“There’s nothing outside the door, there are no ghosts,” Bethany said to herself as she watches the door to her bedroom.
For as long as Bethany could remember, she was afraid to have her door open. She wasn’t scared to be alone; she just didn’t want that door open. The door was solid maple with brass fixtures and a crystal knob. The old hinges creaked; the knob reflected a prismatic glow of colors from the white light of the bare bulb in her room. When the door was closed, Bethany felt safe.
When Bethany had to leave her room, she would rush in and out, so her door was closed. She would go and come back to find the door open. The door was always open. She would lock the door and curl up in a blanket on her bed and watch the door. She would wake to find her door open… again.
Bethany would walk up and down the halls going from her mother’s room to the room at the other end where her father died. She couldn’t remember his face. She thought she could remember his scent. Her mother said it was a mix of Old Spice, sweat, and peppermint drops. The room had a hint of all three, along with the coppery scent of blood and fecal matter. The bullet killed him before cancer could. He died, and she stayed.
Her mother was taken away by the police a few weeks later for killing her father. Bethany could remember the trial and the outcome. Somewhere in a cell made for the criminally insane sat her mother as she screamed for what she did and what she lost. That’s how Bethany hoped it played out. She would never go see her in the hospital; Bethany would never leave her door open. She would never leave that house again.
Alice opened the door to her bedroom again. She didn’t know why or how the heavy door kept closing on its own. When her parents bought the house at auction, they were told about the mother who shot and killed her husband and daughter. The girl was eight, the same age as Alice. The house remained unoccupied for nearly ten years. Alice thought she could smell fresh peppermint, something musky and something else in a room down the hall. Every night she left her door open, and every morning the door was closed. Her parents denied touching the door.
Every night she says, “There’s nothing outside the door; there are no ghosts.”