Monday 1 April 2013

Cellar Door

(A writing prompt from Write on the Edge)

Monsters live in cellars.    All children know this.    It's true of most cellars, but it is particularly true of cellars in old houses, cellars with uneven stone stairs and lighting that works only intermittently; cellars with odd corners and more than one room, and cobwebs piled up so thickly in the corners they look like ghosts' furniture or albino shadows.  Those cellars are always the haunt of monsters and they should not be carelessly explored except for the dullest of purposes and certainly not alone.

Cellar doors therefore are important.   Cellar doors are the boundary between one world and another, the world of television and electric light and games consoles on one side, and shadows and whispers and things moving out of sight and dusty smells  that come and go of their own accord on the other.    Boundaries are special.   Boundaries with sturdy locks are both special and sensible.

My cellar door was everything it should have been.  I crept up to it often, the smell of the house changing near it, an old smell of not-quite-damp and not-quite-clean that made my skin crawl.   It looked perfect, thick and sturdy, chunky and old and blocky.   The paint was old and cracked and had come off in places so you could see the layers of different colours like geological strata - gloss green, sickly yellow, off-white, faux-wood brown.    It was like a scarred face, and never looked the same twice.   The hinges were clunky iron  things that could withstand sledgehammer blows.   I was glad about that.

I'd press my ears to the wood and listen.   At times I was sure that I could hear movement beyond it.   Footsteps.   The hint of voices whispering -too quiet for me to be sure, far too quiet to make out words.  I'd lay awake at night and wonder what on earth they could talk about beyond the cellar door.

I didn't tell my parents.  They were practical and sensible and they would have dismissed my thoughts as mere imagination.    When they caught me with my ear pressed to the cellar door I was told not to waste my time, and not to go exploring by myself as it was dangerous.    They were probably worried about me falling, or breaking something, or any number of mundane accidents.   But I knew it was far more dangerous than that, and I was never really tempted to open the cellar door.

Until... 

Until one day when I was absolutely sure I heard a voice.  Not a whisper or a hint, but an actual voice.   A girl's voice, and she was singing.   My heart pounded in mingled panic and exhilaration.    I listened, enraptured for several minutes and then it simply stopped, and before I could do anything foolish my mother called me to eat and I left the door, and the song behind me.

After dinner though I crept back and pressed my ear against the scarred paint and closed my eyes, willing myself to hear the mysterious song from beyond one more time.  
And it was there.  It was faint but there.   And I knew that I could not ignore it any more, knew that in every life there comes a moment when the unknown must be faced.    I had never even tried to open the cellar door before, not once.   But now, with the song still faintly sounding from beyond, and heedless of the consequences I touched the iron handle.  It was cold, and it was solid and it was real, and I knew there would be no going back.
Holding my breath I turned the handle and the cellar door opened.   I did not look back at the safe, normal, secure world I knew.  I stepped through the door and into the house above in search of songs and a strange new world of sunlight and mystery.

20 comments:

  1. I like the way you gave us the unexpected with the contrast of "house above" and "sunlight," rather than what we've come to know (and fear) of cellars - while leaving the reader to wonder if all the fears are what brought the child to that place of mystery.

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    1. Thank you - I appreciate the feedback and I'm glad I could leave you with a few things to wonder about

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  2. I loved how clear it was that the cellar door was to someplace else. And I truly enjoyed the first paragraph, especially the first two lines.

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    1. Excellent, thank you. I always like to know what works.

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  3. I love the way you slid the perspective around and jostled the reader at the end. I went back to re-read a couple of times to see the different ways it could be interpreted.

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    1. Exactly the response I was hoping for, thank you. Glad it worked.

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  4. I love the twist here! It makes me curious now-about who, or what-might be hiding in my own cellar! ;)

    And "cobwebs piled up so thickly in the corners they look like ghosts' furniture or albino shadows." Wonderfully descriptive language!

    Great piece!!

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    1. You're very kind, I'm glad you liked the description. Be careful when you go exploring... They are very shy, but only up to a point.

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  5. That last paragraph can be taken in so many different directions. My grandpa had a cellar that I felt this way about.
    You have painted a real picture with your words.
    Katie atBankerchick Scratchings

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    1. Thanks for the feedback, I'm glad you liked the picture.

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  6. You captured well the creepiness of the cellar. The only problem...I wasn't done yet! Your description is phenomenal.

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    1. Thank you Stacey, I'm glad it worked for you. I'll work on solving that problem for you :D There may be more stories to tell here.

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  7. Excellent setting up the mood of the story. I like the symbol of the door as a boundary to be challenged. Well done!

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    1. Glad you liked it, thanks for the comment

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  8. I like how you compare cellar doors as a boundary to another world. Also love the different layers of paint and how they look like a scarred face.

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    1. So glad you liked it - I wanted to make the door a striking example of a boundary and I'm glad it worked

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  9. The house above- that's what really sold it. Fantastic descriptions

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    1. Thanks Megan I'm glad you liked the story

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  10. Just came to visit after you left such a kind comment on my blog. I've been sitting here, reading and re-reading this story as it brought back a terrifying memory from my childhood that involved a cellar door, something I had not thought about in years.

    Had I stepped through that door of so many years ago, only darkness and misery would have been waiting on the other side. Sometimes, even as children, we make the right choices.

    Well done!

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    1. Thanks for commenting Patty, I hope my story wasn't too much of a reminder of anything better left in the dark.

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