Behind a Door

I have always wondered what was behind a closed door, even when I had seen the other side. No, this isn’t a phobia or such something, but instead a wild imagination. There are many opportunities to be creative when it comes to imagining what is on the other-side of a door. Of course, it had to begin with that the door looks like.

​If a door is old wood and has that bygone age feel you can immediately assume it would be an entrance to a creepy mansion or perhaps a door to a grand library of yore. That is why when I was face with visiting a dentist one time I became even more anxious when I imagine myself stepping through the cold metal door into a mental clinic to be lobotomized. With that in mind, it is now my later in life and I am choosing doors for my home. It was always the same story of course, I would choose doors, have them installed and if one did not suit me I would have them all redone again, by myself of course.
I woke up one early morning and opened the first door. It was a light brown oak, very warm and homely which is why I found it suitable as the door to my bedroom. I walked through the door into the large, open area. Around me were grand windows and fancy furniture, but very few doors. I proceeded to go to the kitchen. The door was an off-white colour, not locking mechanism, just a swing door. It was simple and clean, like my food that I prepared every evening.
I never wondered why I ate alone; I knew full-well the reasons. There was nobody in this world that shared my interests, or my curious beliefs like suitable doors. After so many years of finding myself I truly realized that all I needed was myself to live a happy life. So, I focused on my work and my art. My work was dull, the business belonging to my father before me, but my art was an inspiration to my soul and many others as well.
The walls were decorated with my large, intricate charcoal drawings as well as a few dabbling pieces in oil. After entering my kitchen I was greeted with wonderful décor and bountiful foods that were in baskets and on shelves; a veritable treasure trove of the finest meats and produce that money could buy. After a good thirty minutes or so I had prepared a wonderful breakfast which I ate greedily without a hint of shame. There was a small cupboard which I flicked the scraps into and it disappeared down into the darkness. Coffee cup in hand I walked out of the kitchen to explore the rest of my manor o get a good feel of my decoration decisions of the day.
Library, bathroom, grand hall, gallery, studio, study, office and smoking room passed me by as I walked. Each door made me smile as I knew from just the look what was behind each. The doors fitted so well and I could not have been happier. It was a tall order to install such doors, to make sure each side suited the inside as well as the outside, but I was beginning to believe I nailed it on the head.
It was time to check the most important doors. Entering the old stairwell at the north-west corner of the house I began my descent towards the basement. There was a door that stood resolute, flanked my locks that I opened effortlessly with the keys around my neck. The door squeaked and grated; an effect I created my spraying the hinges with salted water to rust them quickly. I shut the door and a delightful echo bounced along the uneven walls.
Ahead was a small light which flicked on with a pull of an almost hidden switch. There was another door, this one just as battered despite being installed not too long ago. More locks this time, but I made my way through them easy enough. I could hear whimpering on the other side of the door already. Opening it wide I entered the dungeon and stared at the prisoner who clutched the bars to his cell pathetically. A variety of emotions adorned his face; fear, anger and desperation. He wished to beg some more, but of course he knew I would give know leeway, he had nothing to offer after all I have taken from him.
“How much longer?” he asked in a whisper that I would have missed completely if it wasn’t so silent in the room.
I walked over to a similar small cupboard to the one I had in the kitchen, pulling the door open and using a piece of rusted metal to scrape the scraps onto the metal plate. Once all the remains were collected I brought them over to the starving man.
“Until I am satisfied with your punishment,” I told him as I always have. “There are many problems in this world and I only have a few, Mr. Wilson. The reason I have so little is because I deal with them quickly and effectively. You are one of those problems, so feel joy in the face that I haven’t killed you.”
“Please…it has been so many years…”
“And yet I still feel the pain of that filling you put in my teeth. Do not worry, you will be freed soon, relatively speaking and I don’t expect you to bother me further.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, you know quite well what happened the first time you tried to go to the police. They thought you were made and you were almost institutionalized. You know what happened when you tried to take matters into your own hands. Mr. Wilson, I plan to keep you here until you are so very broken that the thought of doing anything negative towards my person again fills you with insurmountable pain. I never want to see or hear of you again as long as I live, but I am afraid there is still some anger locked away in that hairy head of yours, so I am keeping you till I am, as I said before, satisfied. Now please, eat.”
I left the metal plate in front of his sell and for good measure, my coffee cup with half the coffee still left in it. I almost laughed at his grateful face when he saw. I closed the door to the dungeon then the door to the basement, ascending to ground floor. My front door was hard, dark oak. Varnished to beautiful shine and carved with a myriad of tools to depict many different mythical monsters of cruel intent. The perfect door to the entrance of my world.