At the End of the Hall

 "The door at the end of the hall must never be opened."

We should have listened.

You came over again that day. My parents weren't home, so we had the house to ourselves, which made movie days a thousand times better. As I opened the door and let you in, you kicked off the high heels that you only wore to be taller than me and made a beeline for the kitchen. It was the same routine as always, our regular old movie day routine, but today was different. Before I had the chance to follow you, you came back into the main foyer, that smile on your face. I knew that smile; I had seen it many times before. It was your "let's do this crazy stupid thing even though we might get busted" smile, your "I know the consequences but let's do it anyway" smile.

And then it hit me. To be honest, I'm surprised it had taken me that long. You had been trying to convince me for months to let you see behind the door, but I had always told you no.

I should have told you no again.

I tried. I tried to tell you no. I reminded you that my parents would be furious if we went in there. I begged you to just pick out a movie instead, like we always did. But I knew it was futile. I had unintentionally stoked the flames of your curiosity for far too long, leaving it to smolder to a blaze of desire with no hope of extinguishing it.

You laughed and told me that if I was so scared, I could hold the door for you while you went in, and that my parents would never know.

Like the fool I was, I believed you.

We snuck upstairs, footsteps muffled by the carpet as we tiptoed down the hall. You looked at me, your eyes bright with apprehension and daring. I took your hand and squeezed it. I had to reassure myself that everything would be fine.

And there it was.

The source of your curiosity.

The door at the end of the hallway.

We both stood there for a moment, hesitant. It felt like something was supposed to happen, as if in a movie. Nothing did. You moved first, reaching out for the shiny gold handle.

I could have stopped you.

The door swung open. You carefully stepped over the threshold, me following reluctantly. As the heel of my beat-up sneaker passed through the door, it slammed shut behind us. I whirled around, frantically trying to open it, but the knob had vanished. But you only brushed it off, not really taking any of this seriously. It was all just a game to you. You didn't really believe that we were trapped.

I looked around the room that we had found ourselves in. Considering all the fuss my parents had made over not entering, it really wasn't all that impressive. It was an incredibly plain room; the only splash of color against the pale white walls was a crimson red door.

The two of us looked at each other, then at the door, then back at each other. You shrugged. I sighed, reaching for the knob. It was silver this time, I noticed. As I pulled the door open, I tried to calm my racing heartbeat.

I was scared. I wished we hadn't done this.

As we passed through the crimson door, I braced for the worst, but nothing happened. It was completely dark. I felt around for your hand, reassured when you took mine and gave it a squeeze. You always knew how to make me feel better.