The Door

When the door appeared in the hallway by my bedroom, no one noticed it at first. Us all being too busy with our own lives, rushing past one more closed door that matched all the others didn’t give us any pause at all. Eventually though, the half glances and double takes started to linger in even our already full minds. 


“I forget why we don’t go in that room anymore… what’s in it?” No one could answer because nobody remembered, and nobody remembered because nobody had ever known. It was easier to assume that we had just forgotten, maybe, than to admit that this was a new addition to our home that we had never permitted.

“Have you tried the knob? Is it locked?” But we all shrugged our shoulders. There was something about it… passing by; it wasn’t like you didn’t want to touch it, but it just never seemed important until later, when you were somewhere else. And then inevitably, something else more pressing would flit into your head and you’d forget all about it. And the next time you walked past it you were of course on your way to something much more urgent and didn’t have time to waste thinking about a door that probably had nothing to do with you.

“Aren’t you curious?” I mean yes, but also no. The door was so unobtrusive that besides its very existence had upset our lives in nearly no measurable way. The epochs of us - Before Door and After Door, were nearly identical. Still though, there seemed to be a nagging itch at the back of our heads that grew with each passing day.

I remember seeing my father staring at it. Standing there in the hallway, arms crossed. Not touching, just looking. I watched him from the edge of my room until he remembered something more pressing he needed to attend to and strode away. Walking with purpose, as fathers tend to do.

I took his place then. Standing in front of the door, arms crossed, not touching, just looking. But how I stared. I guess I was hoping for something out of place… something fantastic that would explain it away, or give me courage to try the handle, or spike my fear enough to run.

But it was a totally normal door. Exactly like all the others. Well, almost… there were no fingerprints on this one. It was pristine. A long white rectangle outlined by smaller ones. Faux brass handle just like on mine. My eyes traveled along the seams at the top and bottom, hoping for something different, a light maybe? But there was nothing. I remembered I still had homework to finish and turned away.

I started waking up early and staying up late so I could wait at the door. Waiting for what, I did not know. When I got tired, I would sit. Criss cross applesauce in the middle of the hallway, not leaning against the opposite wall. I think I was listening, but of course I never heard anything.

One day I decided I wanted to touch the door. But I didn’t do it, just imagined the way the wood would feel under my fingertips. Cold and smooth, not answering my questions. My pupils dilated, the bright white of the paint harsh against my eyes. I closed them. And then I leaned forward, hands coming up on either side of my head, my cheek pressed against the flat surface.

The door seemed to hum. I relaxed into it’s embrace and breathed deep, letting myself fill with -

My eyes flew open when I heard my name, jumping back like I had done something wrong. My mother stood at the end of the hallway, staring at me. Something was wrong, but neither of us could say what or if it was even worth it to try. I got up, my head bowed, and got ready for school.

I couldn’t concentrate all day. Everywhere I looked was just blank white walls. The time passed like a ticking clock. I went where I was meant to, spoke when needed, and ate when hungry, but nothing softened the aching tension behind my eyes.

I didn't turn the lights on that night. Standing in my dark hallway, the bright white reflecting what ambient illumination there already was. I pressed my hand against the wood, thrilling at the hum that pulsed through me. I stroked my way to the handle, wrapping my fingers around it. My heart raced, the blood pounding in my ears. It turned easily in my hand, and I pushed it open.