It always came through the door, never through the window or through the dark hallway or corner, but through the door. The knob would turn; the hinges would creak and out would come a creature of utter blackness. It would take me away, to kill me or to do whatever it was that monsters did to people at night.
This was why I hated this particular door. It was tall, nearly eight feet tall and about three feet wide. Black, jet black and I did not like it. It was big, dark, and inside my bedroom. I never really used this door. I used it to keep some old clothes on the clothing racks behind it; suits, ties, pants, and just some random formal stuff I hardly used.
Luckily for me, I was able to stay with this fear for a long time. I haven’t opened that door for years. I often wondered why I never got rid of it. If I didn’t like it, why did I have to keep it? Well I guess it was because it just seemed silly at the time. It seemed silly to get rid of a door just because of some childhood fear. Since I am now grown-up, I am not supposed to be afraid of the dark, nor am I supposed to be afraid the bogeyman.
“Hell yeah!” I say as I rapped my knuckles against the door as I stood in front of it. “I’m not afraid of you! You’re just a big piece of wood! All you got behind you are some old clothes that probably don’t even fit me anymore!” I yelled.
I tried to laugh away my concern as I looked at the door. It seemed to tower over me, two small panels at the top of the door seemed to stand very tall over me. For a moment, it felt like it was looking right at me. I tried to laugh again, but I couldn’t quite muster the humour. Instead I gave it another rap and walked away.
I had things to do. I had work to get ready for, bills to pay, and people to see. I didn’t have time to be afraid of a door! A couple of nights went by after I had ‘mocked’ this door. The feeling of being looked down upon didn’t leave me for the rest of the week. For some reason I just felt…watched over by it.
I lay in bed one night, parallel to the door, and just stared at it. The door was hidden in the darkness, with only its brass knob to let me know that it never moved. I stared at it for some time, looking directly at it. I felt like I was in a staring contest with this door. When I blinked, I expected the door to suddenly swing open and reveal some sort of monster. Yet, nothing happened. The door simply stood there, looking at me, looming over me. A chill ran down my spine and I finally turned away.
I went to sleep, but not after several glances back at the door.
I woke up the next morning with a headache. My head was pounding like a death metal drum solo. I groaned, as it hurt like a son of a bitch. I pressed my hands onto the bed to feel something warm dampen my hands. I opened my eyes. There on my pillow and down onto the white sheets was a pool of blood. I sat up, and realised that I was sticky from the dried blood.
When I examined the sheets closer I saw drops falling from my nose. My nose was bleeding. I quickly stood up from my bed and ran to the bathroom with my head up like some sort of super snob. I ran inside the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. The left half of my face, mostly the cheek and mouth area, was dark red and brown, with blood still dripping from my nose. I held it up again, this time touching the walls around the bathroom looking for some toilet paper. I found some and quickly plugged them in my nose in a hurry.
The toilet paper stopped the blood and I was able to sigh in relief. I felt a bit dizzy during this time, and as soon as the crisis ended, my headache decided to take centre once stage again. Groaning, I wandered into my bedroom and called in sick for work. I couldn’t go to work feeling like this. I called my boss, and with the toilet paper in my nose, I sounded more convicting. He told me to call someone and so I called Fred, who was a good, dignified guy.
“Hello?” his voice creeped up, I must have just woken him up.
“Hi Fred. It’s Dan. Listen man, I’m not feeling well and I need you to come in for me, alright?” There was silence on the phone. He was probably nodding. Fred had this stupid tendency to do that. It’s like he thought the phone had a video camera or something.
Finally he responded, “Yeah, yeah sure.” He said with a yawn.
“Thanks man, I’ll take Friday for you, if you would like.” “I would like that, Dan. Thanks.”
“Yeah, I’ll talk to you later.” I hung up.
I had the whole day to get cleaned up and for my head to feel better. As soon as I dropped the phone, I noticed something odd. There was a sheet missing from my bed. I figured out that I must have just kicked it off the bed as I slept. I looked around the bed, there was nothing! Nor was it under the bed, or even behind it. I looked all over and couldn’t find it. With a deep sigh, I sat down on the bloody bed and thought to myself, what a day this has been already, and just woke up. With my headache pounding without ceasing, I tried to figure out a way for me to calm down.
My body felt like it was on autopilot as I looked around the corner. There was the door. It was shut tight, with no latch hanging. I stepped closer very slowly, cautiously. Its two panels watched my every move like the eyes of a hawk, or even as those of a demon. I looked at them as I treaded softly. With every few steps, I paused to listen and watch. Nothing happened.
Finally I reached the door and I looked up at the panels again. This time something else caught my eye. It was a long streak that covered the door, which extended between the two panels and around them. It was smiling at me.
Only God can recover your fears, a voice said in my head. It always came through the door, and never through the window or through the dark hallway or corner, but through the door.
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