Roads To Hell: A Horror Anthology

Part 5 - The Door That Croons Your Name

Elly was quite sure the door had not been there before. She was also sure – this time – that she'd seen it before. It looked like an ordinary door. It could have been any old door. But the details – the details were exactly the same.

Dark green paint, peeling around the edges and scratched at the bottom. Something had clawed at it, as if a trapped cat had reached a paw underneath and dug its claws in. Ornate brass handle, rusting just where you would put your thumb. Elly's hand had hovered over it enough to know exactly where hers would go. The rust was a burnt orange colour, like iron-rich dirt from the desert, which had had all the nutrients sucked out long ago. Just above the handle, three thin scratches a finger-width apart revealed the wood beneath.

There was an old-fashioned knocker in the middle of the door made of the same material. It was rusting too, just where Elly would pinch it between her thumb and forefinger in order to knock.

Elly stared up at the door. How long it had been following her she didn't know. All her life maybe. She kept seeing it. At her high-school it was the door no one else seemed to notice. Their eyes slid right over it. And when she asked what was inside, her friends looked at her as if she was crazy.

While studying at university Elly worked at a bar four times a week. The door was there too, next to the dumpsters all the bar waste went into and seeming to lead to the building next door. One night she walked right up to it, her hand hovering above the handle. She was going to shove the door open and stare inside, banish any fears with common sense and high-powered torch. But a strange wind blew and she thought she heard her manager calling her name, so she went back inside.

She saw it again at graduation, freezing for a moment while shaking the Dean's hand when she saw the green door at the back of the hall. She saw it at her friend Jay's house just before he drowned in his own vomit. She saw it at her grandmother's nursing home, while she lay quietly wasting away inside her own body. She saw it at her grandmother's funeral, mocking her over the priest's right shoulder.

Now that she admitted to herself that it was the same door, her door, Elly knew there was only one thing she could do. If she didn't she'd go mad. She was tired of the looks she got when she trailed off in conversation after spotting the door lurking in a corner, of being afraid of seeing the door in her own home one day. It was just a stupid door.

Elly balled her hand into a fist and, ignoring the knocker, rapped on the door. She held her breath. Then, the door slid open soundlessly, just a crack. A warm rush of air wash over her. Laying her palm flat on the door, Elly pushed the door open wider, wanting to see inside.

In less than a second something yanked. Elly scrambled for a handhold. Something had her by the legs and was pulling her, pulling her inside. Her bones were stretched and it felt like they would pop. She grasped the door in one hand, fingernails digging into the wood, leaving thin scratches as she was pulled slowly but surely into the darkness inside.

"Help!" she screamed but no one heard and no one saw. She continued to yell wordless screams as she lost her grip, finger by white-knuckled finger.

The door slammed shut and Elly's scream was cut off. 

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If you liked this chapter, please vote. Leave a comment and tell me, what would you do in Elly's position? Would you open the door?