Sorry about the delay posting August's story but I was away on holiday in Turkey. I'll post September's tale in the next couple of weeks.
The film was over and I was tired. I reached out for the remote and switched off the television and the blu-ray player. The sudden silence seemed deafening, like the air pressure at high altitude.
I stood, stretched, and turned towards the door.
The door was not where it should have been. The place where the door had been for the six years we'd lived in this house was a blank wall.
I spun around and saw the door in the same wall as the main window. As I took a step towards it, the door vanished. It didn't fade away, or shrink back into the brickwork, it just wasn't there any more.
Turning again, I saw the door in the floor near the sofa.
It vanished again as soon as I made a move.
This time, none of the walls appeared to have a door. I turned and turned and didn't know what to do. Every wall was just a wall, apart from the ones with windows. Should I break a window in order to escape the confines of my own front room?
Slowly, I looked up. The door was now in the centre of the ceiling, where the plaster ceiling rose and the light should be. Somehow the light that was no longer there still provided illumination: the room was just as bright as it had been.
Panicked, I grabbed my phone and called my wife, who was upstairs in bed.
“Erm...hello?” She sounded sleepy; I must have woken her.
“Helen, I'm trapped. I can't get out of the lounge.”
“For fuck's sake, Bob, stop it with your stupid games. You woke me up for this shit?”
“I'm not joking, Helen. Really, I'm not.”
“Bob?” The fear in my voice must have convinced her. She sounded concerned and fearful. “Honestly, Bob?”
“Honestly, Helen. The door...I know this sounds insane, but it won't stay put.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, the door keeps moving. It won't let me out.”
That was when the phone went dead.
I heard banging noises above me, coming through the ceiling: Helen was obviously getting out of bed and moving across the room.
Then she screamed.
It was at that point I realised it was happening to her, too. The doors were toying with us, playing some kind of game. They'd trapped us here like prisoners, and I didn't understand it at all.
I've been here for two days now. I did eventually try to break the window but the glass wouldn't shatter. It was like throwing things against the wall. The laws of physics no longer apply; only nightmare logic works here.
I'm writing this on the Notes app on my phone, but the battery is almost flat. I'm not sure how much longer I have left.
The door finally stopped moving an hour ago.
I haven't heard Helen's voice from upstairs since late last night. The last time I heard her, it sounded as if she was talking to someone. No, not talking: pleading. Crying. Then she went quiet and I heard a door slam. I'm hoping she managed to get out.
The door to this room is no longer inside the house.
It's in the same place every time I look out the window. The door and the frame – all of it – are standing upright in the middle of my garden, on the small lawn.
The last time I looked, the door was open.
Not long afterwards, I saw a shadow move quickly across the window.
I think there's something out there.
I wonder if it's the same thing that stepped through to see Helen, or if there are more than one of them. Whatever they are.
I'm going to switch off the phone to conserve the battery. If there's nothing else after this, it means that something came calling. Something came through the door and got me.
Or else, another door appeared and I managed to get out to somewhere else.
Neither option fills me with anything but dread.
© Gary McMahon 2019