The Oak Door

So, there is a scary oak door in our basement, which really freaked me out at night and especially when I was home alone. Oh...and I get scared really easily. Just some background to the piece. Enjoy...?

The Oak Door

My mind began to wander as I sat down at the computer, dreading the history paper I had to write. I thought about my day and all the frustrations I had and then it hit me. I turned around to look behind me. The hallway was ominously dark; anything could have been hiding down it: a person, a monster, anything. Yet it remained with the old brown door at the end. The black outline and cracks on the edges of the door made it seem as though anything terrifying from my mind would come charging through ready to kill me, or worse, if such a thing existed. But it was only seven o’clock in the evening and I was an adult. I should not be afraid of my imagination, despite the fact that it comes up with the most horrific things. I should be used to it by now, but alas, I am not.

            I turned back to the computer screen trying to rid my mind of the images and petrifying scenes in my head (everything from my crystal imagination, horror movies, or any scary scene I had ever beheld) and focus on something that I pretended was worthwhile. Though an insignificant sound made my nerves tense and my heart painfully skip a few beats. My eyes wide, I slowly turned in the navy swivel chair expecting the worst. I squared my shoulders to the door, angered that the computer faces away from it. The door stands alone: quiet and haunting as if it is straight from a Stephen King novel. I could only imagine what could come from its vexing powers. The light, however, only accentuates the light grains making the black outline and cracks more predominant and all the more terrifying. Determined to diminish my terror once and for all, I stood and never lost sight of the door as I turned on the living room light: the basement glowed. I sat in my chair, content that I had banished all my fears from existence and began writing the blasted paper. The wind howled in the silent night and all my fears came rushing back, plain as day. I ran upstairs with a notebook and began hand writing the paper, avoiding the oak door at all costs, as if it was the door that led to the underworld of hell, ready to release all its dark creatures on me. Then I would die and no one would understand how when all that was there was a simple oak door.