After the heart attack, Knobs woke up as a doorknob. As much as he cried and mouthed help, the keybearers crammed their keys in his mouth, locked and unlocked his deadbolt, and used the doorway—sometimes with a slam.

He cried for a long time, thinking that one day, a key bearer would understand that they needed to unscrew the poor lock from the door, oil up his rusty parts, and find a way to help him back to the world of the living.

Though no one can wait forever and doorknobs serve but one function. The time for crying passed. Knobs finally shut his mouth.

Later that day, a keybearer walked up to the door confused. They pulled on the knob and fingered the metal all around before saying, “Blasted little thing. I must be losing it. Hey, Drake, wasn’t there a keyhole in this door?”