Honeysuckle

Her heartbeat rolls like thunder in her ears; her breath remains steady, but every muscle in her body is taut. The wardrobe shifts under her weight as she tries to get more comfortable. Her hands shake as she parts the wardrobe doors. The smell of sawdust fills her nostrils and sweat beads across her furrowed brow. A small crystal doorknob glistens in the sunlight, casting tiny rainbows across the bedroom. Had it been twenty minutes already? Longer? The moment she discovered the little door behind her nightstand, she lost all sense of time. Was it always there? Where the hell was that tapping coming from?

For the life of her, she cannot remember seeing the little door when she first toured the house or when she scrubbed the walls and floors before moving in her meager belongings.

This little door…why does it feel so familiar? She stares at it again from the safety of her wardrobe, hidden among the heavy wool coats. Barely eight inches tall, the arched, wooden door is a deep mahogany with a small golden spyhole. Her first instinct was to grab the doorknob and open the door, but the iciness of the crystal startled her. She quickly withdrew her hand and inspected it -- a small series of boils appeared on her fingers. They itched like insect bites. She fetched one of her painting rags and tried again. This time, it gave a ‘click, click’ sound and refused to budge. Locked. When she knocked on it, she heard her taps echo behind the door. And a shadow briefly passed behind the spyhole.

Tap…

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Tap…Tap…

…

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The little hinges creaked with each tap. French lavender. Was that what she smelled? Seconds later, she scrambled across her room and lunged into the wardrobe.

Six months of ripped wallpaper, aching shoulders, and paint-stained clothes. Six months spent proving to her parents that buying a crumbling Tudor hadn't been a mistake. Black mold. That had to be it. Hallucinations made far more sense than tiny, locked doors that knocked back.

Taking a deep breath, she crawls out of the wardrobe and sits in front of the tiny door.

Lowering her head, she tries to look through the spyhole. The light from behind the door is steady and bright. She tries the doorknob a second time; again, icy. Again, locked. She sees a thin beam of light beneath the door, just enough to insert something. Grabbing a measuring tape, she snakes the metal tab underneath and begins to push the tape. One foot. Two feet. Five feet. Around seven feet, the tape catches.

Getting up, she leaves the bedroom and leans out into the hallway, trying to estimate where the tape measure is stuck. The space between the tiny door and hallway is less than a foot- was the tape traveling upward inside the wall?

A loud whirling sound draws her back into the room. Standing in the doorway, she watches the tape disappear into the wall, each inch accompanied by a rapid click. Ten feet. Fifteen feet. Twenty feet. The metal casing hits the door with a dull thud. Something loosens its grip on the tape and the casing eases to the ground. Suddenly there is a series of violent tugs from the other side. The casing bangs against the tiny door, echoes bouncing off the bedroom walls. And then she hears it- the crystal doorknob slowly turns and the door opens. A thin arch of golden light spills across the floorboards. The casing disappears inside and the small, mahogany door closes.

A small click echoes in the bedroom as the door relocks.

……..

They are staring at a bare wall. She debates telling him about the tapping but argues against it. Imagine if she told him about the measuring tape.

“What did it look like?”

Pure curiosity, not an ounce of pity. He’s always been good like that. Always supportive, even when she drags him into crazy situations like restoring an abandoned Tudor.

She does her best not to sound as frantic as she feels on the inside. Where the hell did it go?

“It was small, and wooden with a small golden spyhole. I heard something behind the wall. Can we please just check?”

With a quick nod, Nina’s boyfriend gets to work cutting away the drywall. He begins with a small incision to create a nook large enough for him to peer into. Yellowed, pink insulation puckers out of the hole. Eventually the whole wall and moldy lining lie in a heap on the floor.

Nothing.

Behind the wall is nothing but some old wiring.

No mice, no spiders, no tiny door.

Jacob takes a few steps back to survey the naked wall. Slightly breathless, he begins to sit on the old nightstand. “Hey! Careful- it’s an antique. I’ll get you a chair. One sec.” When she returns, Jacob is eyeing the nightstand. His eyes dancing with amusement.

“Where did you find this relic?”

“It came with the house. I decided to keep it.” She adds a resolute nod.

“Why?” he asks, eyebrows arching.

“It has character and history and…”

“And it is beautiful.” he finishes. “It just doesn't feel like you.”

He is not wrong. While she does love antiques, this piece was a little too art deco for her taste. It had come with the house and throwing it away had somehow felt...wrong. A memory surfaces. She remembers helping her grandfather prune the honeysuckle climbing his fence. ”Keeping every branch alive isn't the same as caring for the plant, Pumpkin.” At the time she'd thought he was only talking about flowers…

“Are you going to ask me what you want to ask me?”

Jacob studies her with a concerned look. Not “I need to have her committed” level of worry. More like “Maybe the dust and airborne pathogens got to her” level.

