Stories by D: The Door

It seems everytime I enter that room, the temperature drops within a few minutes. Moreover, the door to the room makes such a piercing sound upon opening it. It's a pure cacophony of evil! I've used lubricants and grease sprays on the hinges, but the creeking continues. And, it's not just a quick squeak; it's lingering - kind of like a ship's swelling horn in a fog-thickened body of water trying to warn other barges of its presence. The door can swing all the way open, yet the creepy squeaking sound continues for what often seems like forever. It's so bizarre.

By the way, this is the room I've mentioned before where I used to keep an altar. Back when I was a practicing catholic, I created an altar, but I was never sure why I did that. Deep inside, I think I was trying to convince myself that I was a believer. Afterall, to me, belief in the holy trinity and the church meant that my Mom, while she was still alive, approved of me. Plus, being a believer meant having the approval of my middle sister whose faith and catholic followings were as stringent and steadfast as my Mom's. Maybe this entity was trying to provoke me into owning up to the dogmatic approach I had taken toward trying to convince us three (another kind of trinity) that I was a true Christian. Maybe the entity was  taking on the role of judge and jury toward me. Perhaps it was inciting fear and insecurity in me because I was a fake believer. The entity probably doesn't give a damn about religious morals, but it probably detests people who fail at being honest and forthright, in other words, it hates fakers. 

On a side note, while I'm writing about the room and HER, I must say, I really feel its disgust of me whenever the temperature drops so suddenly - in this room especially. It seems this room, the place that once provided shelter to the fake altar, is the very room where HER wants to do its greatest harm to me. 

Anyway, the room now has a small couch in lieu of where the altar stood in the east corner. I've tried lounging on the couch a few times, but I can't help but feel that there's something evil behind it - just waiting to grab at me. This one time, I was so tired after cleaning out the room that I laid down on the couch. I woke up for a second to reposition myself with my face toward the back cushions. I swung my arm up and over the back of the couch, and I felt something cold and thorny grab my hand. I got up and promptly headed for the door-from-hell, but it was closed. I remember purposely propping it open with a large wooden crate. But, the entity must have pushed the crate away knowing I'd have to open the spine-chilling door and how much I hated to hear the door's perpetual noise of hell.