The Locked Door

Sometimes we let our imagination run away and occasionally we need to reel it back in. Or, maybe we should let it run away to fantasies that we enjoy. Maybe that's what keeps us young at heart.

It’s a simple thing. I pass by it every day and never give it much more than a feeble glance in a half curious effort. Still, it haunts me at night with a yearning to unlock the mystery of what is behind that locked door at the museum. 

I see people every day that offer that dull gray door the same courtesy as I, while others don’t even seem to notice it. My mind wanders, not just at the mystery of what secrets that ominous door holds under lock and key, but also at the strangeness that allures some to glance over and others to ignore it completely.  

Since the door is inside a museum and sternly locked, you must wonder what treasures may befall the person that could obtain the key and unlock the mystery of the closed door. My mind wanders to visions of gold and lost artifacts that could solve the mysteries of the universe. Perhaps the missing link that explains how the pyramids were built. Maybe, just maybe, the Holy Grail has been carelessly stashed away behind this simple gray door. 

I would like to think that the National Treasure was placed there as a temporary holding place, and I would be the one to find it. Just me, no one else. All that gold to myself. What could I buy with all that gold, or more to the point, what couldn’t I purchase? The world would be at my disposal. I could lavish myself with the riches that lie just beyond that simple gray door. Mansions, beach houses, private jets and yachts could all be mine. I could adorn them with all the best furnishings my newfound money could provide. After all, only the best will do.  

Often, I lay in bed at night pondering what mysteries or riches or long forgotten secrets that simple gray door holds so dearly. How can I get in? What will I find? Could there be a dead body in its confines? Yes, that’s it. This little gray door holds the answers to a cold case murder. If I could just get the key, I would be the one to solve the murder mystery. I would be the town hero, parades would be held in my honor, and babies would be named after me. I could be named the world’s  lead detective and solve other cold case files all around the world. The possibilities are endless.

Today I find myself  standing in front of the door once again.  That simple gray door must hold some alluring secrets. Secrets that have been lost to time. How can I get the key? Not just to the lock, but also to the secrets that lie beyond that mysterious gray steel door. It taunts me to the point that I have now noticed the security guard watching me as he leans slightly with one elbow on the Welcome Center counter. Perhaps I have been studying it too long and the guard is getting suspicious. He may think that I’m getting too close to solving the puzzle.  In the short distance between me and the guard, I can vaguely hear only one side of the conversation as he speaks into his walkie-talkie.  It must be the police that he confides in, and I am about to get arrested. But for what? Staring at a dull gray door in a public museum? 

I’m starting to get nervous, fidgety. My palms are beginning to sweat. I know I am in trouble. I know he has seen me here staring at the door on numerous occasions, and he probably thinks I have solved the riddle of what lies beyond this mysterious door. The riddle that was to remain hidden for all time. 

Now the guard is approaching after his quick conversation with someone on the other end of the walkie talkie and my gut ties into a painful knot. He’s getting closer and I’m going into panic mode. Suddenly, as he passes me by, I hear him say, “it’s a broom closet”.

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[Pail Writer]

I wrote this mini story on a whim late one evening. I was just thinking about putting together a collection of little snippet stories, like this one, into a book. Perhaps someday in the near future I’ll get one or two of these little mini story books published.