The Wooden Door - by Stephen Davies 2007
He had always been curious about that old building, just beside the entrance to the park. This strange little place seemed to have no purpose, being too small for storage. Besides, the park keeper had never been seen opening that old wooden door to this oddity.
Perhaps there was no way to open it, and it's purpose was now a forgotten matter. But it was very strange, because when passing this small building, one always felt the urge to open the small door - yet nobody had ever tried. Many people told their tales about this strange place, about how they could never seem to understand the compelling feeling about that door - the irrational desire to know what lies beyond, in that enclosed space.
All manner of suggestions arose after a few beers, from some sort of tardis, to a portal leading to the centre of the earth - all told in the best of humour, naturally. But what really did lurk behind that damn door? He had to know! He'd be the one to tell them, that he had opened it, seen for himself the hidden secrets.
He stood outside the concrete square building, thinking how very much like a crypt this place appeared - indeed, it would have been lost in a large cemetery, obscured by all the other tombs and mausoleums.
But it was plain and boring to look at, lacking the usual intricate carvings of a tomb, and without any inscriptions whatsover. And if there was any wording, what might it have read?
He looked at the door. He looked carefully. An old keyhole, rusty and disused. The wood had seen better days, and could probably be smashed open with little ease. There was no padlock, no bolt. But there was a handle, a round door-knob.
"open me... open me... go on! I know you want to!"
The words filled his mind, as they had so many times before, as they had to so many before him. He took in a breath. It was so silly, to think that he was being urged to open this door. But the reason he could not - would not - haunted him. There was a dark and sinister look to this place - the door appeared to be some portal to the depths of hell. It glared at him, and he pictured flames lapping around the edges of the wooden door. He could hear screams and laughter, and a million demonic creatures howling in torment from beyond. They beckoned him to follow them, to touch that handle, and...
descend steps? Vanish into some dark pit?
He still felt unsure. Hell, it was just a wooden door, a tiny little shed of some kind. It was built by human hands - and had a keyhole. What nonsense filled his silly head - all he had to do was make a break - grab the door knob, and tug it open.
He looked at the shubbery that grew around the base of the building - and then he realised something - he had never seen the back of the place. There was a tall wooden fence just behind the building, and the metal gates of the park began where the fence ended, to the left and right. But he could see a gap between the fence and the concrete mystery.
He peered around the back of the building, somewhat cautiously. Nothing - just the scent of soil, more shubbery and the boring back of the building, windowless and doorless, as he actually thought it would be. A few empty cans and crisp packets strewn in the gap reminded him that others had explored here before him. It would have made an ideal hiding place had he been a boy.
"Come now. You have a task to fulfill... Come and open me! Come and see..."
He frowned, and made his way back to the front of the building. What was it about this place? How could it be? No person had ever been able to open the door, as far as he knew. They had all recounted the same dread he felt now, as his eyes drilled into that wooden door, and felt the darkness inside tugging at his soul, pulling him like some magnet, to the very heart of the place.
And he did the unthinkable. His hand grabbed the door knob, twisting it hard in an adrenalin-soaked moment of madness. He pulled hard, but the door swung open with ease.
Every fear, every horror imaginable, every deep-routed insecurity and every phobia he had ever felt - every detestable thing he could ever summon up in his little frightened mind - came at him in a second, a second that felt like an eternity - as thousands of wails and screams echoed around him, and the sky turned to fire. No longer outside the park, no longer outside the building, and no longer outside the door, wondering...
He was there inside that dreadful place, to join the countless souls before him, who each in turn, had wondered like he had - of the horrors that lay waiting behind that wooden door.
Gone To Dust - by Stephen Davies 2007
Mr Clemence would often go to the local cemetery, to pay his respects to various family members buried there. He would lay flowers, and read the inscriptions upon the stones of his departed loved ones.
Autumn leaves blew about the quiet cemetery as he made his way down the path that led to the plot of his family. A light breeze, it was that morning. He saw the wooden bench he would often sit upon, to rest in quiet reflection. The rusty leaves were gathered around the bench like a carpet. It was so inviting, he decided to sit for a moment.
He looked at the scene. Beautiful trees reflecting sunlight on their deep brown bark, and glowing orange and yellow leaves moving in the wind. The white stones of the dead were all around him, rather like a city of stones, there to mark a nation of people who used to go about their busy lives, all now resting. He clasped his hands together, and look down mournfully.
When he looked up, he almost jumped. There ahead of him, with her back to him, was a little girl in a white dress. He had definitely not seen her before, as the cemetery was deserted. She seemed to be deadly still, her head lowered in sadness. The sunlight was shimmering upon the white of the dress, and it appeared to be glowing. Her hair was long and blonde, if not white.
Mr Clemence decided to move away, in case he might frighten her. He never looked back, never saw the girl's face. She must have been behind a shrub before he sat down, and he failed to see her. But it was sad to think of a child mourning for a lost one. A brother or a sister perhaps? Very sad indeed for her.
Mr Clemence reached the first of his relatives, his father. He gently placed the flowers down, and read the words on the tomb.
"In Memorium..."
Then he knelt at all the other stones of his loved ones, paying his respects to all the members of his family who had sadly left this world. He left flowers for each of them, and read each message on their stone.
"Here Lies.." "R.I.P."...
Mr Clemence folded up the carrier back that had held all the flowers, put it in his pocket and began to head back. He surveyed the golden carpet of leaves and the white plinths all about him, like stone tears in a garden of sorrow. He was thinking of conversations with his loved ones, of times gone by. Those memories were so clear in his mind.
Then he saw something, lying on the ground, there at the foot of a celtic cross tombstone. It was a doll! He wondered at it for a moment, and thought about picking it up. Looking at it, he saw the pretty face staring at him. Victorian! Porcelain! Won't find many like that these days - how strange to leave it there. Must be a special gift for the dead. Can't harm to take a look at it. He bent down, and stretched out his fingers to grab the doll.
Mr Clemence jolted back quickly, after his hand touched the doll. He had momentarily watched in horror as his fingers fell into the face of the thing, as it crumbled to dust at a single touch. A horrid, gas-like scent eminated from the space where the doll had been.
It was at a more hurried pace in which Mr Clemence left the cemetery that autumn morning. Fear and confusion rushed about inside his mind, as he looked up the path towards the exit.
The little girl was still there, he knew that much. He had seen her shape, glowing in white, just near the bench, where she had been before. He looked straight ahead, so as not to draw attention to himself, and passed the girl, his heart beating in fear. But should he tell her to leave this horrid place?
She whispered something inaudible as he passed her. He stood still, turned to look at her. Her back was still facing him.
"Dolly! I want my dolly!" she said softly. But he heard her clearer this time. "I want my dolly..."
She turned quickly to face him. It was then that he saw she had no eyes, and she smiled through bone and teeth, where her lips should have been...
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