Hippo birdy to me!

[cleolinda]

Happy Halloween, and happy birthday to this journal, which is four (4) years old today! (You all have brassyn to thank for giving me a code back in the day.) After reading the Tales of Terror I linked to last night, I sat down and wrote a little story that's been on my mind for a while. It's a lot longer than the thirty-second stories, although it's only about 700 words. If I can figure out how to record something, I'll see if I can post audio of myself reading it later. I mean, just in the spirit of the thing. So, enjoy, link to it if you like it, that sort of thing. I think it'll be called "The Hot Door," although I'm not sure.

The easiest way to move the boxes into the attic seemed to be through the door at the back of her closet. It seemed reasonable enough. But the door wouldn’t budge—something was holding it shut at the edges, all the way round. She went in through the primary door to the attic and climbed around the newly-moved junk to the back, and there it was: thick lines of of duct tape, top, left, and right. So she tugged at it, peeled it off—paint came off in jagged chips, to her annoyance—until the door was free.

When she closed her hand around the brass knob, the first thing she noticed was that it was hot, like a fever. The second thing she noticed was that a dull orange light was leaking out between the door and the frame.

She opened the door and found a long, steep staircase going down for about thirty feet, then hooking around to the left, around a corner into a place she couldn’t see. The walls and steps glowed orange, as if cut into the pale interior of a jack o’lantern. A stale heat wafted up, bitter and strong.

She closed the door and stood there for a moment. She wiped her eyes, rubbed a little grit out of the corners. She opened the door again. The stairs were still there.

She closed the door. She circled back into the bedroom as calmly as she could and opened the unstuck closet door. She stepped straight into the cool, dark attic. Its one window was bright with squares of afternoon sun.

She turned, closed the door, and opened it from the attic side, and the stairs were still there.

She had to go down and see what the hell this was all about, there was no question about that. It wasn’t something you could just ignore; she wasn’t even sure it was something you could put off long enough to even go get someone else to come see. She’d just go down to that first landing, see what it was all about, and then she’d go get someone. A neighbor, maybe, even though she hadn’t really gotten acquainted with any yet. Maybe she’d call her brother; maybe she’d call the police. But, she thought, she should find out what she was going to have to tell them first.

So she put one foot out and stepped down, so gingerly. Her hand reached for the wall; it had the heat of embers that refused to die. And then there were the stairs themselves: thirty feet down—just for starters—in a two-story house, and putting off heat like a radiator. By the time she had inched down five steps, she became aware of voices—a dull, roistering chatter very far away, very far down, like the parties she used to hear below her old apartment. It grew louder, ever so slightly louder, as she crept down the stairs—the heat was almost unbearable now—but the words were not much clearer. And then, as she approached that landing, that unknowable corner, the stifling heat, they began to get clearer very quickly, although she still couldn’t understand—they began to get a lot closer very fast, and a multitude of hard footsteps came towards her from some unseen depth, and she raced back for the door so hard she nearly flew.

She pressed the duct tape back into place with feverish fingertips and leaned back hard against the door, listening. The painted wood was silent. But still warm.

She felt like an idiot. But she still went out that afternoon and bought a new roll and retaped the door compulsively, over and over again. No matter how stupid she felt, she wouldn’t have been able to stay in the house another minute without that fresh barrier, even if it made her feel insane—but then—

There had been tape there already: the original seal. Someone already knew about the door; someone out there already knew, and was afraid of it—or at least disturbed enough to tape that door shut. Someone out there knew about it, and had sold the house without a word to anyone. She doubted she’d ever say anything about it herself, either. She started using a room downstairs as her bedroom instead, and used the attic as little as she could help.

But some nights the itch at the back of her mind was almost unbearable.

Note: This door, as described--in the back of a closet, leading to an attic, sealed over with duct tape--is actually in my house. It's in my sister's room. I've never pulled the tape off, though.

Comments

[musikologie.livejournal.com]

I'm sorry, but your subject line screamed for a GIP. :)

[flamingtoilet.livejournal.com]

Ah, the days when you needed a code to sign up for LJ. Good times.

You could probably fit that into a voice post, BTW.

Spooky.

[sweetiepie612.livejournal.com]

*Sings* And she's buy-y-ing the staaairway to...well, you know.
I love your descriptions. I can feel the crazy at the edges of her mind when she's taping the door over and over again.
You've never tried pulling the tape off your door? (I guess you had to've at least thought about it, or this story wouldn't exist.)
I've never commented here before, but I love your journal! Yay for four years and counting!

[queenmabwords.livejournal.com]

Happy Birthday!

You are both a trick and a treat!

[foresthouse.livejournal.com]

Happy Halloween and anniversary!

Ah, I remember the good ol' days of LJ codes! What young tykes we were then...(OMG I just looked and my journal is 5 years and 9 months old! Gah! That means I've been writing pointless things for the public to view for...a loooong time.)

