The Door Was Open

The Door Was Open… Every time, one second before she took the key out of her bag, her fingers seemed to be covered in frost, and each time it seemed certain that the yellowish metal would touch her fingers and chafe some of the skin. But when she opened the door and the empty darkness of her corridor rapidly embraced her with greed, she would feel like she was growing acquainted with her own grave. And when she would stick her hand into the darkness with the same rapidity to find the switch and turn on the light, she would once again feel assured that being alone with death would not scare her. She went quickly to the kitchen and dropped the bag full of groceries on the floor, took off her clothes and went to the bathroom. She undressed as she walked, such that her clothes lay scattered between the kitchen and the bathroom, while the fronts of her shoes faced each other near the bathroom door, looking like a pair of commas. She was in the shower when she heard the phone ringing, long and demanding. That was strange. The people who called her would often hang up after three rings, because they knew that when she was home she would rush over, sometimes running, picking up the receiver before the third ring, because she couldn’t stand hearing a phone ringing for long. The pink foam slipped over her body and the near-cold water pinched her smooth and slightly sunburned skin. She clasped her hands on the back of her neck and gave herself to the water that hugged her body… Yellow spots began to shimmer at the corners of her closed eyelids, slowly growing into bonfires… Her body began to grow warmer, and the small, tremulous waves began to crawl upwards along her sleek legs… The phone started to ring again, lasting longer than before this time. The everyday pleasure of her shower was gone – who could it be? The restored silence only sharpened her hearing, she was waiting. And when the ring burst out again (and it really felt like a burst), she pulled her fluffy bathrobe on her soapy body and jumped out. She picked up the phone and realized with unpleasant surprise that her hand was trembling. “I saw you come home. Why weren’t you picking up the phone?” It was her neighbor, a woman on the third floor. “I was taking a shower,” she tried to sound neutral, but she was wary – when was the last time this woman had called? “What’s going on?” “So you don’t know,” the voice at the other end of the line bubbled with satisfaction. “I knew it. Half the building could explode and you’d still be the last to know.” The drying soap tensed her body, and a lump formed in her throat from this unsolicited stress. She wrapped the bottom of her bathrobe around her legs, sat down on the couch and said, “So tell me.” “Of course, you have no idea that there is a serial killer in our neighborhood.” “Why would a serial killer come here?” Had she asked this most absurd of questions on purpose? “You always ruin everything and never let me tell the story properly!” the voice exploded with dissatisfaction. “Has he been around for a long time?” She tried to correct her mistake by sounding apologetic. “This is the second week already, we’re all panicking,” the voice informed her, tasting her own fear yet again, “He’s already managed to enter two apartments.” The silence stretching across both ends of the connection would suffocate her at any moment, such that she felt forced to loosen the collar of her bathrobe – there seemed to be no air left to breathe in the room. “Do you know what kinds of apartments he chooses?” the voice said smoothly. “Women living alone?” she said, unable to suppress a smile as she imagined the face at the other end, contorted with disappointment. “So you knew?” the voice said with what was almost disgust. “I had no idea, honest.” She was surprised that her voice had been able to accurately translate her own sincerity. “Well… you would’ve figured it out,” her neighbor magnanimously accepted her sincerity, then added, “Keep your door locked.” “You think he’ll come here?” She was angry, which surprised even her. “We’ve seen some suspicious shadows around our building for the past few days,” the voice had grown so serious that she thought it must be a joke, a bet of some kind made behind her back. “Who’s seen him?” She had grown indifferent. “Does it matter? What matters is that he’s been seen,” the voice scolded. “In the middle of the night… towards dawn… someone has gotten up to drink water and has seen him… someone else has had insomnia and has stepped out into the balcony and seen him… Naked above the waist with eyes that glow in the dark, they say… like a cat’s.” The voice faded away, faded and dissolved into the woman’s accelerated breathing. And the room filled with the nightmare from the night before… She had been tossing around in the heat that previous night. It was very late when she had finally fallen asleep, but she awoke drenched in sweat just an hour later, her tongue feeling heavy and tasting of bile. Her eyes shut, groping the walls, she made it to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door and sat down on the floor in front of it. Her hands made the familiar move to grab the bottle of water, and the cold water—with the pieces of ice floating in it—was unpleasant at first, she thought that lukewarm water would perhaps have been better. Her hand shot out again and grabbed a strawberry from a plate, which she brought up to her nose – the barely noticeable aroma had a trace of coolness in it. She crushed the strawberry and threw it back into the plate, slammed the door shut loudly and began to lick her reddened fingers. She got up from the floor, eyes still closed, and went to the bedroom, but swerved before she got to her bed towards the open door that led to the balcony. The wind didn’t even offer a distant presence that night. She was about to draw the curtain back and step out into the balcony when something held her back. She didn’t understand what it was, but the fear that was born inside her rendered her immobile with anticipation. The room, the heat and the night all filled with the same expectation. With eyes half-closed, so that her sleep would not slip away for good, she tried to look at the other side of the curtains, where there was darkness, but… was there only darkness? She shrugged her shoulders and reached out for the curtain. The immobile fear within her frowned in warning – where are you going? On the other side of the curtains, there was the heat of the night, but… was there only heat? She turned around and dropped into bed as the