The Red Door

The red door had always been there and always would be...

The door sat at the end of the long stretched hall. A green mist swept from beneath the old wooden floorboards and the old wallpapered walls, and was only visible by the brilliant yellow light that emanated from the opening on the bottom of that door.

            The door itself was a solid red color, brightly painted as if the years had done no damage or tarnish to the fine piece of furniture. The way it fit into the wall was so rigid, that if the dull, faded, wallpaper had been removed from the scene and replaced with crimson shade it wouldn’t have been distinguishable to the naked eye.

            The door had stood for many years, and for many years some had stood for the door. People tried to remove the house; the plumbing was treacherous, the windows were broken, the wallpaper lost its luster, and the flooring and ceiling began to rot, and would soon collapse if one were to stand upon it the wrong way.

            But not the door. It stood in all its glory and as perfect as the day it was placed upon that spot, and no person was able to tear it down because of that.

            No one could exactly say when the house was built or when that door came to be. It just always was, and no one could deny it always would be.

 

            Only three families had ever been recorded to having lived there. One of the earliest, the Monroes, built it themselves, that small farm in Louisiana. George Monroe worked day and night, using the pile of earnings he’d gotten from the death of his brother, Samuel. Building this farm house was something Sam had always wanted to do in his life, and yet, never had time for. Their father had died in a horrible fire which had burned down the family’s farm and it was dream of Samuel’s to rebuild that farm, and take over like he should’ve.

 After being in the stock trade, he’d accumulated enough money just to do it, and take after their Pappy just as he had set out to do. Unfortunately, his aspiration for rebuilding was lost as he became more accustomed to urban life. No longer was he a farmer’s son, but a business man. His dream was money and power now. It only took a couple of years for him to realize his mistake, but by then it was too late. He’d gotten into shady dealings with a gangster and he was dead for the taking.

The money that was left was given to his brother George and his family; his wife Velma, and their dog Charlie. While George built the house in honor of his brother and his father, his wife would sit in a chair, under an umbrella and watch him day in and day out, brooding under the southern sun. She wasn’t normally such a morose person, rather the opposite, really. But she had found out recently that she was unable to bear George’s children. Her mother was the first to know; telling Velma that a woman always knows when something is wrong with her body. The physician was the next one to tell her about the burden. There was no choice in the matter. She could not have children and it was a horrible hollow feeling that rocked her to the core. So she sat, and watched George work his calloused fingers to the bone, sweat dripping from his brow as he and the carpenter measured out the size of the room for the nursery, unable to tell him that there wouldn’t be any need for that.

When the home was completed, they together stepped into the farmhouse. There was still so much yet to do, but it was gorgeous in its rough draft. The living room was yet to be furnished but with the high ceiling and lovely fireplace, she was easily able to call it her new home. She followed all through the kitchen, running her nimble fingers over the countertop and the cupboards, then over the wood burning stove that was the most recent addition. She made her way to the staircase and let her hand slide daintily on the rail as she descended up the steps with her guilt ridden fantasies about the nursery. She passed by two bedrooms, neither being it, but the third door, closest to the end of the hall, she stopped.

Peering through the doorway, she held back a sob at the beauty and heart that was put in to make such an adorable room. There was still yet to do, but the crib was carpented to perfection, and a small closet and a window seat sat across the room that bathed the room in an earthy glow. George walked in with her and they sat side by side on the window seat, peering out the window. He admired his wife’s beauty in this light, but noticed her pale features closely.

“Do you need to lie down? Is it too much for you darlin’?” he asked concerned. She shook her head but refused to look in his direction.

“It’s beautiful. I wish we had a family to share it right away with,” she told him. He understood how she felt; the unfairness of it all.

“I understand. I do wish Sam was with us to see it all as well,” he thought of his brother and his future child, and knew that to Velma, it didn’t mean the same. But how George wished his brother was still alive. He would be so happy.