“I think you are working yourself to the bone trying to renovate this place. When was the last time you went outside? I haven’t seen you for a week and you show up at my house in the middle of the night talking about a tiny door.”

She wanted to be angry, but staring at the empty wall, she couldn't blame him.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am just overtired and huffing paint fumes in a closed room is not a great decision….and no, it’s not mold. The inspection report was clean!” Grinning, Jacob begins to back out of the room. “Let’s get out…no, let’s first crack open a window. Then we go grab something to eat and put this wall back up. Deal?”

Staring at the exposed beams, Nina replies, “Deal.”

….

Leaning against the doorframe, Nina removes her socks and admires the room. They finished the bedroom in three days. Yellow light embraces her small daybed and the secretary’s desk she placed directly near the window. Her mother had cooed over the desk, but Nina was adamant that she was keeping it. She could imagine herself responding to letters or journaling at that desk. It was another piece that the previous owners left behind but it felt like hers from the moment she first laid eyes on it.

Now that Jacob pointed it out, she is having some doubts about the nightstand.

As an experiment, she moved the nightstand to the hallway as a side table. It still didn’t quite seem to fit but she was loathe to get rid of it. Throwing it away still felt like betraying someone she'd never met.

The doorbell chimes and Nina sprints down the steps. Peering through the golden spyhole, she sees the delivery driver pull away. She is about to grab the doorknob when a sharp chill runs up her spine. She pauses.

There is something oddly familiar about the front door. A ridiculous thought crosses her mind and then she hears it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.…

Tap. Tap. Tap.

…

The taps sound like they are coming from upstairs. Ignoring the packages, Nina slowly ascends the stairs. Her bare feet stick to every step.

Tap. Tap.

They sound muffled. Entering her bedroom, Nina’s eyes immediately dart to where the nightstand used to be.

No door.

Tap. Tap. Tap

It sounds like it is coming from the hallway. She crouches down and notices a small beam of light underneath the nightstand.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The scent of French lavender fills the hallway.

Approaching the nightstand, crowbar in hand, she shoves it aside. The spyhole remains dark, and the tiny door creaks beneath each tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Nina walks halfway down the stairs, trying to keep her eyes on the tiny door. She sends Jacob a voice memo, “Do you have time to come and help me?” She is grateful when he promises to be there in an hour.

She sits and waits.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap…

Click. Click.

Nina stirs awake, alarmed at having fallen asleep. Her gaze snaps toward the hallway, anticipating the little door standing wide open. Instead, it’s gone. The clicking is coming from her own front door.

Nina approaches her spyhole and sees Jacob standing on her front stoop.

“Hey, sorry I am late. Traffic took longer than I thought. I tried to call but you weren’t picking up. And my key does not seem to work anymore, so that’s awesome. Anyway, I come bearing sustenance, my roguish good looks...hey…Is everything okay?"

Her hand rests on the crystal doorknob as she studies the arched front door.

“Nina, are you okay?” He nervously adds, “You want to work on the door instead? Maybe plant something outside?”

Nina slowly re-enters the house and gently closes the door. Her hands remain on the doorknob for a moment before Jacob’s anxious voice cuts through her thoughts.

“Nina, is the heating not working? It is freezing here! Where are your slippers? Your feet look blue.” As Jacob scampers up the steps, she holds her breath- waiting for him to say something about the tiny door. He doesn’t. Instead, she hears him returning with her slippers and fresh socks.

“Nina, are you okay?” She looks up at him and sees concern etched across his face.

“Yeah fine- sorry. I must have fallen asleep. I guess I am more tired than I thought.”

He gently guides her to a chair and puts on her socks and slippers. “Nina, I think you need to get checked out. You aren’t acting like yourself. I don’t care what the inspector said, maybe there is something here that is affecting you.” He softly adds, “The house will be here when you get back. Let’s just see if this is just exhaustion or something else.”

Nina feels herself nodding.

….

A week later with a clean set of blood work and indulging in homemade pancakes, Nina finds herself crawling through her broken basement window. Her keys don’t work. Praying that no one calls the police, she scampers down the wall and lands on her feet. The house is quiet.

“Are you dead?”

Standing on her toes, Nina yells back, “Yes!”

“Good. I will see you up front then.”

Moments later, Jacob grins as Nina opens the door. “NOW I believe that you didn’t change the locks on me.” Assessing the door, he comments, “It doesn’t look warped.”

Nina turns to inspect the door alongside him. She thinks about how many people have come through this threshold over the years, how many memories are locked within this house.

Jacob interrupts her thoughts, “It is just a door.”

“What? Oh, yeah, I know. But just think about all the families that have lived here. They celebrated birthdays here. They carried babies through it. They left for work every morning. It feels wrong to pretend none of that mattered”.

