The Door

There was only one rule: don’t open the door, but who was I to respect the rules. After all, I had been the wild one all my life, ready to take on any challenge presented. And now there was this door. I was determined to open it.

We had just moved into this house a week ago. It was another one of the cheap rentals my father kept finding us to live in. I couldn’t remember the number of times we had moved. And now we were here with a landlord who had issued the rule as he handed over the keys.

It wasn’t that the door was locked or anything. It just stood there quietly, beckoning me with its presence. Inviting me in. I likely wouldn’t have even noticed it had there not been “the rule”.

My biggest problems were that I was never alone and that I lived in a family of teetotalers when it came to rules. We may not have had much money. We may have had to move when we couldn’t afford the rent, but that didn’t make any difference to my parents or sisters. Their pride was based firmly on how well they obeyed rules. Needless to say, I didn’t fit into my family well.

Finally the opportunity presented itself. My mother went out to the yard to speak to my father. I was all alone with the door. I sprinted over to it, flung it open and stepped into the darkness. A ghostly figure opened his arms to me, hugging me close. I heard him murmur softly. “Thank you my child. I eat again” as my body dissolved into his.