starched sheets crinkled in complaint. It was only when she lay in bed that she realized – her heart was beating so fast it was like it had come to a standstill. The yellow spots that sparked at the corners of her eyelids fused with each other and suddenly turned into the outline of a person standing there, on the other side of the curtain. She jumped, sat up in bed and looked at the near-black wall with eyes wide open. The same outline could be seen on the wall. At that moment, the room began to fill with the breathing of the person standing on the other side of the curtain, calm and even… Breathing so calm that it provoked terror, breathing so even that it caused goosebumps. A moment later, she was near the door, lurking in a shadow as she examined the darkness through a gap in the curtain. She went back and forth several times before she began to focus her attention on a tree on the opposite sidewalk. She couldn’t see anything, but the breathing of the person there (she no longer doubted this) began to grow even more frequent. Her eyes began to burn, then teared up, and when the yellow spots hidden in the depths of her eyelids began to scald her pupils… someone seemed to float out of the darkness. She only managed to see his body, naked above the waist, and the light shining in his eyes. A second later, the darkness absorbed him once again, and his breathing was lost. It was in her dream that she saw his straight, powerful shoulders, his muscular neck… there was something monstrous about the body that had floated out of the darkness, causing terror and pleasure that enveloped one in equal portions of goosebumps. And the powerlessness born of these two suggested with disdain that one would probably not resist his bloody sigh in the dark… She had woken up later than usual, and the previous night had seemed like a nightmare born from the heat. “What happened? Say something. Hello, hello…” the neighbor’s voice barely managed to break through the fever that had enveloped her, and it burst in her temples. “What could have happened? I’m here, why are you panicking?” She said unapologetically. “I’ve been sitting here for an hour trying to get you to make a sound, but there’s been no reaction… I’m panicking, she says,” the voice seemed to be genuinely upset. “I’m sorry, I… the phone connection had been interrupted… perhaps.” “The phone?” the voice grew milder. “Yes, it’s possible. What was I saying? Ah, yes. So the strange thing is that when he enters a house, the doors and locks remain intact.” “So what trace does he leave, is it…” “Just blood,” the voice warned, almost with hostility, “He does it with a blade… He rips the body apart after he has his fun with it. They say that, in both cases, he performs his task with perfection. Ah, my little one is here, I have to go to the kitchen. My point is this – being extra careful won’t do you any harm.” “I’ll use both locks on the door,” she said as a final peace offering, and threw down the receiver, “Phew…” The evening had been irreversibly ruined. She had a dinner of sorts and tried to get some work done, but failed. She switched the television off just as soon as she had switched it on. Then she went from room to room, aimlessly, without a thought in her head, the bottom of her bathrobe flowing, her soapy body tense and inaudibly rustling. Then she curled up in the couch and fell asleep, with someone’s calm and even breathing in her ear. The darkness appeared in her dream, and then someone’s body floated out of it, naked from the waist up. There was a monstrous power within that body, a beast that devoured itself with pleasure, ready at any moment to sink its claws into another body and feel the bloody pulsation of hot arteries in its nostrils. But that force also had powerful shoulders, a muscular neck, a sinewy body that could lose itself in a wave of mad passion, turning into a wave itself, driven insane by the aroma of love’s moon juice. And the fear trembling within the woman calmed down and writhed with pleasure. …the long ringing of the phone in the silence of the night felt like claws that were being dug into her temples. “What’s wrong with you? Why did it take you so long to get to the phone?” The neighbor’s voice seemed to have a genuine note of concern in it. “What time is it?” Had she asked this most unsuitable of questions on purpose? “You’ve decided to drive me crazy,” the voice resigned itself. “Have you closed your doors and windows?” “Quite the contrary,” she said and laughed – it was such a good laugh, girlish and sonorous. “Good job,” the voice grew jovial, “It’s three in the morning.” And it faded into the silence of the night. The room swayed sleepily in the heat of the night. Without looking around her, she went into the bedroom and stretched out on the starched and rustling bedsheets, inaudibly swearing at her neighbor. Her swearing began to gradually adopt a certain rhythm and pace, which surprisingly calmed her down. As was her custom, she curled herself up into a ball and closed her eyes. The calm and even breathing came inside from the balcony and seized the room. She dug her head into her pillow, but not only did the breathing grow more audible, it began to lose its uniformity, its intermittent sighing moving the curtain, insignificantly at first, and then in waves. She got up from the bed and carefully went to the bathroom, throwing the bathrobe off along the way, while the slippers she left at the bathroom door, turned away from each other as if not on speaking terms, looked like a pair of semi-colons. She stood below the shower and opened the hot water faucet to its fullest. The water hit her body and washed away the scales of dried soap, and the shackles of secret shivering that had imprisoned her body for years. And when her body was freed of the last of the shackles and it palpitated with a trace of dark blood, the water stopped flowing. She left the bathroom and went to the bedroom. The breathing was no longer on the other side of the curtain. Clouds had appeared on one side of the sky and a slight breeze was picking up, there was nothing else. She breathed the smell of a waking day for a few minutes, then went back inside. The fear within her, eyes watching the door of the corridor, looked with anticipation – should I stay, or disappear? She smiled, put her finger to her lips, “Shhh” and reached out for the key, unafraid for the first time that the skin of her fingers would chafe when she touched the metal. And when she opened the door, the feeling of her own grave, which had grown so familiar to her, was gone.