I Just Sat There

I just sat there. I didn’t feel like doing anything but sit there. I don’t know why. The chair was uncomfortable, squeaky, splintered in all the wrong places. It was too hard and cold and I couldn’t wait to leave. But I didn’t want to. It felt too good to stare at it. The door. The old wooden door. The door that I spend most of my time staring at.

I knew every single crack and hole that covered its surface. I remember all the blackness that lay beyond it, and how it seemed to consume the door right out of existence. The stable, musty smell that stank up my whole basement was so overpowering that it felt like I was swimming through it. It had woodworm which was making it creak at every little breeze, looking like it was about to collapse at any second. It had gone green with age and moss covered nearly all of it. It had no handle, just a little piece of tethered rope that hung itself over a rusty nail on either side, allowing one end to escape into the blackness. A rat twitched its nose in the corner, taking in the stench with its small, pink nose and long whiskers. But it scuttled off into its home, not wanting to stay in the room with me. I wouldn’t want to stay in the room. But something was holding me to my seat. The door. Because I knew what lay beyond the darkness. And it gave me such a rush. A rush that I had never felt before.

My heart beat faster, as I looked again over each crack and hole, letting each one tell me its story, reliving it over in my mind. My ears rung with the sound of the splintering of the wood, the dreadful cracking that accompanied the splintering. I relived the shudder of every blow course through my arms. I ran my finger over my cheek, remembering how a stray splinter broke off and cut the skin. It didn’t hurt but the blood that ran over my finger was so smooth and silky I focused on the shiny crimson viscous liquid for a few seconds, mesmerised by it. But again my focus shifted to the door. As I sat there, my eyes darting here and there, following an invisible me as I struck the door again and again. I rubbed my aching arms. The invisible me pauses for breath; the bat is starting to feel heavy, the wood course against my skin, the end starting to look as miserable as the door. My ears prick slightly as I hear an echoing scream. I know it’s not real, not now anyway, but my ears prick all the same. I see the hole where the door handle used to be, and allowed the corner of my mouth to rise into a smirk. I could almost feel the cool metal in my hand, the smoothness of its surface run over my skin as I lock my fingers around it. Even now, years after it happened, I flex my muscles enough to snap it off. I see myself step through into the blackness and take in a deep breath, feeling the musty, mossy, damp smell fill my lungs.

I twirled the small bracelet around in my fingers, running them over the fake silver, letting my fingers pick up any bumps and notches as they made their way round the bracelet. Without looking at it, I knew each charm that was on it: a small dog, like a terrier, a heart, a guitar next to that, a music note, and finally a horse in full gallop before coming back to the dog again. Each charm was beautifully carved, and I could feel the fur of the dog, the mane and tail of the horse, which was by far my favourite. I could tell what it looked like, but I wasn’t looking at it. I was still looking straight at the door that I hadn’t opened in years, and wouldn’t open. The blackness behind it would swallow me whole; consume me with fears and memories. But still, I watched that door with admiration and pleasure.

I took another breath, smelling a freshly cooked dinner awaiting me upstairs. My mouth watered with excitement at the tender smell of food and my stomach rumbled demandlying. I reluctantly stood up, groaning with agony as my knees clicked loudly. I stretched my back, yawning deeply from all the stale air and once again looked at the door. It seemed so lonely all by itself. With great disappointment and regret, I trudged up the stairs, avoiding each creak and mouldy area as best as I could, and flick out the light once more on the dark, dirty, lonely door that hid away my scarred past.