Velma sighed quietly and got up from the window seat. Looking back towards the doorway, she saw a mirror next to it and she cursed her narrowed waist.

She left as quickly as she could to get away from that horrid picture of herself. George watched her stop in the doorway and look to her left.

“Darlin’?” He asked when she hadn’t moved.

“Oh, George. What does this lead to? I hadn’t noticed it when we walked down here,” she moved out of the way so he could see.

He peeked out the doorway and furrowed his eyebrows and scratched his scruffy face.

“I dunno what the hell that is,” he muttered, staring at the bright red door. He had never installed a door there, and it made him curious as to what it went to.

“I didn’t know we could afford paint yet,” Velma said curiously.

“I didn’t paint it,” he said. He reached out a hand, and felt the door handle. Nothing came of it. Locked. Velma tried as well and still it would not give.

“I don’t know what is goin’ on here,” he scratched his chin again, confused. Never in his life had he seen such a door. Not only was he curious as to what had caused this door to be here, but he was damn near infatuated with what was behind it. Velma couldn’t deny that she was as well.

George jiggled the lock and yanked on the door, kicked it, slammed into it, cursed at it, but nothing would unlock that door. After an hour or so, Velma had given up. She watched her husband go a bit crazy over this door, and even though she had been insanely curious with what was behind this door as well, she was willing to sit and dwell upon it for a few days to come to a point of reason. Surely if George had not placed that door there, the carpenter had, and that meant the carpenter knew how to open that door. Simple as that.

At least that’s what Velma told herself, as she held her shaking hands, trying to keep herself from thinking about that door. She made her way downstairs and cooked herself a light soup, for that was all she could keep in her knotted stomach.

It wasn’t much later when George stumbled into the kitchen, but his face had gone slightly pale.

“What is it?” Velma asked worriedly, placing her hand against his cheek. He shook his head slowly.

“I found myself curled up in front of that door in deep sleep. I dreamt of Sam. He came to me in my dreams, trying to tell me something, but damn it all, he walked behind that red door and I couldn’t get to him! No matter how much I pounded and pleaded, he just wouldn’t budge,” he shook with fear and his face broke out in beads of sweat.

Velma consoled her husband and decided tomorrow they would find the carpenter and solve the mystery of the door before George had gone mad.

However, when they had spoken to the carpenter the next day, he had but the slightest idea as to neither how the door got there, nor any solution on how to open it.

This made everything much worse, as even Velma found herself crazier about the door. Now, instead of George she sat in front of the door, pondering hour upon hour on what could be behind this door. A door so great and magnificent, she could only imagine it to be something utterly spectacular and sent down by the heavens. It was a gift from God, if only she was allowed in to see what it was.

Velma sat and stared, guessing and wondering until her eyes sagged and she drifted into a dreamless sleep. When she awoke, it was twilight, and she looked to her left, through the nursery, and out the window at the almost vanishing sun. She knew she should leave the door, but some instinct told her to stay. She felt her legs trapped to the floor and her bottom glued to the seat. Her eyes could not leave this door for anything. She stared and stared, but couldn’t imagine anything so great that would be on the other side of that door.

And that was when something peculiar happened. A yellow light began to grow from under the door as if the sun decided to begin its day early. With shock, Velma removed her feet from the floor in case the bright light veiled her feet to her ankles in a deep mist of acid. Her heart pumped ice cold blood in her fear of what was behind that door now.

The yellow light remained for a sum of 10 minutes when the faintest noise could be heard. It took a moment before her ears could understand what they were hearing, but even then she wasn’t sure she understood. It was too bizarre in its own way to be real. Too cruel.

She got up slowly, making her way towards the door, the yellow mist forgotten. Velma stood, her eyes wide, and fixated on the bright red door. Her hands traveled along the pattern less frame, and slowly but surely she turned her head and pressed her ear against the door. Nothing was heard at first, but a sudden word made her heart stop beating.

A small whisper that said, “Mommy.”

