A Closed Door

📅 Published on February 11, 2021

“A Closed Door”

Written by Geoff Woodbridge
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).

🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available

ESTIMATED READING TIME — 8 minutes

Rating: 10.00/10. From 2 votes.
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He stood in front of the huge black Edwardian door awaiting an answer. The frosty morning air crept closer into his bones sending a shiver down his spine. He’d regretted that Christmas hair cut the minute the clippers touched his neck. His head now felt numb with cold. He pulled this scarf closer to his face as wintry breath made a hazy mist. The door opened. Fran stood there in a long cream-colored woolen housecoat. Her long copper hair clinging to her porcelain face. Her green eyes were red sore from the tears but they smiled independently of her lips. She looked beautiful. James stepped forward, climbed the steps to the doorway and held her tight, pressing his face against her chest, hearing her heart pounding. He loved her, but they had always only been friends, ever since they first met at University in Edinburgh some years earlier; it all seemed like a lifetime ago.

‘I can’t believe he’s gone, Jim,’ she said, closing the door behind him.

‘I’m sorry, and I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you. It must have been awful.’

‘We all tried to help him, but he wasn’t interested. He was obsessed and wouldn’t listen to sense. I’ve tried going over things in my head, over and over, but I should have tried harder to make him listen’

‘You tried, Fran. Nothing could have helped.’ James took off his coat, dropping it over the arm of the chair in the hallway. The house was an Edwardian Terrace and probably worth a fortune. It was Fran’s parents’ home. They’d threatened to sell up and buy something smaller but with the current state of the market, they left Fran in charge while they spent the frosty months soaking up the winter sun in the Balearics.

‘Do you want to watch his diary? His last words?’ she asked. James nodded hesitantly.

The room was a mess and a total contrast to the rest of the house, which was immaculate throughout with antique furniture, grand paintings and expensive-looking vases, complimentary to its period. There were several empty pizza boxes containing stale crusts and slices of what looked like it was once tomato. DVD disks, magazines, unwashed clothes and beer cans were scattered across the floor creating a carpet of trash. The room had a musty thick odor, sweet and pungent. His bed was unmade with sheets turning a dull shade of grey from their original Egyptian White. Clothes fell out of the wardrobe like a single entity clinging to the floor, pulling itself to safety. Whether this was a statement of his disinterest and rebellion against his parents, a cry for help, or just plain and simple laziness, it was a mess and it smelt bad. Amongst the chaos, in the center of the room sat a gleaming silver laptop, its logo pulsing with light as it promoted its own existence.

James approached the laptop, lifting the lid. A chime sang out as it sprung to life.

‘It’s on the desktop. I can’t watch it again. I’ll get us some coffee.’ Fran said, backing out of the room, closing the door.

There were a few icons on the desktop of the laptop. Various software applications, ‘Things to do’, ‘documents’, a media file called ‘il campo’ and another by the name ‘last words’. James highlighted the file and hit the double click. Toby’s face appeared. He looked older, tired, unwashed, and frankly, a mess. James remembered Fran’s younger brother as always being full of life. A strong, athletic, confident chap; honest and trustworthy. Flame red hair and a square jaw. A great person to meet, and could always be seen as he held court, the center of attention at any party. But here, on the laptop, he looked like he’d had the life and soul sucked out of him; his eyes were black and tired, his hair lank and dirty. His skin looked washed out and grey. James watched the screen.

This is my last entry. I wanted to make a document, a recording of what had happened as a word of warning, and to explain to my friends and family as to why I acted in such a manner. It’s difficult for me to express my feelings right now as my mind is only in one place and it’s very difficult to get out of my head.

I’ll start at the beginning, where all good stories begin. It was Stuart who introduced me to her. I’d been visiting my old friend, Stuart. In the past, he’d always been stable, safe and solid in his relationship. He’d had some problems at home, recently split with his girlfriend and on top of this, lost his office job. We’d had a few drinks and had been chatting for some time. ‘Toby, I need to show you something’ he’d said. I smiled, but he was serious. In fact, I’d never seen this expression before, it was a look of guilt and terror and frankly, it scared me. We went into his study, a large room lit by a small lamp and the light from his computer. He showed me a video, he told me he couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t get the image out of his head. It was an obsession. I took the chair and sat at the desk and watched as the film began to play.

It was a park. A beautiful sunny day with beams of light flashing through the branches and openings of leafy trees. There was a young child, in a white Victorian dress holding balloons in one hand, and the other held the hand of an old man dressed in a black suit with a huge mustache. There was a child riding a red chopper bike, wearing a Six Million Dollar Man T-shirt, Two girls threw a Frisbee to one another, hot-pants and permed hair. A band played brass instruments dressed in military attire. It was colorful and beautiful, almost blinding and I could feel the warmth from the sun. Then the film showed a woman on a bench. She sat watching the world, with a smile of love and contentment. She was beautiful. Dark hair, like chocolate shaving curls, hanging around her shoulders, her olive skin soaking up the sun’s rays. Full lips, round cheeks and large dark eyes making her beautiful face as perfect as could be. The film focused on this woman, getting closer and closer. She seemed oblivious to whoever had the camera, instead, watching people go by, enjoying the weather, with joy and happiness. People on roller-boots, a dog wagging its tail, a child on a penny-farthing, a girl jogging listening to a Walkman, and in the sky, an air balloon passed by with a man in a wicker basket raising a glass of champagne as a toast. They were there for her and she watched and soaked them all in. The camera got closer and closer until all that could be seen was her eye.

