Short Story Sunday

The Locked Door

By Bridget Messi

There is a door in our house that is always locked. It’s an old rounded wooden door with an iron handle and three thick black hinges—a style that is separate from any other door in this house. I have never seen a person enter nor exit this door. I haven’t heard the squeak of the hinges echo down the long thickly carpeted corridor. It’s not as if the door is in an excluded part of the manor, it sits promptly in the middle of the first hall up the stairs, on the left. Across from it is my mother’s room and next to that my aunts. Most of our family resides in that hall, all the rooms filled with occupants. 

All except one. 

When my siblings and I were younger we used to try to pry it open, try to pick the lock that sat below the ornate black iron handle. But alas, we were unsuccessful. We even asked mother about it a few more times than we had ought to. She ended up getting cross and snapping that we should leave our noses out of other people’s business. But of course, that only made us more fascinated with the door. 

Why was it locked? A simple answer would’ve sufficed, cooled our curious minds that were itching to find out what was behind the near ancient wood. So day after day our games and imaginations revolved around the door that was shut tight as if it were magically sealed. There was never any draft that came from behind it, and it was connected so tightly to the floor that one couldn’t even slide a piece of parchment beneath it. 

We searched every nook and cranny for the key and tried any that we found, but no key fit, and our questions went unanswered. 

Time passed and we grew, our playtime replaced with books and studies and slowly the locked door became simply a part of the wall, an accent piece, like a portrait hanging on the wall. My siblings moved on from their fascination—almost forgetting it entirely, but even as I grew myself, I stayed curious. So instead of playing games that revolved around the door as I once had, I simply sat and studied it. If we had any free time from our classroom, I would read whatever literature our teacher had assigned us that afternoon in the hall, across from the door opposed to my siblings who preferred the solitude of the library. 

Still, time passed, my limbs grew longer and the door remained tightly sealed.

Thunder woke me in the night. I sat up swiftly, my breathing short and labored. Rain pattered on the large window panes to my left and flashes of lightning illuminated my room. I pressed a hand to my chest and focused on calming down. It was only a bit of thunder, nothing more, but as I laid back down to sleep, my mind kept me awake. I tossed and turned for what seemed like hours before I gave up on sleep altogether and rose from my bed, slipped on my robe, grabbed a candlestick, and exited quietly into the dimly lit hall. Slowly, I walked, not sure where I was intending to go, but somehow I ended up standing before the door that never opened. 

The door that had been the sole focus of my childhood.

I stared at it unblinkingly, almost as if in a trance, and then, right before my eyes a golden light filled the forever empty keyhole and shadows moved behind it. 

My breath caught. No, this must be a dream. Surely this could not be!

As that thought crossed my mind, an ornate iron key materialized in the keyhole that had stood empty for all my years, beckoning me to open it. I took a deep breath and placed my hand on the key that’s handle was tightly woven knots all wildly intertwined. 

Was this actually happening or was I dreaming? Whatever the explanation, I turned the key with my breath held tightly in my chest and the clink of the lock shifting filled my ears. 

I glanced down the hall this way and that, but no one was here with me—no one to witness this moment of disbelief.

It was just me and the now unlocked door.

I bit my lip and finally turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Golden light filled my wide turquoise eyes and I was struck dumb at what I saw. A tingling sensation filled my chest and I struggled to catch my breath. Giddily, almost as if a child again, I stepped forward into the fantastic world beyond and I was in such a daze I didn’t even hear the door click softly shut behind me once more.