George woke up in his bed to a strange noise. He crawled out and ran to the hallway, where he saw his wife, furiously pulling at the handle of the red door and pounding on it, calling out to whatever what on the other side.

 

After what had happened, Velma and George found it too difficult to be around the house without wanting to waste the day away wondering what was on the other side of the door. They both agreed it was a magical place, for they both knew something was on the other side, but the mechanics of the house refused to believe in such nonsense. There was no extension to the end of the house, or a window that would create such a yellow light.

In the end, the house George had worked so hard on building was now to be sold to a small family of four.

 

Don Williams took the house from the Monroes with great pleasure. He, his wife Lucy, and their two boys Henry and Abraham were in the market for a decent farmhouse. He knew there was still work to be done on this farm and he had the money to complete it.

Don had previously been a lawyer, and spent all his time working long days and sometimes long night. Lucy stayed at home to watch the boys but she’d recently become very lonely while the boys started going to school at the ripe old age of 12. As soon as they begun walking, she’d sigh, rest her face in a palm and count down the hours until Don or the boys would get home. She had always been a very good housekeeper and cook, so they took little effort and time to do in her long and boring day. Lucy wasn’t sure what needed to cure this sense of ennui.

That was until the neighbor came knocking on her door one afternoon. He was new in town and he decided to introduce himself as Jeremy. As handsome as he was with brown curly locks and intelligent looking glasses that sat on a straight nose, he admitted that he was a widower and had not found another for quite some time. He decided to move to the city to get away from the woeful memories of his recent Charlotte and was fervent with wanting to make new companions. He told Lucy he was waiting for her husband to get home to introduce himself then, but he wasn’t sure when he was home, and he felt guilty for spying so much.

Something in Lucy was charmed by this stunning young widower. He was not but two years younger than her, and she was already almost thirty. She found him to be quite amazing as he told her his love of books and things and how he was a writer, always at home on his typewriter. She had dabbled in reading and found it to be interesting to say the least, with all the learning, but no one had ever taught her very well.

Jeremy found this absurd and demanded they begin lessons so she could enjoy what luxury reading was as much as he did. And that way, during the day, she would not be as treacherously bored as she claimed to be. With a hint of a smile, she agreed to his terms and they set up study sessions at her home thrice a week.

Lucy could hardly deny herself the understanding that it was him she wanted to see, not the silly books.

So they began her lessons, and almost immediately she had him falling for her charm, and without Don’s knowledge, they’d begun their secret affair.

            Slowly but surely they began spending more and more time together. First it was three times a week, and then four, and then soon enough it was every day up until the last minute before Don came home. Lucy was very good at hiding her escapades with Jeremy at first, because she still loved her husband. However, towards the end it became more difficult. Jeremy continuously pointed out to her whilst they lay twisted and naked into each other’s arms how Don supposedly loved her, but was gone away all day, leaving her gorgeous youth for the taking.

            Soon she had corrupted her mind into believing so as well, and whenever she was around Don, she could do nothing but sneer at him. Dinners went silent, and then it was straight to bed. She could hardly look at him, and he was getting suspicious when she refused his touch.

            One day, he decided to surprise his wife at home. He couldn’t afford to take the day off normally, but this work day was slow and he needed to get to the bottom of this animosity she was sporting

            He went his usual route home, and when he got there, there was nothing suspicious. He walked into his home, and at that point noticed the problem.

            Lucy was missing.

            He checked all through the house but she was nowhere to be seen. Don began to worry as he thought of all the places she might have gone, but could think of none. Lucy wasn’t the type to just leave during the day.

            Don decided to check the neighbor’s house to see if he had seen her leave at any point of the day.

            Knocking on the door swiftly, Don tried to contain his excitement, but it was extremely hard. His toe tapped incessantly and he could feel dread in the pit of his stomach, although he knew not what of.

            The door opened a crack and a bare chest was visible on a dashing looking younger man.

