Scratched Door (continued from “Julie”)

Kevin Schoenfeldt

There’s just something weird about the pristine door. It seems creepy in a way you can’t really explain. So you decide to open the scratched door. Before you open it, you place your ear against the wood to see if you can hear anything. You think you may hear the sound of water, but you can’t be sure. You try knocking on it. There’s no response, but did you hear some movement? Finally, you resign yourself to the fact that there’s only one way to find out.

You turn the knob slowly and pull the door open just a crack, but you can’t see anything. You open the door completely, but you still can’t see anything beyond the door frame. You sense though, that it’s not just the lightless void you came from; there’s a sense of place out there. You wish you had a flashlight, but you don’t. You realize your iPhone is still sitting on your coffee table at home. You’re going to have to step through blindly.

“Hold onto your butts,” you say, channelling Mr. Arnold from Jurassic Park. You take a step.

You are falling. A second later you land in water, but also on something sort of hard and pointy, but, oh shit, alive. And it’s not just one something, it’s a bunch of them. You reach out, trying to find something to grab, anything, to climb out of there, but it’s too late. Something is biting our hand. And your arm. And come to think of it, is that also something biting your head? And your legs?

You are in an alligator pit. Your life flashes before your eyes and your only regret is you wish you had watched more TV. You die. You do not get an HH.

Do you:

  1. Rest in peace? If so, enjoy.
  2. Come back as a ghost and haunt your enemies? If so, tell us how that goes at [email protected].

The End

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