The Doorknob

Two years ago, I wrote this silly spooky story about a group of naughty boys that only wanted to create troubles. They though it was the only way to have fun. What I am going to share with you, it is only a corrected draft of the story but it is very curious how it seems that some kind of problems repeat constantly in some seasons and it does not matter how much time has passed.

In those times (2011), I was a naive girl with the only intention of to help others and I shared this, thinking, that maybe a big community could enjoy a bit the lecture. However, I was completely wrong about that group of people. They were only interested in to search the hidden meanings that the God of the War with who they share the name was leaving at his past. I had to left that community long ago. I had to sacrifice so many contacts, people and things with the hope that I could have some peace and part of my writing calm life back. But it seems it is impossible to have that. Although, at least, I hope I can create a new community here, on this site, where people could talk freely in the comments about culture, literature, sociology, recipes, beauty… anything without having to see the conversations interrupted by trolls, evils and each creature that only follows selfish purposes or it is only obsessed in having sex with famous people and to anybody who looks nice.

For all of you who remember this and for all of you who are new. With love from a lady who feels old to all the little kids.

Knob of a frightened man screaming. Image courtesy of http://slowitaly.yourguidetoitaly.com

Knob of a frightened man screaming.
Image courtesy of http://slowitaly.yourguidetoitaly.com

The Doorknob

There was a town where the kids used to play to knock the doors and run. They used to do that with all the houses of all their neighbours and with their own houses too. It was a funny game and all these kids enjoyed a lot with their small pranks. But there was a house in the town that no one of them wanted to go or to knock the door because they were terribly scared.

That house was on the top of a little hill and it not only seemed enchanted and a scary place. In fact, it seemed dead.

The gardens around the house had all the plants dry; they were twisted one between other like if once they were alive and they fought one against each one until their death. Some seemed strangled for the other while others had holes for where other plants were going through. However, the plants were not green. They were black and grey. Just a few ones had some red flowers on them.

At the first sight, it gave the sensation those plants were bleeding small drops of blood but it was only the effect the new blossoms made over the dark and thick wood which covered the garden like a sea of brambles mixed with leaveless bougainvillaea.

But the garden was not the only creepy and scary thing of the ramshackle house. The scariest thing was the door. A huge dark green and black door which was decorated with some floral and feline designs and two huge statues at each side that were holding a huge pediment.

One day, the kids decided to be brave. They went to the house with the intention to knock the door and run. They arrived at the gardens and, at the beginning, they were not enough intrepid to cross. After some time in doubt, one of them decided and the rest followed him without thinking it twice.

The plants of the garden seemed to watch them with each step that they made. In fact, some of those plants and some of the statues in the garden seemed following them with their eyes: like if they were alive. The plants seemed to twist in the direction of them. They moved slowly and made curious but intimidating shapes.

Some of the kids were trembling from head to toe but they were not brave neither to go back. In fact, they did not know what they were more afraid: of going to have to go back all the path between the perilous garden and the fence door; or to leave the others alone and later to have to endure all the ridicule. No, they were not prepared for the last thing and as sheep, they would follow the leaders until the end.

Finally, they arrived at the door and on the stone floor there was written the following words:

“Only the brave and courageous will do. They will knock twice or they will knock none. They will knock one or they will knock more. You have only a try. Be good or be bad. Be patient or be sore. Think twice, think none, think one or think a lot. That’s it. IT is what you want? Remember that any THING could appear in the door”

After to have read those words, everybody was a bit uneasy. There was a little fight between them about who will be the one who will knock the door because nobody wanted to make it.

It was then when they decided who was going to be. It was the youngest and scary of all of them. He was doubting between knock and run, or to run and to forget the knock.

At least, with a hand that seemed made of jelly, he knocked but he could not run. His legs did not respond and he felt like if the sole of his sneakers had been melted on the stony floor do not allow him to move.

The door made an ultra tomb sound. Seemed that all the dead had risen of their tombs and they were awake only for to make that chilling, throaty sound which seemed to have not an end. The other kids ran away. They let the poor shy kid alone but they did not go very far. The twisted plants caught them and they made them the prisoners of the house while the trembling kid who knocked the door still watching without to could not move.

Suddenly, the door was opened and an old woman appeared. But she was not a witch or an evil. In fact, she had the warmest smile which could have ever been seen. And, despite, that for her age she moved slowly; you could see in her eyes a lot of life and stories which have passed through the years.

“Oh, sweetheart. What has happened? Those naughty kids made you knock and later run? Or you had made the same if you had could?” said the old woman.

“No, madam. I wouldn’t come to this house to knock or to disturb you neither. There’re some stories in the town that say here lives a witch.” said the young boy shaking.

“And it’s true but I appreciate your honesty. For that reason, I’d like to give you something. But first tell me, and don’t be afraid. I don’t eat kids. Who had the idea of being naughty and to don’t knock this door if not to disturb all the neighbours with knocking all the doors of the town?”

The young kid said the name of the bratty boy who had all the idea of the game. He was trapped in a tree and a kind of creeper impeded him to move. It was like its body started to turn in the same dark wood. It could not be appropriate to say the tree was “eating” him. Just, it was like if the tree and the punk were turning of the same material do not leave any chance to escape on that slow melting process.

“Anybody else wants to confess that he was so naughty like him?” said the old woman.

The other kids, as they could, said a huge: “Nooo! Was his idea please…”

“Some of you should learn to do not say a lie,” said the woman. With a movement of her arm, some of the kids were free while others were not. “If you want you can go back home. Oh, you not little boy, I should give you your gift. The rest are going to be with my pets until you’ll regret”.

And that was how it really was. The plants of this old woman only let free who were ashamed for their acts. Soon some of the kids would be released but others were on there for a long while.

But, in between, the young kid was invited to come inside of the house. And inside everything was magnificent.

There were beautiful statues and funny automatons everywhere. Some of them made soap bubbles. Other played the violins or sang songs. Other represented animals which could move. While others danced old songs.

Andrew Boyce automata. Image courtesy of The Automata Blog (click the image to go)

Andrew Boyce automata.
Image courtesy of The Automata Blog (click the image to go)

The old woman invited him to drink hot cocoa and she offered him a huge cookie.

“Eat it. They’re good” said her.

At first, the kid doubted but later he felt better: marvelled for the amount of all those toys. He ate the delicious cookie and he drunk the warm chocolate. While he was enjoying of the lovely warm of the chimney.

Meanwhile, the old woman was sitting next to him in her rocking chair while she was telling him some stories. It seemed she passed her time not only talking if not knitting a wool scarf.

When the kid finished he was very happy and he felt much better because he no longer felt so afraid and alone than before.

“Your gift was in the cookie. It’s a special recipe. Now you’re who you are but you’ll never be afraid of the dark,” sentenced the woman.

And that it was because this kid grew up and he was never afraid of anything else. Never. This is the power that a simple cookie has.

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