            “Good evening,” Don said, “I was wondering if I could talk to you a moment.” The young man’s eyes went wide and he cleared his throat.

            “Yes?”

            Don narrowed his eyes at the youth’s rudeness.

            “I was wondering if you have seen my wife in the past several hours leaving this house right here. I’ve come home early from my job and found her missing,” Don said. The youth said nothing and the dread in Don’s stomach began to twist again.

            “Have you seen nothing, son?”

            “No I have not,” the youth sniffed. Little did Don know, Jeremy was a horrible liar, and if the door had been open just an inch more, the love bites on his neck and chest would be remarkably visible giving some kind of suspicion away.

            “Well,” Don said tipping his hat, “thank you. Good day.” As Don walked down the porch, Jeremy shut the door and ran to his love that was waiting for him up the spiral staircase. He gripped the bed sheet around his waist and burst in the room. When he saw her, naked, by the window he shoved her out of the way.

            “You fool!” he said as she crashed onto the bed. A few books that were stacked in a mess by the window scattered to the ground.

            “If he saw you, everything would be over!”

            “I must get home, Jeremy,” she said standing back up, “he will find out. He’s a lawyer. As much as I’d like to continue with you, I must face my demons by day, and he is one of them. I will return to you tomorrow.” She began replacing her clothes back on her body and gave him a lithe kiss before returning down the steps.

            Jeremy was in such a rage of jealously and anger that he had let her slip up and go out the front door by mistake. In broad daylight, Don had seen his wife walk out of his neighbor’s house with mused hair and flushed cheeks.

 

            That is when Don quit his job and moved them far away from Jeremy, Lucy’s lover, not giving her the slightest moment to say goodbye. He was stern with her; He did not forcefully touch her, but he made her speak; to tell him why she did such evil things to his heart and soul. She spat back how she had been locked away at home all day and slowly insanity was creeping up on her like an airborne disease. She told him how Jeremy had made her feel young again, not like a hollow housewife who is never treated like a real woman.

            Don bit back his anger, only saying that he worked to support her and their boys, but now that they were alone he would treat her like the goddess she was. That was all he wanted, was for her to be taken care of. She wouldn’t listen and said enough about that.

 

            When they bought the farmhouse, Don felt that it would give Lucy more things to do if she had animals to help tend for, as well as a bonding experience with his boys. However, Lucy refused to help out. Instead, she stayed in her bedroom, day and night, wishing to be in Jeremy’s strong arms as she moped in her sorrow.

            That is, until one day when she decided to explore the house. Don and the boys had left to the market to sell the eggs the chickens had recently laid.

            Lucy wandered the house and found it particularly boring until she found her way back upstairs and stopped at the top step in a daze. Across the hallway at the far end was an interesting looking red door that failed to match the rest of the house. While the house was filled with beige and browns and light greens, this was the only red seen.

            Curious, she stepped up to the door and felt the edges, noticing how perfect it fit in the wall. Not a very detailed door, almost like an attic door. She tried the knob but the door didn’t budge. She tried again, but it again failed. She wondered if Don locked it on purpose, knowing she’d want to get in there. Of course he would, because she knew he was always refusing her of nice things.

            This made Lucy ravenous. She cursed Don with pure spite and desperately wanted to know what was behind this door. She tried the handle again but no luck. She pushed her body against it, but she was too small to create enough force. It was almost as if it were pushing her when she was trying to push it.

            Lucy thought of waiting until Don got home to interrogate him about the door, and demanding he open in. She knew she’d get him to do it eventually, if he really cared about her, but she just couldn’t wait. The need to open this door was too great. She must find what was on the other side now. So she searched the house for anything that would pry the door open. She even found a sledgehammer and an axe. But nothing would tarnish that wood. The axe cracked the wood, but would do no more.

            With fury, she pounded her fists against the door, willing it to open. She banged and banged and banged and….

            “Lucy?”