Jacob is eyeing the door, playing with the crystal doorknob. “It is interesting, but I just think memories travel with the people, not trapped in things.”

Nina frowns at that. Jacob didn’t mean it personally, but she prides herself on being the family archivist. Her grandfather used to say a person dies twice. The first is when they actually pass and the second when the last person who remembers them dies.

She realizes that Jacob is still speaking. “….shouldn’t feel like a museum.”

Back in the upstairs hallway, they begin to move the furniture downstairs so they can clean and begin the renovation. The small nightstand is tucked into the corner; at the last minute, Nina covers it with a plastic tarp and heads back to work.

At dusk, the sun’s final rays cast pastel shadows across the house. Jacob is sleeping on the couch. She wrestles with why the word ‘museum’ bothers her so much. It’s a sign of respect to remember the past, to feel inspired by those that came before you. The thought gnaws at her as she begins to clear the kitchen. Now that the upstairs is nearly done, she wants to focus on the kitchen next. The yellow oak cabinets and white laminate countertops absolutely need to go. Using a plastic bin, Nina begins to pack some of her appliances when she hears a soft…

Click. Click.

Two quick syllables and the kitchen grows quiet. Even Jacob’s snoring seems to grow softer, more distant.

She is holding her breath, anticipating the next click. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. The house remains quiet while the light underneath the nightstand burns brightly through the plastic. The door must be open. Nina is tempted to wake Jacob. She takes a step toward the living room when, hesitantly…

Tap…

Tap…Tap.

“Hello…anyone there?”

The stranger’s words are muffled by the tarp but Nina hears every…single…word. Panicked, Nina clutches at the plastic and tears it off the nightstand. She hears the tiny door slam shut before she can push the nightstand aside.

“One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.” Nina silently counts to herself, pleading for her heart to stop beating so loudly.

“What’s going on?”

Nina whirls around to see Jacob yawning in the doorway, gesturing to the nightstand. “You want me to move that somewhere?”

He is going to think I am crazy.

He is going to think I am crazy.

“Uh yeah, do you mind moving it to the front hall? I don't think it belongs here anymore."

Late in the evening, Nina is staring at the ceiling, counting Jacob’s breaths. Sleep eludes her but her thirst does not. She stuck to Jacob like glue after what happened in the kitchen, masking her fear with affection. It hadn’t dawned on her to grab something to drink as they retreated to the bedroom. Now with every one of Jacob’s breaths, her mouth becomes drier.

Scrounging up some courage, Nina unlocks the bedroom door and steps into the hallway. The frigid floorboards pain her bare feet, but she hardly notices. A soft amber glow brightens the downstairs foyer. The nightstand silhouette is visible against the front door. It is the first time Nina notices the resemblance. Small, golden spyhole. Arched frame. Crystal doorknob. It is almost comical that it took her this long.

Nina presses her ear up against the door; what is that, is that…no…something heavy is being moved. Whatever it is, Nina envisions the flooring getting scratched and involuntarily winces at the thought.

She gently taps on the door. Tap. Tap. Tap.

A gasp, followed by a loud thud. It sounds like curtains are being shoved around. Nina reaches for a nearby rag before wrapping her hand around the doorknob.

She sounded scared…She asked if anyone was there. Why would she ask that?

Click. Click.

Nina turns the knob and slowly opens her front door. A lavender satchel is swinging on the closet door across from her. The doors are slightly parted, and she can see the clothes still swaying slightly. The lavender is mixed with something awfully familiar- sawdust and paint fumes? Safely ensconced in her doorframe, Nina peers to the sides and sees a paint roller lying on a sheet of aluminum foil. In the distance, a ladder leans against a wall covered in tattered wallpaper.

A small sob escapes from the closet and Nina snaps her eyes back up toward it. A woman is cowering in there. She cannot see her properly, only the bedroom light reflecting off of the woman’s tear-soaked cheeks.

She’s cowering…

Nina shimmies backward into her foyer and gently closes the door. Her hands rest on the mahogany wood as the sobbing continues.

She does not want to haunt anyone, much less be haunted.

She grabs a nearby piece of paper and writes the words, “I’m sorry. I’ll leave.” and shoves it under the door as best as she can. Remembering the pliers in the kitchen, Nina scurries to retrieve them. By the time she returns, the paper has completely vanished.

Nina begins to remove the pins from the front door. She can smell the fresh morning air sneaking into the foyer as the door loosens from its hinges. She’s unable to move it very far, but she is able to prop it to the side. The morning dawn light falls into the foyer first as a deep purple, and then a golden yellow.

Jacob shuffles to the top of the stairs.

“Well, this is… Couldn’t wait for me?” he asks.

“I could have, but wanted to do it myself,” she answers, smiling.

“What do you think about planting honeysuckle outside?”