What's in a Rule?

There was only one rule: don’t open the door.

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tock

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tock

A clock ticking in an empty room.

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tock

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That was all we could hear from the other side of the door with a lion’s head knocker: my wife, Alia, and me.

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tick-tick

For hours, we sat. Carefully listening for... anything. With just the wind howling quietly and the clock ticking.

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tiiiicrack

“The thing is,” I broke the silence. “We’re focused on the rule because we were told it was a rule.” “Now we’re thinking of nothing else. It’s like if someone said, ‘You must start your story with the line, “The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished.”’”

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“It sounds like a challenge but could stifle creativity. All you’d think about is the Queen vanishing and the river running backwards, distracting from telling a good story.”

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“When did the clock stop?” asked Alia, ignoring my philosophical musings. It was a fair question, as I had failed to notice silence behind the door during my musings. “What should we do?”

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As the howling wind picked up, blowing Alia’s brown locks and whipping against the door, I looked at her silently with a knowing smirk and then to the door, “Don’t panic”

Silence fell. Then—

Knock-knock.

Knock-KNOCK

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All she could do was panic.

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It was clunky— made by something large, fist-like

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Knock-knock—

Each strike reverberated.

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“What…was that, Hank??” Alia whispered between quickened breaths; darting looks at me then the shuddering door.

Knock-KNOCK, KNOCK-KNOCK

Like a loud, intense march.

“Hank?” turned to me again, her pupils dilating.

“The Beast Will Rise and Feast”, I whispered soothingly, tenderly pulling her close as screams became silence.