My name is Magda and when I was seven my brother and I discovered a door in the basement of our house that had not been there before. This is a story of the door.
Daddy was an angry man and mommy was overflowing with sorrow. My brother and I tried to keep quiet around daddy. No giggling, shouting, or even lively talking. My brother was three years younger and, being so tiny and fresh to life, he forgot to keep quiet. I would clamp my hand across his mouth but it was usually to late. Daddy, like a massive hurricane, would rip us apart and unclasp his belt in a quick, seamless maneuver. I begged daddy to beat me and not my brother. Daddy abided by my pleas. As the belt lashed me I could see mommy standing very stony and still through my curtain of tears. Mommy, I decided, was a useless statute.
When daddy had squeezed out all his anger he would release me, collapse onto the couch and mommy would bring him his coveted whiskey. I grabbed my brother and we hid in the basement where the darkness covered us in a shroud of protection.
One evening, we discovered the door. It glowed around the edges. Light poured into the basement like thick honey. My brother wanted to open the door.
“Don’t you dare, David Jack. Don’t you dare.”
“Pleeeaaassee, Magda. Go someplace. Go from here.” I could see, even in the darkness, David Jack’s wet eyes.
“It may not be an escape. It may be a trap. A terrible, terrible trap,” I said.
“Fun,” said David Jack.
“It may be hell.” I pulled David Jack into the corner of the basement and we spent the rest of the time staring at and wondering about the door.
Every time we hid in the basement, the door was there. There was always golden light chopping the dull darkness. When I was seventeen and David Jack was fourteen, we hid in the basement. Daddy was busy breaking chairs and screaming at mommy.
“I’m going in,” David Jack announced. He opened the door and the light lit him brighter than the full moon. He stepped in and the door closed. When the door closed, the door disappeared. I screamed for David Jack and then fell in a pitiful, teary lump on the dusty floor. After some time, I heard mommy yelling. Horrible yelling. Daddy was saying, no, no, no. Over and over. I went upstairs. Mommy and daddy were standing before the hall bathroom. I rushed forward. David Jack was in an empty bathtub. His wrists were slit. The bathtub was slimy and slick with blood.
“I told you, David Jack,” I said out loud. “I told you the door wasn’t an escape. There is no escape in this world.”
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