My story about a doorknob started out purely sweet. I wrote a nonfiction recount of an adventure I took to Home Depot with my two kiddos a few weeks back. I quickly realized as I wrote the nonfiction version, you all might actually want to see what I  can create on my own, something fictional about this strange inanimate object. I thought, I’ve drawn strange objects way back in school, I can certainly write a creative piece about a doorknob. Hence, my title in how doorknobs can make you think good thoughts and maybe a creepy one, too.

So today, I’m showcasing my brainstorm from Thursday after work while I spun on a bike in the cycle room at the Y. It’s not perfect, but it sure was fun to write. And later this week, I’ll share my adventure with the kids 😉

That Old Brassy Knob

I never shut my bedroom door.

Call me silly. Call me paranoid. Maybe superstitious if you like. There’s something about the way the light creeps in through the dark, just a thin space between the door and the hallway. How the yellow beam touches the worn brassy doorknob on my door, and I imagine my grandma holding it with just her finger tips, opening the door and letting me out.

It’s morning. The sun isn’t up. I’ve been awake for an hour sipping coffee and flipping through the stations on the TV to catch the weather. I rub my eyes and leave the couch. I’d made it past the door already once. I ruffle my dark hair to the side and I walk down the hall thinking about my day. When I slip through my door to the bedroom, I’m careful not to disturb the knob.

My clothes aren’t where they should be in the closet. I rummage around, cursing myself how I hadn’t thought through what to wear last night. I throw my clothes on the bed, they’re wrinkly. I handle them carefully and squeeze through the door, avoiding the knob. I toss the clothes in the dryer and I set the cycle to wrinkle release. The dryer tosses the clothes, rumbling low as I slip back into my bedroom, scared of brushing the knob. When nothing shifts or moves, I take my shower. I dry my hair. The clothes are done and I’m careful to button each button and smooth out my collar when the door creaks. I stop. My heartbeat kicks faster. I swallow down the lump. My hands tremble.  I hear it turn. I hear it click.

The doorknob. I can’t stop staring.

The light flicks out.

THE END. 🙂

If you think I should go on, give me a few suggestions below. I’ll write your story, as long as there’s no blood or guts or gore. *Grimacing at my computer screen* I do wish to sleep at night. 🙂

Happy Monday!

Erika

Copyright © February 2014 · All Rights Reserved · Erika Beebe (Cloud Nine Girl)