You know those houses you see down the street, normally at the very end? The ones that look so broken down, the children think they are haunted? The ones with peeled paint, cracked shutters and dents in the doors? The ones you never see anyone leave, in nighttime or day? You wouldn’t know it, but many of those houses used to be like yours and mine. They were once filled with laughter and friends, joy and happy times. They used to have open doors for anyone that would happen to pass by. All those doors now, on all those isolated houses, are locked. Not opened by, or for anyone. Not a soul passes under the threshold, and no one will again. Her house is like the ones you see down the street, and she, like the door to her secluded house, is locked.


You can jiggle the handle of her locked door all you want, but it’s not going to open without the key. You can look through her windows, but you wont be able to see enough of the house to know what it’s like. There was a time though, when the door was never locked. A key wasn’t needed to see inside the beautiful house, and people came and went as they pleased. They would visit with her, or share their problems. She would listen quietly until they finished, then give her input if needed. Normally, they just needed someone to listen while they talked, and then they would get up to leave. She didn’t mind though, she liked listening to people talk. She thought it was the best way to get to know somebody, just by listening to their problems. Sooner or later though, people grow up and they find a special person to listen to their problems without ever having to leave their house. Eventually less people started coming, and more people left until the door was rarely opened. It was kept unlocked though, almost hopefully, like she was wishing the familiar squeak of the door would echo throughout the lonely house.

After many months had passed, the squeak was revived, as the door slowly opened and into that beautiful house he stepped. He wasn’t there for someone to listen to his problems, nor was he there to get advice. For once, someone wanted to listen to, and get to know her. He opened the door with ease many weeks after that day. He was what helped her through the once lonely nights in the slowly warming house. He was the one who made her forget about the ones that left before. Everyday she waited inside that house for him to appear on her doorstep, and he would open that door, and fall into her loving arms.

Slowly things began to change. At first she thought he was just in a mood, but when he didn’t begin to become loving once more, she started to shrink away from his touches. She began to grow afraid of his visits, which were getting fewer and further between. She began to grow scared for the few days he did show up, so scared that after all those years of welcoming people with an open door, she turned the bolt. No longer was this house colorful and proud. The paint began the peel and the shutters began to crack, but the door stayed locked. He would pound against the door, as he once did to her arms. He would throw bottles towards the house, in a drunken rage, as he once did to her body. He would scream cruel words, and spit his toxic saliva on the door, as he once did to her face.

Finally he left her doorstep, leaving the dents, saliva, and broken bottles behind. She didn’t bother to clean them off. She left them there as a reminder to herself every time she looked outside that that was what happened when you let someone get close. Few people have walked up those steps, tying to open the door, to make her come out. They rang the broken doorbell, looked through the cracked shutters, and knocked on the dented door, but all they got in response was silence. Quickly they all left, as they once did before, as though her sadness may in some way seep into their perfect lives like a fatal gas. She told herself she didn’t need their help. She didn’t need anyone, because she was alone, and all people do is hurt you. The lock began to get rusty, but she didn’t bother to change it because no one had tried to open the door in years, at least, not until today.

He seemed like he was walking up the steps, but his feet never touched the ground. He seemed like he was knocking on the door, but as soon as he touched it, the bolt turned. From deep inside the house, she heard the once so familiar squeak of the door as it opened. She grew tense as she stepped from her room and into the hallway leading to the door. Feeling as if in a dream, she saw him, dressed all in white, with dazzling, glistening white wings expanding from his back.

Soundlessly, he held out his hand, and in a voice more beautiful than anyone’s she had heard, told her to come. All she could manage to do was nod, and then she reached for his outstretched hand. As she felt his fingers brush against hers, her feet were lifted from the ground, her lank hair was turned golden and smooth, and the despair she had being feeling for years left her body, not leaving a trace of sadness behind. The last change she sensed was a slight burning sensation as wings as gorgeous as the angel’s beside her sprouted from her back. Gradually, fingers entwined, and wings beating in unison, they flew out the old door and into the dark night.

There was a lone man sitting in the driver’s side of a nearby car, invisible in the darkness. Hearing the sound of the door that had haunted his thoughts for the past years, he woke up quickly from a light slumber. In the hundreds of nights he spent outside that house, making sure she was safe, never had he heard the door open. As he sat up, he was blinded by a dazzling white light coming from the doorway, but when he blinked to let his eyes adjust it was gone. Slowly he got to his feet and made his way hesitantly to the front door. He walked up those steps, passed under that threshold, and walked into that house. He had not passed through this door in ages, but recognized exactly where he stood. In the soft light, he noticed the pale yellow walls and the soft green carpet, he saw that the pretty pink pillow she used to keep on the couch had fallen on the floor. That’s when he noticed the old couch and the large shape upon it.
Grief gripped his heart as he recognized the person lying peacefully, eyes closed as if she was sleeping, even though he knew she wasn’t. He collapsed beside her and held her hand for the last time. Tears of remorse dripped down his face and onto the timeworn carpet. He stayed there all night, with the door wide open, just like it was always meant to be.