            She stopped as her voice was called. She turned around.

            The hallway was empty. She faced the door again and saw a line on the door where she had drug her nails down through the bright red paint.

            She looked down the door handle to the small key hole. Bending down she pressed a weary eye against it, searching for answers. It was dark at first; then mist began to creep from beneath the door and around her feet. She blinked twice.

            A blue eye blinked back. Lucy fell backwards in fright.

            “Lucy?!” the voice called again. This time she knew who it was.

            “Jeremy!” She called through the door at the muffled voice of her lover.

            “Lucy?” it questioned again.

            “Jeremy, it’s me!” Lucy cried, pounding on the door again, “open the door! I’m so glad you found me! Oh, Jeremy, it’s been horrible without you! I need your touch! Your caress!” Lucy’s body was pressed against the door as she waited for a response but there was no response at first and then a demanding, “Lucy!”

            “Jeremy?” She said confused, “Jeremy, I’m here. It’s Lucy. Open the door so I can see your face. She bent down to look through the key hole again, only it was gone. The brass plate was smoothed over as if it had never had a teasing window to both sides.

            “Lucy!!!” he said again, only more desperate this time like he couldn’t hear what she was saying.

            “Jeremy!” She pleaded, “Please, open the door love. We can talk then. Can you hear me? Just open the door!”

            But the door didn’t move. And the voice had stopped. Lucy began crying desperately, fighting more than ever to open the red door. She pushed and pulled. She slammed a chair against it, breaking the chair to pieces but the door still wouldn’t budge.

            Don came home and found his wife lying below the red door; The leg of a broken chair protruded from her sternum and thick blood ran along the outline of her cold corpse. Even in death, she looked upon his with a fiery desperate gaze. Her dress was torn from splinters of wood, and her nails were missing as she had scratched furiously at the door. He looked at the door and saw nail marks running down the door, as well as a crack. Looking around the messed up hallway he saw she had tried everything to open that door. In shock, he knelt by her side, tears streaming down his face, but no words came from his lips. He stroked her forehead and shut her eyes. Don cursed whoever had done this. He stood up and threw his body against the wall in rage, punching everything in sight including the red door. Don paused and looked at the solid frame, that had slashes through the wood. There was something mesmerizing about this door…something he needed to find out.

            “I love you,” Lucy said to him in a dreamy voice with a sweet giggle. He looked at her cold frame on the floor with wide eyes. She couldn’t have spoken to him at that moment. It wasn’t possible. He stepped away from the door, his heart pounding in his chest.

 

            After that incident, it would be a long time before any other person would own that house. Don himself couldn’t fathom as to what had mimicked his wife’s voice into saying the words he wanted to hear so desperately, as if someone knew his deepest secret.

            The third and final owner was a man in his late seventies. It was unexpected by his friends for his choice of house, for he was an antique collector and an old farmhouse (this was many years later after Don had passed away and the boys were well and married) was not his best interest. However Jon Marzonas did not care and was looking for a hideaway for a while. He had never been married nor fathered any children and the closest to his heart was a healthy German shepherd. But his ol’ Molly had died that June in her old age and now he was without company. With his broken heart, he took a few months to heal and picked up a new hobby which was watch collecting. He owned all sorts of watches, but his most prized was the golden pocket watch he pawned off of an old woman. It had come from her grandfather and it was authentic from England. With glee he knew it was well worth over 10,000 dollars but he was able to swindle her for just 1500. As soon as she left his antique shop he giggled with glee and packed it away in his personal stash; just something about it fascinated him and he could never sell it no matter how much it was worth. He cleaned it to the best of his ability, but tarnishes remained around the tip and the inside. It was broken, but there was a British navy insignia on the outside. It was truly a prized possession.

            Then one day, the shop was broken into. Many things were stolen, including his beloved, golden pocket watch. When he walked into the store that day, he cared not what be stolen but the back room where the watch had sat on the shelf next to some literature by Poe and Dickinson.

