The Locked Door

Whatever you do, do not open the Locked Door.

That was the last thing Mother had said to him. That and he was a Good Boy. Good boys don’t break the rules, do they? 

And he was a Good Boy.

He would be a Good Boy.

He made breakfast and cleaned up yesterday’s dishes. Upstairs, he did his homework. He hadn’t gone to school and no one told him to since Mother had left, so it must be Saturday. He wondered if he had missed the bus. But he had been awake when it was supposed to come, and it never did. So maybe Saturday was really long.

Silence was all around. His footsteps were like thunderclaps as he walked softly around the house. Maybe he should go outside and ride his bike. No, Mother wouldn’t like that. 

He looked at the picture on the wall. Mother smiled at him, and he smiled back at her. It had been his birthday. They were so happy.

He finished his homework and chores and played Hungry, Hungry Hippos by himself, using two hands. The noise of the hippos gobbling marbles drowned out the silence that threatened to overwhelm him. It wasn’t forever. Mother would be home soon, and then he could go out and play. Until then, he would be a Good Boy. 

But he wanted to go outside so bad. It would be okay. Just for a little bit. He would go outside, ride his bike, and he would be back in right away.

He went to the front door. He grabbed the door knob. He looked back at the picture of Mother.

You’re breaking the rules.

She glowered at him from the frame.

He avoided the front door after that.

He played with toys. Made noise. Stomped and shouted. 

“I’m Superboy! Fwooosh!” 

His footsteps clomped with the “fwoosh” he made as he charged up stairs, down the hall, down the stairs and through the living room. He didn’t even notice he was next to the Locked Door.

Until the pounding started.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

He stopped and stared at the door. Three firm knocks echoed. Mother said there was nothing on the other side of the door, and that he would be safe as long as it stayed locked.

Silence filled in where it had been chased away by the sound. Then another three knocks filled the air, freezing his heart in his chest. 

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Unseen hands jiggled the knob. The rattling grew until it was so loud he clapped his hands over his ears and screamed, a child’s fear atomized into a wild howl against the outside force that threatened to break the rules and disrupt the harmony of his house, and stop him being a Good Boy for Mother.

Abruptly the wiggling stopped. No more knocks. He counted his heart beats while he waited for more noise from behind the Locked Door.

But there was nothing.

His heart slowed to normal. Whatever had been there was gone. Slowly he began to wonder if he had heard anything at all. After all, he had no proof it had happened. Just the film of sweat on his face.

The bath was a good place to hide from silence. The noise of the tub filling, then splishing and splashing as he played with his boats. Today, they were pirates and he wooshed them through the water. “PWOOM!” He crashed them together, the finer points of naval battle being alien to him and anyway bashing them together was far more satisfying. After a while, his fingers turned raisiny, and he got out and dried himself. He went downstairs, microwaved macaroni and cheese for dinner. It was his favorite, but he was tired of the same thing, and wished Mother was there to make meatloaf or stir fry or any of the foods he hated. He would gladly eat anything other than cheese and noodles. Even salmon.

He stared at the picture of Mother, thinking of her and wondering why he couldn’t hold her picture in his head when he looked away. Why couldn’t he remember her without the picture?

By the time he had dressed for bed and brushed his teeth, he was still not sleepy. There was no one to read him a story, sing a song or even hug him. But it was bedtime, he could see that on the clock.

And because he was a Good Boy, he went to bed.

He woke up, did his chores, ate breakfast, and played with his superheroes. Then he went to read some books. Garfield comics were his favorite. They were just as funny as they used to be. But he didn’t laugh. His eyes kept flickering to the Locked Door.

The booming wouldn’t get out of his head. It slowly filled him with a chill that crept through him, inch by inch. So he went to his room and beat on his drum while singing a song he half-remembered from the radio. He beat the drum faster, treasuring the noise, comforting in the bitter silence. He lost himself in the notes he couldn’t recognize as he produced them. He lost himself in the beat, if it could be called that. His banging reached a crescendo and lifted him from the lonely house.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

The drum crashed as he fell over on his back. The drum clattered to the ground and lay where it rolled to a stop. His breath came in shallow gasps, and he was afraid he would pass out again. But maybe the thing would be gone when he came to.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOOOOM.

