As a young child, I spent much of my time at my Grandma’s house while my parents worked. I used to always explore new and unfamiliar places, trying to discover the secrets they held within. But maybe that was my greatest flaw. After all, curiosity killed the cat.

I remember the day when I had found it. After wandering around my Grandma’s house for what seemed like the first time, I had stumbled across a door. The other rooms in the house radiated warmth and welcome, but this door, unlike all the rest, seemed cold and out of place. It wasn’t anything about the door physically. It looked just like all the rest, with its slightly chipped white paint and dull silver doorknob. However, there was something about the way it stood there, firmly shut, as if cautioning anyone nearby not to disturb its presence. But I didn’t listen to its caution.

I stepped closer to the door, and the air around me seemed to drop in temperature as the sun went behind the clouds, as if too afraid to watch. I usually felt exhilarated while exploring, but as the distance between my hand and the doorknob lessened, I felt almost afraid of what I might find. But there was nothing terrifying about a door. Or so I had thought.

A shiver was sent up my arm when I touched the doorknob. The metal was cold in my sweaty palm, and I clutched on it tightly as I tried to turn it, without any success. It seemed stiffly cemented in place, as if it had become familiar with being unopened. Just as I placed my hand back on the handle and attempted to turn it, this time with more strength, I heard a voice from behind me.

“Stop!” It shouted abruptly through the suspense. I swung my head around to see the source of the voice. And there, standing only metres away from me, was my Grandma, who seemed extremely flustered by the scene that laid before her. I removed my hand from the door handle, with the impression that I was somehow in the wrong by just being here. I stepped away from the door and looked at my Grandma, who was completely speechless with shock, as if this was the last thing she expected to see when she walked down the hallway.

Her eyes scanned the door, as if to ensure that I hadn’t managed to open it while I was left unattended. She turned to face me, eyes wide. But where I expected to see anger. I saw something else. I think it was fear.

Her voice was adamant, yet slightly shaking, as she told me never to go near that door again, and despite being intrigued, I had a feeling that I shouldn’t question it. I think it had been her frightened eyes, which were round with alarm, that pleaded me to listen to their warning. I nodded and my eyes fell the floor. At the time, I had been disappointed that I hadn’t discovered what dwelled behind that door.

My Grandma let out a quiet sigh of relief, as if she had narrowly avoided a disaster. “Come on.”, she mumbled, before placing a hand tentatively on my back and leading me down the hallway toward the kitchen. But while she was distracted, I snuck a glimpse back at the door, as if expecting something to have changed, but it just stood there, tightly locked in place.

My Grandma didn’t leave my side for the rest of the day, until finally, my parents arrived to take me home. When I was about to leave, my Grandma lent down to give me a hug, but it didn’t feel as warm as it usually did. I could tell that despite the smile, she was somewhere else entirely. Her eyes seemed slightly glazed over, as if her mind was distant, far from the what was occurring in reality.