in hadn’t been all that much trouble. Duct tape placed on one of the small windows in the back door and a sharp jab with his elbow had allowed him to enter the premises without much hassle. He had found himself in a kitchen, cleaned well but small and rather bare. Running a gloved hand over the crockery, he put a little thought into what he would use to end the owner’s life.Skillet? No. Frying pan? Been done, and recently.His eyes slid their way over to the selection of knives in a wooden block and he pulled one free, examining the blade. Yes… this should do the trick.Seeing a tall glass on the draining board, Grimsley casually nudged it off. It fell to the floor and smashed into a dozen pieces.

He moved further into the house with practiced ease, his footfalls not making a sound on the floor as he inspected the place. He was no interior decorator, but you could tell a lot about a person by the way they kept their personal space.

No pictures anywhere – could be that she didn’t have any family alive, or was estranged from any that were. But Grimsley doubted that. There were more than a few pieces of furniture about. That implied that the occupier had company often; friends, family, partner. Or partners. He wasn’t old-fashioned; each to their own. No pictures but she had visitors often? Not a sentimental type, perhaps.

Working his way around, Grimsley continued his observations. Everything looked neat, nothing out of place or flung about randomly. A tidy person, then? But a quick inspection of her cupboards and drawers revealed things simply stuffed in haphazardly. She made a show of being put together, but under the surface was chaos. Out of sight, out of mind…

Grimsley sighed to himself. Were it so easy to put that into practice.

A sudden creak brought the thug back to his purpose. His target was finally awake and was investigating the noise he had made. It had taken her long enough.

Slipping silently out of sight, Grimsley waited for the woman to show herself. He didn’t have to wait long, the figure of a small but compact person was moving past him in the dark. She was shorter than him, he noted. A pleasant change, he thought to himself.

Well, time to get on with it. He approached her from behind, thrusting the knife upwards between her ribs and into her heart.

Or that had been his intent anyway. She surprised him by turning sharply and kicking the weapon out of his hand.

Huh. That’s odd.

Grimsley blocked a punch aimed at his jaw and locked the arm in place at his side. He thrust forwards with the palm of his hand and struck her nose, but she moved into the attack and it bounced off her forehead. A knee jabbed into his stomach, making him let go of her arm.

His head was beginning to ache again. Not now. Gotta end this now.

She aimed another kick at him and he caught her leg, taking the blow to his side but grasping firmly onto the appendage. She was well muscled, but Grimsley was much stronger. She discovered this herself when he shoved all his weight into her, knocking her straight to the ground. She tried to struggle free but the stocky thug had his forearm pressing down on her neck and his whole body was crushing down onto hers.

Grimsley looked down onto the slowly purpling face of the woman as he slowly cut off her air and suddenly realised something. She was… normal. She wasn’t changing. Her face was… human.

A sudden, blinding light filled his head and he felt… renewed. Refreshed.


“It’s your lucky day, miss,” muttered Grimsley, more to himself than to her. His fist cracked into her face and she stopped struggling.

He made sure she was still breathing before he left. Placed her in the recovery position too, just to be on the safe side. Concussion was a tricky thing.

Walking back to his flat, Grimsley reveled. Everyone was a monster. Makepeace had been the first. Others had come; people he was forced to work with, those that passed down his orders, those that drank in the same pub as him. But the woman he had been sent to kill was not. The pain in his head had come, but she had not changed.

He knew what the others thought about him. He was the organisation’s pet wolf. Everyone was afraid of him, of who the bosses would unleash him on next. He remembered someone saying that even angels would cross the street out of fear from him. Knowing that they were scared of him did not diminish him; on the contrary, it invigorated him, as if he fed off of their fear.

Striding into his flat, the thug made straight for his couch, lifting the seat and revealing the hollowed out innards. He reached in, rummaging inside it until he found what he was looking for. Things have changed now. The monsters had struck fear into his heart before, but he would exorcise that fear by becoming fear itself. Becoming the Wolf that even angels feared to tread near.

Running his hand along the blade of the machete, Grimsley smiled to himself.

Yes… this should do the trick.

Blue-Eyed Devil’s Grimsley shorts began with a simple Half Hour Challenge idea, from then the Grimsley Chronicles were born. Now, our Haiku creator writes interesting scenarios for his character to get into, and most of the time it’s tense in action. There’s definitely a big sense of fear in ‘Not the One who Knocks’, which is exactly what we’re aiming for with this month’s content. If you enjoyed Blue-Eyed Devil’s short HHC, you can check out some of his other work, including Haiku Selections One and Two

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