Curiosity: The Door To Your Doom

January 9, 2018
By Anonymous

I could have lived a normal life. I could have been happy. I could have remained an innocent child if I just refrained from opening the door. I remember it like it happened yesterday:
-I woke up with a sick feeling in my stomach, looked at the clock to find that it was four in the morning, I slunk out of bed and felt around in the darkness for the door. I was intending to go to the bathroom and sit on the floor until the pain subsided, but then I heard a peculiar knocking sound. I was drawn to the basement door.
“What could be down there?”
Ensnared by the endless possibilities, I cooked up magnificent creatures in my mind. A unicorn with a rainbow tail, an impeccable white coat, and a glittery pink horn. Or...
A horrendous creature larger than a house; legs the size of boulders, arms like tree trunks and eyes like blazing stars, so bright they burn everything in sight.
I stared at the door, the distance between the door and I opened up like a chasm. My feet were cemented in place. I contemplated turning back and sticking to my former plan, but my curiosity had urged me forward.-
I should have just went with my gut. I should have turned around. I mean curiosity killed the cat right? What was I thinking?
-I moved towards the rattling door counting every step I took like it was my last. I slowly turned the doorknob, fearing a beast would jump at me the moment the door was open. I walked into the basement and slowly made my way downstairs, every step squeaking louder than the last. My heart pounded.
I reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around the dimly lit room, illuminated by a single faint light in the corner. There in the corner of the room, I saw it. The creature was not the monster I had cooked up in my head just moments before. In reality, the creature was a waddling, squawking, ant of a beast.
How silly was I to think that there was a monster in my basement? Monsters don’t exist, or so I thought.
Suddenly, from the shadows, a figure appeared. He glanced up at me startled, put a finger up to his lips, and slowly limped to the small innocent creature. The figure gingerly bent down --CRACK-- its eyes glossed over like marbles, blood enveloped the creature and pooled at my feet.
“It had to be done.” The figure explained as he fled to his home in the shadows. I felt numb.-
That was 20 years ago. I still do not know the identity of the figure. I lived the first five years of my life in love with the darkness, finding the emptiness of the shadows comforting, then the next 20 in fear. Every time I see a shadow a shiver runs down my spine, for fear, the figure has returned to finish me off. At night I light the house up like a firework, in an attempt to appease my deteriorating mind. The night terrors come without fail, nonetheless.
Tonight is no different. I go to each and every room, starting with my living room, working my way to the back of the house where my bedroom is, turning on every single light in sight. I turn on the ceiling lights, the lamps, the night lights plugged into almost every outlet, and the strings of fairy lights. People laugh at me, calling me a crazy old lady. I’m only 25, but all they see is a single woman, with no kids, that never leaves her house. Who wouldn’t think I’m crazy?
I reach the end of the long hall and enter my room. Where I turn on the remainder of the lights. I climb into bed and snuggle into my blanket as if it would protect me from the dangers of the night. I give the room a once over, lay down, pray to get at least two hours of sleep, look at the clock
“3:25 in the morning.” I sigh and close my eyes.
--KNOCK-- --KNOCK-- --BANG--
I start awake and all of the lights in the room click off as if someone flipped some master switch I look blurry eyed at the clock. The red numbers stare at me menacingly.
“4 in the morning.”
I bolt up straight in bed, my heart pounding like a drum.
“He’s back,” I say under my breath.
I slowly move the blankets off of me, stand up, start heading towards the door, working up the courage to face my worst nightmare, and suddenly I hear a loud crash like an explosion. I look behind me. There among the shards of glass where my window once was, stands the figure and my impending demise. My heart drops and I become dizzy with fear. I dash out of my room, trip of a string of fairy lights, and hit my head on the cold tile floor. Through the fog, I see the figure looming over me, cracks his knuckles in preparation, and reaches down. I feel the cold of his long skeletal fingers on my neck, and I realize I’m not afraid.
I haven’t been alive for the past twenty years, what difference does this make? I just wi-
“It had to be done. She knew too much.” The figure asserted, brushing off the long-delayed sin, fleeing the scene of the crime for the very last time.

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