Best phrase of the story: a dull, roistering chatter
What a perfect phrase. I love the word "roistering" as used here.

And I second the need for a Voice Post. I've never used one myself, but am about to make myself learn, as there have been requests for a "live" rendition of The Billboard Song (http://foresthouse.livejournal.com/409713.html). Eep.

[fiveforsilver]

That's fantastic. Creepy enough, but not so creepy that someone like me (who hates horror etc) can't read it.

[bigeyedrabbit.livejournal.com]

This scared hell out of me, which is a compliment. Love that last line especially. Thanks so much for sharing it!

[pigsnicket.livejournal.com]

Ahh! That creeped me out! What a way to start the day :D

Congrats.

[xander77.livejournal.com]

I love the "forbidden door" / "schmuck bait" (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/SchmuckBait ) type stories, so I found this one quite neat (though the reasons for not telling anyone never really work, for me).

Also, had (seriously, had to share in that wonderful joy of linkage) to throw a couple of links out (may or may not be be linkspam standards, but are yet neat):
For Pratchett/ Doll fans:
http://community.livejournal.com/ru_pratchett/200397.html?view=2481613#t2481613

Yah, I know that ironic post-modern commentary of olden-days illustrations is nothing new, but this is fairly interesting:
http://www.monkeyfluids.com/

Marmaduke commentary (in other news, Word considers Marmaduke a real word. There's something entirely unfair to the many genuinely enertaining words it fails to recognize about that)

http://marmadukeexplained.blogspot.com/

[editornia.livejournal.com]

[yarha.livejournal.com]

Alabama horror story..with duct tape? ;)

Sorry!

Yarha, Stairway to Heaven or Someplace

[girlalmighty]

Heeee, fabulous! Happy birthday, honey, and happy Halloween!

[texansasha.livejournal.com]

That was a great story!

How creepy that there is a door like that. I'd be far to curious to not open it.

[particle-person.livejournal.com]

Heeeeee, I love it. Thoughts:

1) This girl has never seen Ghost Busters, has she? Glowing door = bad thing.

2) I wanted it to be longer. I want to know about the people behind the door, and why the door was hot, and what really happened to the previous owner. I realize the story was meant to be a short short short and leave all that vague, but...yeah, maybe this is why s.s. shorts aren't my favorite form.

[cleolinda.livejournal.com]

I'm afraid I agree with Neil Gaiman on that subject, unfortunately--did you listen to the clip about the kind of horror stories he likes at the bottom of that Tales of Terror page? (It was actually the only file I could get to work.) As for the who and the why and what it actually is, the word is actually in the story, although it's not used in that specific context. : )

[adoresixtyfour.livejournal.com]

Happy Halloween to you, and Happy Birthday to your journal!

[it-grrl.livejournal.com]

Amazingly creepy story. Reminds me of the nightmares I used to have when I read House of Leaves.

[erasorhed.livejournal.com]

I was terrified of the dark for weeks while I read House of Leaves; All sorts of nightmares and aural hallucinations. Couldn't sleep without a light on. For sheer mental freakout value, I give that book a 10 out of 10.

And I still haven't been able to open it again for a re-read.

::heebie jeebies::

[to-no-avail.livejournal.com]

Happy Halloween and journal birthday, Cleo!!
Thanks for 4 years worth of rants, linkspam, stories, and movies in 15 minutes!!

--Niki

[elisa0984.livejournal.com]

Curiosity driven terror, my favorite kind.

Happy Birthday to Occupation: Girl!

[chrryblssmninja.livejournal.com]

wow.

I was thinking it'd end up one way, but you went for an even greater finale.

It kind of reminded me of this short film (http://www.atomfilms.com/film/ten_steps.jsp). And in a good way.

[cleolinda.livejournal.com]

Aww, thanks (hee). What ending were you thinking of?

Happy Halloween and Happy Birthday!

[glyphs.livejournal.com]

I thought the story was great. Creepy and leaves me with a sense of unease. :) I hope you enjoy your Halloween! I know this is by far my favorite holiday and I will be spending my evening in the traditional way - watching It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. :D

[viorica8957.livejournal.com]

Ooh . . . doorway to hell, maybe?

[cleolinda.livejournal.com]

Shhhhhhhhh. : )

[angelene.livejournal.com]

Note: This door, as described--in the back of a closet, leading to an attic, sealed over with duct tape--is actually in my house. It's in my sister's room. I've never pulled the tape off, though.

Well, NOW? I'm creeped.

[cleolinda.livejournal.com]

Heh, yeah. It's the kind of author's note that's almost as important to the story as the last actual sentence.

[maetang.livejournal.com]

Happy birthday!

Groovy story!

[erasorhed.livejournal.com]

That's like the horrible taped-upness from Kairo (Pulse) or something...

Yey nightmares.

[poinsley.livejournal.com]

Wow, cool story.

Happy birthday to your journal! How sad is it that I never knew about those invite codes until they were gone? I was pretty oblivious when I started my journal.