Behind Closed Doors

Chapter one: When one door closes, another one opens

I closed the car door behind me as I stepped out onto the old gravel driveway. Hearing the crunch of rocks under the soles of my boots and the honk and click of the car's doors locking. I turned on my heels and began leaving behind the old ford escort towards front of the old mansion. Turning the partially rusted metal keys in my pocket and fiddling with an old note, breathing in the crisp autumn air as it hit my face. The whistling of wind between the branches of the tall oak trees and the occasional rustle of the bushes next to me of what I assumed were animals running away from my unwanted presence. I didn't judge them, I wouldn't want some random person intruding on my home either.

I tightened my denim jacket around me, shivering slightly as a strong, cold breeze blew through the woods. Sending red and orange leaves flying into my short, curly brown hair. Man, not even a thick hoodie, a t-shirt, and a jacket saved me from feeling the cold bite of early October.

I sighed, looking up at the huge house ahead, thinking back on the last time I was here... We moved out when I was thirteen. Five years since I last stepped foot on this property. It was right after mom died giving birth to my baby brother, only for him to be a stillbirth. It was traumatic, to say the least for fifteen-year-old me. Losing my mother and potential brother, having to move out of the only place I knew, and my entire life turning upside down? I remember crying a lot as I packed some clothes. Dad told me to leave most of my stuff here. Guess he didn't want to hold on to any memories of my mother. I understood that but, it didn't help with the grieving. Not having any pictures of mom except for the one I kept in my locket of mom, dad, and I when I was only eight years old; We were posing together with the first fish I ever caught, a pitifully small bluegill. I wonder if that old pond is still there, or if it dried up yet. I'd have to investigate later.

I was snapped out of my thoughts once I approached the garden gate. Tall weeds had long flooded the boxes and killed off all the flowers, fruits, and vegetables my mother had planted. My fingers grazing the old, rotting wood the garden boxes were made of as I approached the stairs up to the cracked and decrepit porch. Stepping on the old, withered ivy that crawled across the old planks and up the cracked stone brick walls. The old leaves crinkling beneath my feet as I approached the door. the red paint chipping and revealing the stained pine beneath. Dad always stressed about keeping the door red. Something about his grandmother always wanting a red door on her house. I made a mental note of myself to buy red paint the next time I drove to town. Pulling the note out, I opened it. Delicately holding a paper that had yellowed with time in my hand. My dad's handwriting messy and faded, but still legible read

"I suppose it's time you learned about us. The house is yours, the keys to the rest of the house are in your old music box in my workshop.

love, papa"

Looking down at it, I folded the old sheet of paper back up. Trading it for the cold metal keys that had sat waiting while I read the note over again...

"Learned more about them?" I quizzically muttered to myself as I twisted the old keys in my hand. Running my finger over the carvings in the metal as I examined them. These weren't like keys most people had for their houses, these were old. Like the ones, you see in movies that open up old dungeons to reveal deep, dark, forbidden secrets and horrifying monsters.

I wondered what my parents had been hiding from me for so long. Fifteen years of my life were spent in this house yet half the house was always locked up to me. My parents were gone for weeks at a time, simply saying it was business trips without ever telling me what the business was. So much was hidden behind those doors... I was almost scared to find out what it could be. What kind of horrors about my parents I would uncover