It wasn’t knocking to get someone’s attention. Someone, or something, was trying to get in. Trying to get through the Locked Door.

He looked at the picture of Mother in a panic. She was not happy.

“GO AWAY!!!” he shouted at the door.

Open, a voice whispered in his head. He froze, hoping if he stood still, the voice would go away.

What’s your name?

He started to answer, then stopped when he realized he wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers. More alarming, he had no idea what his name was. What a silly thing, he almost laughed, forgetting his own name.

But when it didn’t return to him, he began to worry. 

What if he didn’t have a name?

What other names did he know? Friends at school…had he ever been to school? He must have grandparents, aunts, uncles. What did they call him? What had he called them?

Open the door.

Fear slid through him like oil, and he looked at Mother’s picture.

She was so happy in the picture, even if he didn’t remember what she looked like, he could remember that she had been happy. They had been happy together.

But now, she looked at him as though she knew what he was thinking. The picture of himself looked terrified. If he opened the door, if he broke the rules, he would seal the fate of the little boy in the photograph. 

Open the door. I can help you.

Mother’s face grew more enraged. The boy was crying now, both in the picture and in the lonely house. Guilt over breaking the rules warred with fear just by hearing the voice.

He was more afraid of Mother than he was of whatever was banging on the door. He wanted to open it, but he couldn’t make himself break a rule. He didn’t want to be bad. But the voice said it could help. But Mother said never open the Locked Door!

Hadn’t she?

He couldn’t even remember what she looked like. Now he thought about it, he couldn’t remember her actually saying not to open the door. He could only remember that she would be very, very upset if he were to open the Locked Door.

It’s okay, the voice tried to soothe him. Open the door. I’m here to save you.

Mother was practically crawling out of the picture frame. She seemed to grow larger, swallowing up the little boy who screamed silently in frozen horror as Mother’s body devoured him, which is what happens to Bad Boys. He screamed at the voice, “Go away! Go Away! Go Away!”

Brian.

Suddenly, the room went quiet. Not the icy grave-quiet he had become used to, but an enveloping warmth like he was wrapped in his favorite blanket. He felt relaxed. He knew his name.

Brian, you can do it. Open the door.

Brian stood, and with his hand shaking, he reached for the lock.

The lock would not give.

He tried and tried, but could not get it to budge. The warm feeling slipped away. He began to scream, “Help me! Please help me!!” as he frantically tried to pull the door open.

Looking back at the photo he couldn’t see his picture, trapped with Mother. He had been completely enveloped by the thing she had become. It was beckoning to him. He could feel himself beginning to panic as he realized the tip of one of Mother’s fingers peeked out of the frame as her face took up the entire picture. Red eyes filled with hate for a rule-breaker, the flesh distended, twisted into something perverse and ghoulish.

Mother was hungry.

Hungry for the rule-breaker.

Hungry for Brian.

Fear took control of him as the voice tried to soothe him, Brian, it’s going to be okay! Let’s play “Simon Says!”

Trembling, Brian nodded.

Okay, Simon says…stick your thumbs in your ears.

Confused, Brian brought his thumbs to his ears.

Simon says, stick out your tongue.

Brian stuck out his tongue, and heard himself giggle.

Simon says, go “Ablaabablabalbalaaa!”

He tried, but ended up laughing as he repeated, “Ablaaba-haha!” wiggling his tongue.

Ok, Brian, this is the big one. Are you ready?

He nodded.

Simon says, repeat after me: ANA BITI SA ERIBUSU!

“Ana biti sa-NOOO!!!”

Mother’s hand was out of the frame now, reaching, clawing. He could hear a deep rumble from the other side, a rage that would not be denied. Fear coursed through Brian as he watched a forearm slowly pull itself through the picture.

