Writing Prompt!

From Cheyenne: Your character just discovered a locked, secret door. What do they do?

Write for 10 minutes. Post your piece to comments!


Posted on December 8, 2016, in Writing Prompt. Bookmark the permalink. 5 Comments.

  1. I struggle with the door. “Open you stupid door!” It wouldn’t. I gave it a kick, but it stood firmly and made my foot hurt. I heard my mom calling me in for dinner. “I’ll be back!” I threatened. After dinner, I got my dad’s wrench and started banging on the door with it. All I managed to do was make a few dents. I sighed and got my old lock-picking kit, which I could never do, and started attempting to pick the lock on this secret door I found. As felt around in the lock, and I heard a ‘click’. Yes! I thought, I had done it! I rushed to put my tools away then came back and opened the door. What was behind it, shocked me. It was our cleaning things. Yes ours! Theres the broom, and the vacuum and all our cleaning sprays! “Mom! Did you know that this secret door has all our cleaning supplies in it?” I shout to the kitchen. Mom’s head appears around the corner.
    “Oh, yes the closet. It’s been there for a while.” She tells me. I shake my head in disbelief.
    “How come I never noticed it?”

  2. “Ever, no matter what you do, do not under any circumstances open that door if you see it. Nothing but trouble lays behind that door,” Jacob, the head of the agency said, and I nodded my head vigorously, a reassuring look on my face.
    “Remember, curiosity killed the cat,” he said, and gave me a grim look before disappearing without another word. I wandered to the sliding doors, looking around me, making sure nobody was watching me. Touching my hand to the fingerprint lock, the doors slid open and I slipped through quickly. A large, dark door that reached the agency’s ceiling stood before me. Jacob’s warning played through my head once again, and I looked around once again. “Good thing I’m not a cat,” I said to myself as I opened the door.

  3. Something was behind the wall.
    From time to time there would be small instances of creaking and movement from behind the blank white barrier that the previous owners of the house couldn’t explain. It was freaky, but for the price that they pitched, I couldn’t say no.
    This time it was louder than normal. It sounded like someone was pounding against the other side of the wall like a bull trying to escape. I tried to cover my ears to drown out the terrifying noises, but it only replayed over and over in my head. I felt nauseous, and I didn’t even realize what I did until it was done.
    I dug through the boxes of unpacked things and pulled a hammer out of the pool of unwanted clothing and sticky notes that sat in the box. I approached the blank wall, and without a single second of hesitation, I slammed the tool against it with as much force as I could manage.
    A hole formed. I pounded against it again, angry that there was no explanation about what could have been behind it. After I created various openings, I dropped the hammer and tore the rest of the wall off with my bare hands. I could not describe how stunned I was to have discovered a door on the other side.
    Great job architects, this makes perfect sense.
    The loud banging had stopped, as if whatever was on the other side of the door knew that someone was coming.
    I thought about this for a moment. I could picture the headlines perfectly: “20 year old college student goes missing in home after making the stupid decision to open a mysterious door that she’s never seen before that also happened to be behind a wall. Thumbs up to her.”
    The door was aligned with platinum, and the dark wood was carved to look like something from a fairy tale. The golden doorknob had a lock hanging from it.
    I sighed. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I said to myself as I picked hammer back up again and swung it against the lock, breaking it. I grasped the doorknob and I could tell that it had not experienced human touch in a long time based off how cold it was. Turning it, I found myself standing before a task bigger than myself.

