Flash Fiction: Through the Door


Before I turned on the light, I couldn’t tell the depth or width of the room, minus a few hints from previous conversations.  How does one prepare for this type of thing?  It goes beyond stepping on the metal strip that covers the ugly transition between carpet and linoleum.  My eyes adjusted and my suspicions were correct.  The room was deep and wide.  It was gigantic.  If compared to a dinosaur, it would’ve had a long tail to support its massive body.  The areas where the light didn’t reach screamed at me to stay away, but this was a journey one shouldn’t shy away.

I was barely into the room when I heard a noise.  I wasn’t sure from which direction it came.  It was soft enough, but loud enough to know it wasn’t part of my imagination.  Lately, it had seized control of my brain, hijacked it if you will, and nothing seemed to make it go away.  It wasn’t that I disliked having an imagination, but my current circumstances permitted me to shut it out of my life for the rest of the year.  Yet, the more I took action to ignore it, the more my imagination played tricks on me.  I felt like a deck of cards being shuffled unnecessarily.

When I located the general direction of the noise, it stopped short of me choosing the picnic basket or copper tub with a blanket half draped over it.  If I went to one but the other had whatever was hiding in it, then I would lose the chance to capture this nuisance.  Standing still in the hopes it would make that gurgling sound, it remained quiet.  It must’ve known I was close.  I envisioned it peering through the tiny holes of the basket.  I thought what was the better place to hide.  Both provided cover and while you could make a quicker getaway in the tub, there was a greater sense of false safety in the basket.  I kneeled down, holding my breath and slowly tugged on the blanket while watching for any motion from the basket.  Friend or foe, I was going to find out.



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