            Again he had lost something he loved, and decided it was time to get away. As sensitive as someone could be, Jon couldn’t handle any other heartbreak and moved to Louisiana and came across just what he needed; a farmhouse far out with hardly anyone around.

            He purchased the home swiftly without looking around at first, and once his stuff was moved in, he spent most of his time downstairs watching the television and reading books he had accumulated.

            Jon finally awoke his lazy bones and decided to explore his new home as he decided he liked it would stay a while. So far no one had bothered him and that’s the way, he decided, he liked it. He walked up the creaking stairs and immediately the far end of the hallway caught his eye. Jon looked about him and yet saw nothing that matched such a door that stood at the end of the hallway. He made his way to this and kept his eyes trained on the plain red door and noticed how perfectly it fit into the wall. He followed the outline of the door until he got to the handle and pulled on it, trying to open it. It didn’t budge. He furrowed his white eyebrows and rubbed the back of his neck. He was extremely curious as to what was on the other side, but figured he just wasn’t strong enough anymore to open the door.

            Jon looked to his left and saw a small room with a single bed. He walked in and was bathed in light coming through the large window that was above a gorgeous window seat. He sat down and glanced out the window out into the field. Sometimes he wished he grew up on the farm, him and his Molly. She would’ve been a great sheep herder. Jon sighed and glanced into the hallway at the red door that suddenly caught his fascination again. He went up to it and tugged on the handle with all his might, but it didn’t even give a little bit.

            In frustration he pounded a fist against the door with a grunt, and then held his sore hand. He frowned and sighed and leaned against the door for many minutes before he heard a noise, like a small scratching. It got louder and louder by the second and Jon looked around for the source. Finally he concluded it must be behind the door! A small whine accompanied the scratching and his heart sunk as he was sure it was a dog. He thought of his Molly and his heart ached to know a dog had been starving in this room for so long. He pulled on the door again, trying to move it, but the noise suddenly stopped. Another noise started and his blood went cold.

            Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

            It was a soft and steady noise but the world spun and he dropped to the floor.

            “I must be losing my mind,” he said softly. His heart rate quickened as he pressed his ear against the door. There was another whine and the ticking grew louder and louder against the door, until it vibrated. A thick yellow mist shuffled from beneath the door puzzling Jon and making him gasp for a breath. His heart beat faster and faster as the ticking grew louder and louder. Then the scratching began like something wanted out. Ticking, Scratching, ticking, scratching…He knew he couldn’t breathe, but he couldn’t fight himself to leave. He was glued to the floor. A few more whines from the dog and the vibrations stopped. Right there the old man passed away to the cadence of a pocket watch’s tick.

 

            And even after all these occurrences; still no one could destroy that house with the red door, even if the red door scared them so very much. There was a slight fear that once it was gone, the magic would be gone, and the psychotic need to know what was behind the door would be greater than ever, and yet no one would ever soothe the everlasting ache. So the door remained, and still remains now. The door stands for everyone, and everyone stands for the door. No matter how hard some being may try, the door will never fall and will forever stay in that little farm house containing everything someone could imagine, or could not imagine all at once.

Author's Note

I only edited this once so hopefully it's good! Let me know if it doesn't make any sense and if you can pick up on the symbolism of the red door

Reviews

[Warrior]

Great story telling. This did justice in the realm of getting the message across. Great message. There's lot of times where a story can have a great message to aim for, and have a lot of under lining things but then no one gets it, and if no one gets it, then the point has failed. But in my opinion this did well to get the message across. You made it clear, which is why I think it's good. Keep up the good work. What was also great was that I could imagine the story as I read it, and that is also a strong point of stories. The ability to have the reader imagine it because after all we're reading not watching it, but it was as if I was there as I read this, and that is great. Good job once again.

[astronaut]

Oh this was wonderful and unique. And the sybolism...Yes I get it.. ;) Great job and keep writing. :)