The Evil Housemate

A Short Story I wrote whilst doing my creative writing course.

The wind clawed at Dixy’s long ebony coat and tugged mercilessly at her short blue skirt as she raised her fist to knock on the heavy oak door. The sky churned above her—grey clouds twisting like something alive, waiting. Yet Dixy’s smile refused to dim. Today marked the beginning of her new, independent life. She smoothed her skirt to keep it from whipping up in the rising gusts, a shiver of excitement skittering across her skin. After all the searching, she was finally here.

The door swung open.

Fred filled the doorway, tall enough that Dixy had to tip her chin up, her heeled boots suddenly feeling less like fashion and more like vulnerability. The look on Fred’s face was…odd. Not anger, exactly, but something sharp and unwelcoming—as though she were assessing Dixy rather than greeting her. A flicker of the future, perhaps. Dixy dismissed the thought. She was a little early, after all.

She extended her hand. Fred took it loosely, their brief handshake cool and formal.

“Your room is up the stairs, on the left.” Fred’s voice was clipped. “Come in. Shoes off, please.”

Dixy glanced at the shoe rack beside her—rows of footwear aligned with obsessive precision. It reminded her, strangely, of home. She slid off her boots and tucked them neatly into an empty space. She tried not to notice that Fred’s own heavy boots remained planted on his feet.

“Once you’ve settled, I’ll show you around,” Fred added shortly. “Most are still in bed.”

“That’s fine,” Dixy said lightly, though she felt oddly watched. “I’ll unpack and come down when everyone’s up.”

She lifted her suitcase and headed for the stairs. As she ascended, she felt the faintest prickling on the back of her neck. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t see Fred’s half-hidden, almost…malicious stare following her up the steps.

---

Dinner that evening should have been comforting. After Dixy had been shown around and unpacked, the housemates gathered at a long table, warm food steaming between them. Fred sat rigidly at the head of the table; Dixy sat directly opposite, the position chosen for her without a word.

The others were friendly—curious, chatty, eager to welcome her. Their questions came in a flutter of voices, and Dixy answered each with polite enthusiasm. Fred, however, seemed wholly uninterested, her gaze distant, her expression unreadable. No one else appeared to notice.

A whisper from the girl beside Dixy explained it away: Fred’s always like that. A presence you learned to navigate. A force rather than a person. And, besides, His parents owned the place. His rules weren’t suggestions.

“So, you have a boyfriend?” Sandy asked suddenly, her grin mischievous.

Fred’s eyes snapped into focus—both of them locking on Dixy.

“Yeah,” Dixy said, unable to resist smiling. “Gary. He’s amazing.” She held up her hand, showing a gold ring sparkling with emeralds and diamonds.

“Wow…” breathed Tash, mesmerized.

Fred snorted, rolling his eyes. “Fiancés. More trouble than they’re worth.”

Dixy met her stare for a moment. “Not if you have a good one.”

The table erupted into giggles and stories, the tension dissolving—at least for them. Fred pushed his chair back abruptly and walked out without a word.

---

A few days later, Gary appeared at the door, grinning wide and holding flowers. He’d texted Dixy for the address—again—which made all the girls laugh. Still, his surprise visit lifted the entire flat’s mood. He treated everyone to takeaway, including Fred.

Fred never came out of his room.

Gary didn’t mind. The rule was clear: no boyfriends overnight unless Fred approved, and he hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge him. So once dinner wound down, he kissed Dixy goodnight and left.

A little tipsy, Dixy climbed the stairs, humming softly to herself. She reached her landing, misjudged the hallway in the haze of alcohol, and pushed open a door—

Fred’s door.

And the moment she stepped inside, the air felt wrong.

As though someone had been waiting.

Dixy froze in the doorway.

The room was dim, lit only by the pale glow of a single lamp on the desk. The air felt heavy…too still, as though the house itself had stopped breathing. She blinked, trying to steady her vision. Her head spun slightly from the drinks, but even in her haze she could sense something was wrong.

Fred wasn’t there.

But the room looked lived in—papers stacked with military precision, clothes folded into perfect squares, the bed tucked tight enough to bounce a coin. And right in the centre of the desk, like an accusation, was a neat row of objects.

Dixy stepped closer.

They were all personal items—items that didn’t belong to Fred. A few bracelets. A hair clip. A keychain shaped like a tiny bear. A cracked phone screen protector. All laid out carefully, deliberately.

And on the far right end of the line—
her ring.

Dixy’s breath caught in her throat.

It was unmistakable: the gold band with emeralds and tiny diamonds, the one Gary had given her. But she had been wearing it earlier. She lifted her hand instinctively.

Her finger was bare.

Her pulse hammered through her skull. She backed away, heart racing, just as the door clicked shut behind her.

Fred stood there, blocking the exit.

His expression wasn’t angry. It was calm. Too calm.

“You’ve been careless,” Fred said quietly. “You left that ring on the counter after dinner.”

Dixy swallowed. “I—I didn’t mean to come in. I was drunk, I thought this was my room—”

“I know,” Fred said. “That’s why I waited.”

She stepped forward. Dixy instinctively stepped back.
The lamp cast Fred’s face in sharp angles—cold, unreadable.

“These things,” Fred continued, gesturing to the lined-up belongings, “were left behind by former housemates. They were…forgetful. They didn’t last long.”

“Didn’t last long?” Dixy whispered.

Fred tilted her head. “House sharing is difficult. Conflicts. Disagreements. Some people move out suddenly. Some don’t say goodbye.”

Dixy’s stomach twisted. Was that true? Or something else entirely?

Fred picked up the ring and held it between two fingers.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured. “Too beautiful to lose.”

She stepped toward Dixy again, extending the ring with an oddly gentle smile.
But something in his eyes made Dixy’s skin crawl.

“Take it,” Fred urged softly.

Dixy hesitated. The air around them felt electric, charged with something she couldn’t name. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to get out, to put as much distance as possible between herself and Fred.

So she did the only thing she could think of.

She snatched the ring from Fred’s fingers—and bolted.

She shoved past him, nearly tripping down the stairs, heart thundering as she grabbed her boots, her coat, anything her hands could find. Behind her, she heard footsteps—calm, even, not chasing…but following.

Quietly.

Deliberately.

“Dixy,” Fred’s voice floated down the staircase, eerily composed. “No one leaves without notice. That’s a house rule.”

Dixy didn’t answer. She didn’t dare look back.

She threw open the front door and ran into the night, the wind swallowing her scream, the thunder rolling overhead like distant laughter. She didn’t stop running until she reached the streetlight at the corner—breath ragged, heart clawing its way out of her chest.

She turned to glance back at the house.

Fred stood in the doorway, framed by the warm glow behind him, his silhouette tall and still. Watching.

Not moving.

Just watching.

And then the door closed.

Quietly.

As though he had all the time in the world.