The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Some Doors Are Best Closed
by Carietta Dorsch 

I had a dream of a door last night. Its image lingered in my mind, refusing to be forgotten. It haunted me, beckoning me to uncover its secrets. What did it mean? Why was this door so significant? Little did I know that behind it lay a darkness I could never have fathomed.

The dream began innocently enough. I found myself standing in a desolate realm, the door frame adorned with faded stone eroding at the edges. The air was thick with an eerie silence, broken only by the faint sound of my own breathing. As I cautiously walked forward, my eyes were drawn to the single door standing within the stone.

The door was unlike any I had ever seen before. It was ancient, with intricate carvings etched into its weathered surface. Its wood was worn and cracked, as if it had witnessed the passage of time itself. It exuded an aura of mystery and foreboding, yet I felt an inexplicable pull towards it.

Unable to resist, I reached out and turned the cold metal doorknob. As the door creaked open, a gust of frigid wind rushed past me, causing a shiver to run down my spine. I hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to step through or retreat. But curiosity got the better of me, and I crossed the threshold into an abyss of darkness.

The room that lay beyond was suffocatingly dim, illuminated only by the faint glow of a solitary candle. Shadows danced along the walls, their sinuous movements creating an unsettling atmosphere. And there, in the center of the room, stood a figure that sent a chill down my spine.

My eyes looked back at me. His eyes, cold and devoid of any humanity, bore into mine. His presence exuded an evil so palpable that it seemed to seep into the very air I breathed. I tried to scream, but no sound escaped my lips. I was trapped, a mere spectator in this twisted nightmare.

His lips curled into a sinister smile as he slowly approached me. His footsteps echoed ominously in the silent room. Panic surged through my veins, urging me to flee, but my body remained frozen in place. His voice, a low and haunting whisper, filled the room, revealing the depths of his malevolence.

“You’ve unlocked the door to your darkest fears,” he hissed as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “I am the embodiment of your nightmares, your deepest insecurities. Just like me, your loneliness will become the very monster you fear.”

I trembled, unable to tear my gaze away from his piercing eyes. The realization dawned upon me that this dream was more than just a mere figment of my imagination. It was a reflection of the darkness that resided within me, the fears and doubts that I had buried deep within my subconscious.

Suddenly, the room began to morph, twisting and contorting in a grotesque display. The walls bled, the floor cracked beneath my feet, and the candle flickered, casting eerie shadows across his face. It was as if the room itself was alive, feeding off the malevolence that emanated from him.

In a desperate attempt to escape, I mustered all my strength and turned to run. But as I reached the door, it slammed shut with a resounding thud, sealing me inside this nightmare. I pounded on the door, my cries for help echoing through the empty darkness, but no one came to my aid.

And then, I woke up, drenched in a cold sweat. The dream had ended, but its impact lingered. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this dream held a deeper meaning, a reflection of the darkness that resides within us all. The door had opened a window into my own fears, exposing the vulnerability that lay dormant within.

I got up from my bed, and that’s when I realized my hands were wet. I looked down, and saw them covered in blood. I instantly looked at the bed, and saw the lifeless corpse of an innocent man wrapped in my sheets, and the bloody power saw laying on his torso.

The dream wasn’t a dream, but an hallucination during the act of my first kill. The door was where I could’ve stopped myself. Sometimes, some doors are best closed, but now that’s it’s open.

I pick up a chunk of meat I had sawed off, and walk toward the kitchen.

..

Fiction © Copyright Carietta Dorsch
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

More from Author Carietta Dorsch:

Carietta Dorsch currently lives in North Carolina. She can see the horror in anything and loves every sinister detail. She loves all things horror and true crime. She’s been a fan of horror ever since watching Scream at the age of eight, and her all time favorite horror film is Sleepaway Camp.