  4. “On the right, right? Past the kitchen? Okay, thank you!” I rushed out of the dining room, feeling a little queasy and embarrassed. Stupidly, I had decided to dunk my sushi in the chocolate fondue to test the Omnicacaoviability Hypothesis, and it hadn’t gone well. I rushed in the direction of the supposed bathroom, but I must have taken a wrong turn because I was suddenly lost in that massive mansion. The hallway I was in seemed to last forever, and every door looked the exact same. I groaned as hundreds of scenarios flashed into my mind, none of which ended very well.
    Turning around and around, I thought perhaps I could call for a butler, but then it occurred to me that they would all be occupied with the party happening an acre away and would hear my pleas.
    Suddenly, in the corner of my eye, I saw movement. Could I possibly hope that someone noted my prolonged absence and sent someone to find me?
    “Sir?” I called, hopeful and doubtful at the same time. The person hesitated, then ran off. “Sir!” I yelled, giving chase to the mysterious person unconsciously. He turned right, and I turned with him, then left, then left again, and with each turn he got farther and father away. I cursed my evil high heels and dashed them off, then ran as if all light of reason had been redirected out of my mind. Finally, as I arrived at the end of one hallway, I saw him disappear at the end of it.
    I sprinted to catch up, but when I got there, I heard a bang! from one of the many surrounding doors and I went off in that direction. But, wait, didn’t it come from the left? No…no it definitely came from the right. I stood still, hoping against hope that he would just make another sound, preferably a less confusing one, but he was obtinate and wanted to stay hidden in silence.
    “Well, then…my teachers always told me not to change my answer on a test if I wasn’t sure of either…but they’re teachers…so I guess left will have to do!” I turned, when I realized that I didn’t know where left was. I was even more lost than before! I couldn’t even tell where I had been standinig just a minute earlier.
    Frustration was starting too settle in and make itself at home. It was almost like an evil writer was writing away every possible obstacle that she could, and I cursed this imaginary writer. I realized that of course this silly writer is not real, and I must be losing my mind from being lost in these luxurious hallways, and so with smack to my head, I thrust the idea out.
    Just as I was about to scold myself for acting like a crazy person, however, I saw something interesting. One of the doors was different from the others, with golden text embossed into the dark wood. I walked over to the golden handle, uncertain, reading the text. It looked like Italian, but it probably wasn’t. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that the golen paint was chipping off, and what looked like beautiful dark mahogony wood turned out to be mostly rotten. The mysterious text read, “ubi absconditus est parvuli,” and the imaginary writer said something about hiding babies. Whispering to myself to tell her to shut up, I reached forward and tried the handle.
    Locked. Darn it. How can they expect their lost guests who became even more lost by chasing a random person to snoop in their creepy rooms if the doors are not opened all the time? It just wouldn’t do. “When I am super rich, I am going to have all the doors unlocked except for one, and that one I will tell everyone is where my mysterious dead husband that no one met died,” I told myself, as if it was completely normal.
    I sighed and pulled out a hair pin. I had never actually picked a lock before, but years of movie experience told me that jiggling and twisting would do the trick. I bent forward, one eye closed, tongue out to one side, and carefully inserted the hair pin to the old-fashioned lock hole, then started to shake it furiously.
    The door remained stubburnly locked, despite my professional skill against it, and I had just straitened my back and put back my now-twisted hair pin to attempt to ram the door when the wanted butler finally arrived, sparing me the embarrassment of having to explain why the door was shattered by coming not an instant too soon.
    “Madam?” he asked, somewhat confused.
    “Uh…yeah, Alfred?” I replied, somewhat pink in the face.
    “That is not my name, Madam,” he said with some patience. “The others were wondering if you found the bathroom?”
    “Uh, yeah, I *probably* did. I feel much better now. Say, do you think you could lead me back to the party, after, I dunno, you open this door for me, Alfred?” I tried my best charming style and gave him a wink while trying to pass a twenty between us.
    Alfred J. Pennyworth looked at me, smiled, took the bill, and said kindly, “No.”

  5. Tears of anguish and disbelief flow down the ridges of my cold cheeks as I stare at the endeared gift that was given to me from my recently deceased grandfather. It is a sapphire-black diamond encrusted pure silver locket. The heart-shaped locket is the only thing my grandfather ever gifted to me (he was never big on giving) and he said to never lose it, because one day it will help me discover things about my family that I haven’t been told about.

    I never understood what grandpa meant when he said I would discover things about our family, but I can’t ask him now because he is dead. Grandpa died on a sailing trip; which he never returned from. My family doesn’t know what happened to his body or the boat, because they both never washed up onshore.

    12:00 AM; Thursday, November 8th:

    I turn the key dissembled in my grandfather’s ancient locket into the lock and smile as I feel the cold metal turn slowly in the lock. After unlocking the door, I unhinge the reinforced bolt-lock and swiftly open the mahogany wooden door.

    Aromatic scents of salty sea water and dull, grainy sand float across my nostrils as I breath in the stench of this hidden room. I recognize the smell from the Old Hanger’s beach, which was grandfather’s sanctuary and haven.

    The only items in the secret room are a dusty wooden crate, that looks like a treasure chest a pirate might uncover. A small yellow post-it note stuck on the hood of the chest catches my eye. The small inky letters read out “Do Not Open” in scrawly handwriting that has begun to fade. I carefully unpeel the note from the treasure chest and unlatch the chest’s hook. Sweat beads across the back of my neck as I stare at the “thing” nestled at the bottom of the chest.

    “Oh my gosh, grandpa” I gasp. Anxiety seizes my chest in a painful tightening way as I say. “You’re a pirate.”

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