I couldn’t take my eyes from the screen; it was a collection of magical images, people from a different time and place, brought together for this one moment. Realizing my mouth was open, eyes as wide as they had ever been, I looked over at Stuart. His head was in his hands, crying with despair. The screen pulled me away from my friend and once more, I was with her, watching her face, feeling her sunny emotion. Then it ended. The screen went blank and it was over. I gasped and immediately went to hit the play button again. Stuart grabbed my wrist. ‘I’m sorry. I needed to know if this would have the same effect on you as it’s had on me. I can’t think straight. She’s all I can think about, but she’s a closed door, Toby. She’ll never let you in.’

I held him in my arms as he sobbed, my T-shirt wet with tears. I put the outpouring of emotion down to the gin and cleaned my friend up; tissues and a coffee before bidding farewell. Although, not before sneakily copying the media file to my Smart Phone. That was the worst thing I could have done. On the bus home, I watched the file again on the small 3” screen, ear-piece firmly in place, I could hear birds chirping like I was there in the park. I could hear the chain of the bicycle and a swoosh as the child rode past. I could hear the laughter and joyful cries as people played; the sound of happiness and love. But the file had changed, evolved with characters moving differently. The girls in hot-pants were now on the far side of the park, replaced by a young boy on grey shorts and sturdy boots, hands in the air, gazing up at the blue sky, trying to catch the sun. The woman still watched from the bench. She was gazing at me from the screen. I could hear her breathe. Her chest rising as she took each breath, her heart beating, pounding in my ears. Then I was aligned and my heart beat to the same tempo and rhythm and we became one and I could feel warmth on my own skin as it shone down onto her own.

I was jolted to a halt, as a hand grabbed my shoulder. Two police officers lifted me from the empty bus. The driver, a Polish man pointed and shouted things from behind them. They explained it was the end of the route and wanted to know why I refused to leave the bus. I was confused. They searched my pockets for drugs and after no result, sent me on my way with a shove.

I watched the file later that night, the following morning, and every opportunity from that moment on. My girlfriend had left numerous voice messages for me after I’d forgotten to turn up for our anniversary meal. They changed from concern and distress to upset, anger and abuse. Each time I listened but the words passed by and my thoughts were in the park and with her. I spent several weeks walking through the parks in the city, looking for a bench or a sign to find the exact place and location of the film. Would she still be there? I dreamed of finding the park and walking amongst the roller-skaters, the dog walkers, the child with balloons and the woman on the bench. I would take a seat and we would talk, I would charm her and she would love me and we would spend every day together, enjoying life, happiness and the park. Then I would wake up to the reality. I’d lost my job, as I’d neglected to turn up for weeks. My money was running out. I’d become hungry and lonely and the file didn’t seem to glow like it did before. It was strange. The park seemed less busy, with fewer people playing ball, stray dogs running across the grass, desecrating and barking at the child with deflated balloons. It seemed cold; the few people left were wrapped up. Scarves and woolen hats, bitter-cold winds, frost even. She was still on the bench. Her smile, her eyes and beauty, still pulled me in and kept me captivated and alive.

It’s only now that I can see that I cannot go on like this. I cannot live like this as it’s destroying my life. I can’t go on with people ringing and pestering me on the phone, Fran knocking on my door all of the time and the hunger in my belly is unbearable. My skin itches and I have this pain in my head. I just need to be with her, I would be safe and free from the world and this pain.

James watched the screen in horror as Toby raised a knife to his throat and opened up a river of blood, which sprayed out with force, a torrent of life pouring from his neck, pumping and flowing as Toby smiled into the camera, drifting away to another world. It was the last thing that James was expecting to see.

‘Jesus Christ’ James whispered. The file ended. James hit the x in the corner of the screen wishing he could close the image in his own head just as easily and slammed the lid shut. He could feel his own heart beating fast now. Pulling his sweater over his head, his t-shirt underneath was soaked through with sweat from panic and terror. He took a few deep breaths, still staring around the room at the mess he was sitting in, and noticed the bloodstains on the floor deep in the wood grain. He touched his finger-tips across the floorboard. There were some light splatters across the silver laptop. He lifted the lid, noticing specs of blood on the screen and keyboard. Then, he looked at the other icons on the desktop. ‘il campo.’ He could hear himself say as he moved the cursor and double-clicked the file and began to watch the view of a park.

Rating: 10.00/10. From 2 votes.
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🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available


Written by Geoff Woodbridge
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

🔔 More stories from author: Geoff Woodbridge


Publisher's Notes: N/A

Author's Notes: N/A

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Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).

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