The Door

The large house stood majestically on its sprawling grounds, a once magnificent structure now a ghostly reminder of its former beauty. The faded paint on its weathered exterior hinted at the vibrant colours that once adorned its grand facade. Windows, now clouded with time's embrace, peered out onto the overgrown gardens that whispered secrets among the tangled vines. The intricate architectural details, marred by neglect, yearned for the skilled hands of restoration.

Within its walls lay a labyrinth of rooms, each one holding the promise of a dream fulfilled. It was a house filled with potential, a canvas awaiting the stroke of a master's brush. Yet, it would take countless hours of labour, a symphony of hammers and saws and paintbrushes, to breathe life back into this forgotten dwelling. My partner and I had purchased this ancient house, hopeful that we could restore it to its former splendour.

We embarked on our mission, armed with determination and a touch of naivety. As we peeled back the layers of neglect, the house began to reveal its secrets. Each room held a tale, each floorboard creaked with whispers of the past.

The rooms within the house, though once grand, now felt confined. We knew that to truly resurrect this dwelling, we needed to redefine the layout of the house. Our desire was to open up the rooms, to create a sense of freedom and expansiveness. We were driven by the vision of a brighter, more inviting home, where light could flood through open doorways, and the house could finally breathe again.

There was one wall in particular. It had faded wallpaper and crumbling plaster. With hammers in hand, we began our work. Layer by layer, the wall succumbed to our efforts. It was hard work, the old house was built to last. Dust and debris swirled in the air, creating an ethereal dance of time and decay.

With each swing of the hammer and scrape of the chisel, the half-demolished wall revealed its hidden depths, like wounds torn open. The once solid structure now stood as a fragile skeleton, exposing the secret cavity within. Dust and debris danced in the air, carried by the force of our actions. As the wall crumbled, cold air rushed out, a chilling breath escaping from the dark void. The beam of our flashlights pierced through the darkness, their light stabbing into the unknown depths beyond. Yet, no matter how bright they shone, the blackness swallowed their illumination, refusing to unveil its secrets.

And then, as the final bricks were removed, we could finally see. Before us stood a staircase, hidden away for over a century. Its steps, covered in layers of dust, beckoned us downward. The air grew heavy with an eerie silence as we debated whether we should explore down into the depths of the house. The walls seemed to close in, their whispers growing louder, urging us on.

Curiosity held us captive. We ventured into the darkness, guided by the feeble light of our trembling flashlights, footprints left in the thick layer of dust on each stair. Our timid voices echoed with the weight of history, our hearts pounding in anticipation of what lay ahead. We continued down, down, down, perhaps even below the basement level.

At the bottom of the stairs, a door loomed before us, imposing in its presence. Its size was grand, solid and unyielding, as if designed to keep something hidden within or to ward off any who dared to venture further. The weight of its presence hung heavy, a silent sentinel guarding the secrets that lay beyond. It exuded an aura of containment, as if it held back something malevolent, or perhaps served as a barrier against the terrors that awaited on the other side. Its aged surface bore the marks of time, etched with faded black paint that spelled out a chilling warning: "Don't open."