Through the Door

I turned the rusted brown key in my sweaty fingers for what felt like the hundredth time. This key, which I had possessed from a miraculously long time, was going to open the infamous door which was mercilessly decorated with the most wild assumptions.
I had heard a mixture of rumours about the door however, the most interesting of them was that the door, which could be unlocked with any key, opened to one's deepest fears. By now a lot of people, thinking of the door as a good adventure , had dared to step through the door only to be devastated by what met their eyes. It wasn't surprising that most of these fools ended up either in hospitals or in mental asylums.
Today I was going to be that fool. I wouldn't entitle myself courageous enough for attempting such a brave task, I am a rather cowardly person who is afraid of spiders, darkness, failures, and most of all, clowns. Then why attempt such a foolish task? Because regardless of my fears, I had a very unusual thirst for an adventure. I don't know if this was because of mere curiosity or because my days were numbered due a lately discovered disease, I just wanted to see for myself what lied behind the door. And the day I rediscovered this key in my cupboard's drawyer, somehow the urge to use it suddenly intensified. So finally after some constant negotiations with my utterly unintelligent brain, I was ready to be intrigued by what the door had to offer.
I looked up at the door standing bravely in front of me as though challenging me to open it. This might as well be my last adventure but it was much better than dying in a hospital bed. Now that I stood here, there was no reason to look back, because there was nothing to look back at. No family, no friends and an about-to-end life. An adventure was just what I was looking for and that lied right behind that door.
I steadied myself and inserted the key in the keyhole. It was a perfect fit, proving half of the rumours true. I turned the key and with a small click sound, the door slipped back about an inch from the door frame. I grabbed the rusty doorknob with hesitant fingers before it could open any wider.
I didn't have to do this, I thought to myself, I am stupid, I never should've opened this door,.
I wanted to turn away from it but somehow, I couldn't, as if a mysterious force had glued my fingers to the door knob, begging me to push it open.
Well then let's do it, I assured myself, after all what's the worse that could happen?
I withdrew the key from the keyhole and with a Swift motion of my arm, opened the door with a creaking sound - a natural element to almost every horror story. A chilly wind blew my hair away from my face and I shivered with the strange melancholic most that now floated around my feet. I stood in a particularly shabby room, so dimly lit that the moonlight entering through the window before me was the prominent source of light. The walls, a shade of dull blue, were decorated with random frames that now hung empty.
I let go of the door knob and stepped carefully towards a glass frame that hung lopsided on the wall beside me as I realised that my reflection in it didn't seem familiar. The circular chubby face that looked at me with an astonished expression somehow seemed subtly different. My loose brown hair that had swayed with the wind just a moment ago, now rested on my shoulders in messy braids. My face seemed younger and instantly I realized the face looking out at me. My heart became heavy as I suddenly realized that it was me, but from the past, from the childhood, when my face was devoid of the stress that adulthood had sprinkled on me and the braids, an unsuccessful attempt by my father who was trying his best to replace my mom..... my mom?
A sudden realization hit me. I began backing away from the glass frame with measured steps. I knew where I was and I cursed the door mentally for bringing me to this place. I quickly turned towards the door which had slyly closed while I was engrossed in the glass frame. I tried turning the door knob, but as expected, it didn't open. And the key that rested in my hands was now utterly useless as the keyhole had miracously ceased to exist. I tried yanking the door open with all my strength. But being a girl with average build, proved all my attempts unsuccessful.
I turned around and looked at the now familiar room with utter dismay spreading across my reacquired childhood face. This room, which the door had correctly led me into, was truly the deepest fear in my heart, for this room belonged to my mom.
When I was eleven, my mom had been unexpectedly diagnosed with a rare disease which left her bedridden for her life. With a dying wife to look after and a young daughter's stomach to feed, my dad had worked day and night to keep us alive. I, however, could make no contribution. Coward, as I always have been, I never offered them any help because being a child and having a dying mother freaked me out.
My mother's face, as I last remember seeing through the same keyhole of the room, was enough to leave a ghastly impression in my heart. I was always afraid to go in her room, afraid to see her in that vile state, afraid to see her die and perhaps that's why I always stayed away from that room, from my own mother.
My father had tried very hard to make me step in that room by telling me how much she missed me and how badly she wanted to see me for one last time. But all his efforts went in vain as I remained stubborn about my decision.
After she died, I was more relieved than devastated. I wouldn't refuse the comment "heartless" if it came my way because deep down, I knew how badly I had hurt my mother. Somewhere in my heart, the guilt still remained and till today I haven't been able to forgive myself for how unsympathetic I had been.
Now, I was back, back to square one. I wonder how I failed to recognise this door the moment I set eyes on it. Perhaps because as a child, I had crossed my heart never to look at it again. However today, I was standing right behind it.
"Lucy? " , the frail voice echoed into my ears, the same way it had echoed down the corridors of my house while I lay crawled up under the stairs as my mother took her last breath.
She can't be alive, I said to myself, she is dead. But it wasn't surprising for a door that transported you to your childhood's haunted room to even revive a dead person.
"Lucy? " That voice drained every bit of strength that was left in me. I swear my legs were trembling yet I stood frozen at one place. I had not, the courage to reply. How could I, after what I did to her? Was it not natural for a dying mother to want to see her daughter for one last time? Would she believe me if I told her I was afraid to see her? Would she believe me if I told her I was sorry? Would she forgive me and finally rid my heart of all the guilt I have carried ever since the day I lost her?
Almost as if she heard my thoughts, she beckoned me in a voice that was too hard to relent.
" Come here my child... "
I felt my heart skip a beat. If I was still standing before the glass frame, I would've seen my own face going pale. I clenched my fists and took a deep breath. I had to get out of here. And if the only way to open the door was to face my fear, so be it. With whatever courage was left in me, I took a feeble step forward. Until today, I had never found walking so difficult. With every step I took, I felt my heart go haywire inside my chest, banging against it as though wanting to come out.
As I reached the window, from the corner of my eye, I could see a figure lying heaped on a wooden bed that was blanketed in darkness. I only had to turn my head to face her but I didn't want to. The last time I had seen her face, I hadn't slept for what felt like weeks.
"Don't be afraid Lucy. " Her voice - barely a whisper - rang deep and clear in my ears. I had to do this. I felt my nails bore into my own skin as I clenched my fists tighter. With my head lowered so that I could only see my feet dissolving in the mist, I slowly turned towards her bed.
I could feel the tiniest changes occurring in that room- the mist brushing against my feet, the wind caressing my hair and my heart slowly losing its rhythm. All of a sudden I felt the warmth radiating from the bed. Not too harsh, but enough to provide comfort against the biting cold that had greeted me as I had entered the room. My head was still lowered but I could feel her staring at me, almost into me.
What would she do? Would she scold me for being so pathetic? Would she ask me the reason being my fear? Would she forgive me?
"