Sunday, January 31, 2010


One more from my 6s account,

I wondered if maybe the doorway was warped, once I replaced the heavy old cracked door with a new lighter one and it continued to swing open and closed at its convenience (or more precisely my inconvenience).

I woke one night, to hear “s” and “p” sounds cracking from below the hum of the wee-hour darkness that painted my room. I couldn’t make out the words, though the quiet conversation--or at least half of a conversation--was occurring not more than three feet from my ear.

My voice resisted for several hyperventilated attempts before it finally mustered, in a cowardly faux baritone, “Hello?”

The whisperer ceased in mid-sentence, then a drumroll of what sounded like very small feet trilled against the floor and out the doorway, the door opening itself as usual.

As my heart swung back-and-forth from chest to shoulder blade, my darker half joked, “At least I don’t need to buy another door.”

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