FINALLY another short story to add to my collection!! I challenge you to guess the song that played while I wrote this. It totally set the mood (and was long enough to last the whole time in one play). If you haven’t noticed, in writing these stories, I love to creep myself out. Not scare, but just creep. Ha-ha! Enjoy!
(A Random Note: here are the tags that came up as Recommended Tags: door handle, wine tasting descriptors (what?), door, source, doors and windows, materials and supplies, construction and maintenace (when was I discussing architecture or tools or whatever relates to construction and maintenance?!?!?!), and business (this isn’t even about anything, so how is it even close to relating to business?). Weirdos. Aaanyway…
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I hear the music fade back in again. It jerks me from the cold sweat I had begun to endure while pondering the freakish mystery that lay before me. The tune is much sweeter than what I first had heard.
And it’s coming through one of the doors.
I get a prickly feeling on the back of my neck and my skin turns hot. I’m going to have to approach each door and find which contains The Source.
As I ponder which door to begin at, the now-sweet expression hits a crescendo and an exotic sensation swallows me. I am close to sinking to the floor, hypnotized, with the sensation that feels so close to addiction. So close is the prospect of giving in to the foreign feeling that I shut my eyelids and let the sensation linger. The melody had gripped me. This makes it still too difficult to determine what or who, exactly, is emitting this conundrum. I remember how melancholy the tune once sounded, but something has changed. It’s the same melody – definitely the same one – but I can feel it. It’s an almost tangible essence.
I am certain My Door is not The Source, so I float, escaping the force of the sensation, to the door to the left and listen intently. My ear hovers above the scratchy wood of the door. Not it. The song concludes and winds back to the beginning once more. I close my eyes and wait for the Essence of the music to guide me; I am not prepared to inspect fifty doors for the Source behind it.
The tangible Essence I had felt creeps back slowly – but it does not frighten me, for it is a charming one. It wisps around my head and sings right in my ears, strokes my eyes, seemingly congratulating them on a job-well-done. It then wraps elegantly around my arms and tickles my palms sympathetically. A gentle tug is all I needed – and what is provided – for me to swiftly trail The Essence of a more joyful expression.
Aware not of my direction, I reach a door. It could have been the scratchy door I first inspected; they all look the same. I shall not know, for I glanced smoothly around the entirety of the circular space and saw no door propped open. I thought I had wedged something between the door and the wall so it would not close on me… I couldn’t tell you if I were still in the same room, building, world, galaxy, for the music had tricked me. Or, at least, its Essence.
The Essence is still grasping at my fingers, yet it begins to guide my hand to the doorknob. Though the song is not near its crescendo, I feel it aching in my ears – the same ache that stretched them before. It is so near.
My ears are reaching toward the swelling notes and chords and rhythms. Doorknob number two seems so far away, it takes a lifetime to finally feel it round under my palm. Its coolness is so striking that it burns. However, nothing hurts now, all these feelings are just something new. I don’t mind them because they weave tiny surprises within this adventure I’ve encountered.
My limp wrist is assisted by The Essence in spinning the knob. I was under the impression all the doors were locked. I checked before… After a second lifetime – the afterlife, I guess – the scratchy wooden door lurches open. The music floods all my senses, overloads them, and I am unable to feel the helpful Essence anymore.
I am disappointed.
I wanted to say thank you.