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Weekly Contest #351
The green splintered door has called out to me day after day as I pass it on my way downstairs. Today, the call is stronger. It echoes through my bones and grips my soul with its cold, clammy fingers. My feet carry me unsurely across the carpeted floor, the green of the door growing closer and closer until I’m standing right in front of it. My hand lifts instinctively to rest on the doorknob, my fingers curling around the metal sphere. My wrist starts to twist, turning the knob when my mother’s voice calls out to me. “JAMES THOMAS JOHNSO...
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