You can do it, Brian! Simon says, say it with me! ANA BITI SA ERIBUSU! ANA BITI SA ERIBUSU!

Slowly, Brian made himself drag the syllables out of his mouth. “A-ana biti s-sa…sa…”

ANA BITI SA ERIBUSU!

“Ana biti sa Eribusu! Ana biti sa eribusu! ANA BITI SA ERIBUSU!!”

The locked door broke open. In toppled a young man Brian had never seen before. Cursing and coughing, he slowly got to his feet. 

“Jesus wept, I thought entry spells were supposed to be more accommodating. Feel like I’ve been yanked through the devil’s anus.” He looked at Brian. “Hey, there you are. Your mom is looking for you. My name’s Avery. She asked me to help find you. Are you okay?”

Brian stared.

“Are you okay??”

Brian nodded.

“Good. We have to…oh sh-”

He cut off as a chair flew at his head. The unearthly roar from the picture filled with rage as furniture was flung by the hand already emerged, while a second was poised to draw itself out of the frame. Between the two hands, the red eyes glowed like twin Hells.

“Get behind me!” Avery shouted, pushing Brian to his back. “Focalor, nos defende! Per quattuor ventos fuge furia, quo venit!”

The creature in the picture frame emitted a shriek. Brian felt his heart curl up in the noise and started to cry, but Avery put his hand on his head. Brian looked up at him and saw him raise his arm.

“Leave this place in peace! You may not feed off this child!”

Mother writhed, but kept coming. Brian could see Avery straining to hold off the creature, but it was still coming. He clung to Avery’s leg and buried his face in his jeans.

“Brian, take this!”

Brian looked up. “Reggie!” he cried. There was the stuffed turtle he had named after his cousin. Suddenly, memories flooded back. He remembered real mother, his life, and how a man who had come to give a talk at school had asked him to stay after. The next thing he knew was darkness. The next, that he shouldn’t open the Locked Door.

Reggie chased away the cold nightmare of silence. Avery redoubled his strength, shouting, “By Inanna, Ishtar and Mary! I cast you back to the pit!”

Winds thrashed around the room as the forces Avery brought to bear against the monster clashed with it. Outside the room was nothing, an empty blackness that vibrated with the energies pulsing in the room. Avery raised his hands a final time, and shouted, “Begone!”

The monster’s hand was ripped from the wall where it had dug its claws in, one of which stuck and was torn out. The picture frame drew the horror back into itself as it groped for Brian. Brian dug his face into the stranger’s leg.

Until all was quiet.

Not the dead quiet he feared. Birds chirped, voices of children were nearby, playing, cars driving. The sounds of his neighborhood.

Avery grabbed Brian and looked him over. Apparently satisfied, he asked, “Are you okay? Thank fu…goodness. Your mom was worried when you didn’t make it home from school three days ago.”

“Three days? But I was there-”

“The demon was holding you in an Outspace. Time works differently there. Don’t worry, it’s over. Let’s go.”

When they got to Brian’s, his mother didn’t stop crying for ten full minutes, then on and off for another hour. Visibly uncomfortable, Avery bid her goodbye and stopped at the door.

Brian sat on the couch in the living room, holding Reggie like he never wanted to let go.

“You saved us back there, you know?”

He looked at Avery.

“When you remembered who you were, the demon weakened. It had to make you forget so it could feed off your loneliness. The minute Reggie returned to comfort you like he’s done on so many nights, it couldn’t hold you anymore.”

Brian smiled.

He got up and went to the door.

“Here,” he reached his closed fist to Brian. “Keep this. When you’re scared, use it to remember how brave you can be.”

Brain opened his hand, and Avery dropped something in his palm. It was the claw from the door frame when Mo – the demon was pulled through the frame. He stared at the relic from the nightmare world he had spent so much time in, proof that it was all real.

When Brian looked up, Avery was gone.