It happened on July 5th. I’ll never forget that day, nor the hangover that came with it. My eyes were swollen, glistening red. My head felt like a Metallica concert. Ugh. Why did I stay out so late? Truth be told, it wasn’t my fault. It was Rowan’s fault. She’s my girlfriend. She wanted to party. Don’t judge her. Unlike me, Rowan is very smart. She studied Biology.
My boss, who’s also my uncle, made me work that morning so he could have the entire weekend off. Needless to say, I partied my face off the night before. It was Independence Day, for Christ’s sake. What did he expect?
Uncle Ray owns Brews & Wash, a laundromat which serves alcohol. It’s located in the old part of town, where the buildings are ramshackle and derelict. The clientele is, well, suspect at best. But for the most part, they don’t bother me much.
First off, I’d never been in the basement before. It’s Off Limits. Plus, I’ve never opened the store. That’s Ray’s job. But he gave me the keys, and told me not to do anything stupid. Now don’t get me wrong, it’s an easy job. Even an idiot like me can do it. Still, it would’ve been nice if Ray had warned me about the door.
The basement is where Ray keeps the beer. Judging from the empty fridge, we’d sold a tonne of beer the day before. Like, who does laundry on the 4th?
First thing I had to do was stock up the beer fridge, so I went downstairs to the basement. It’s a good thing I’m short, or dare I say: Vertically Challenged. I had to crouch. The basement has a low ceiling, the walls are dry-laid stone. It smelled like piss and mouse droppings. Cobwebs covering every inch of the mossy walls. Ugh, I hate old basements. There was only one light bulb, dangling vicariously at the bottom of the stairs. Probably not safe.
At the bottom of the stairs was a stack of empties with fruit flies zooming in and out of soggy cardboard boxes. As I searched the basement, looking for the beer, something scurried across my foot, causing me to jump and smash my head on the low-lying ceiling. It hurt like hell, lemme tell ya. The sooner I found the beer, the better. Already, the basement was giving me the heebie-jeebies.
I turned on my phone’s flashlight, and scanned the tight quarters. Mostly, the basement was filled with junk. Soap boxes galore. Several cases of beer were stacked against the furthest wall to my right, next to the broken mop bucket. I shoved my phone into my pocket and grabbed a case, then I scooted back towards the stairs, careful not to trip on anything.
I stopped.
There was a peculiar door hidden behind the stairs, roughly four-feet tall and covered in filth. Around the handle was a derelict sign declaring DO NOT ENTER! In the middle of the door, behind a curtain of cobwebs, was a human skull. It was painted, probably red, but it’s hard to tell. It was severely faded, ravaged from time. Just looking at it creeped me out. But the door held me prisoner. I couldn’t keep my eyes off it. Attached was a sizable silver lock. Without knowing it, I was fumbling the key ring, and discovered a bazaar key shaped like a human skull. It looked extremely old. As old as the building, at least. I’ll bet that weird-looking key fits that lock.
For a moment, I stood stupidly, grappling with the key ring while balancing the beer, wondering about the DO NOT ENTER! sign.
BZZZZ.
Something buzzed, startling me. I sprang upstairs like a scared kid in a cheesy horror story.
Stupid phone. Rowan texted me, asking how I was feeling. Deeply embarrassed, I replied with a thumbs up and a series of hearts. I’ll send a proper message once I finish prepping the store. It was nearing nine o’clock, opening time. No more dilly-dallying.
Before putting my phone away, I texted Ray, asking about the strange door. Not surprisingly, Ray ignored my text. Probably still sleeping. Ray can be a jerk when he wants to be, let’s just say. But I didn’t care, I just wanted to get this shift over with so I could curl up next to Rowan and snuggle.
Fighting a sore head, I stocked the fridge, prepared the till, and did the paperwork. Ray is old, he still prefers paper over computers. Says it’s safer that way. Whatever, at least I’m getting paid extra for being here, I reminded myself. I could use the money.
I made myself a coffee, then switched the sign to OPEN, wondering who does laundry at this godforsaken hour. On this day, no less. Three cups of coffee and two restroom breaks later, I started getting antsy. My mind kept returning to the door with the DO NOT ENTER! sign. Since there were no customers, I could dash downstairs, open the door, and have a peek. I pondered this for the better part of an hour.
Still, no customers.
The key ring danced between my fingers, beckoning me, until finally, I submitted. Just a quick peek, I reminded myself.
If only I resisted. If only customers came. If only…
The stairs protested under my weight, creaking as I crept. The light from my phone made strange shadows, which skittered across the stone walls, like cockroaches. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, my heart suddenly stopped. The door was shimmering. The skull seemed alive, its empty eyes sizing me up. I fumbled the keys, dropping them. When I scooped them up, they were sticky and gross from the gooey floor, which probably hadn’t been cleaned in a hundred years.
The skull was taunting me, daring me to enter. It was pulsating. Breathing, perhaps. I knew this was impossible, that the darkness was hampering my better judgement, so I laughed, teasing myself. But damn, was I jittery.
Go on, I told myself. Can’t chicken out now. Just a peek. Maybe I’ll discover long-lost treasures. Classic baseball cards, perhaps. How cool is that? I wiped my sweaty brow, which made my face dirty. Every inch of the basement was filthy. Ugh. It’s now or never, I told myself, so before I could chicken out, I jammed the strange key into the silver lock. It clicked. The door swung over.
Thick fog wafted into the basement, which had a distinct smell, like rotten eggs. I gagged. Cautiously, crouched as low as possible, I poked my head inside the door. Just one peek, I reminded myself.
It was pitch dark, icy cold. Laggardly, I passed through the door. My heart was racing, sweat stinging my eyes. I snatched my phone and turned on the light. All I saw was fog. Disappointed, I shook my head, cursing my stupidity. Careful not to smash my head, I crept back upstairs, both relieved and disappointed.
Halfway upstairs, the door dinged. A customer! It was Maybelle, an elderly lady who does her laundry once a month. She’s nice enough. I watched her load the machines, then sit by the big bay window and start reading a paperback. She lives across the street, in an apartment complex. Once, when I asked her why she doesn’t use their facilities, she told me she liked getting out once and a while. Besides, she doesn’t trust their machines.
Panicking, I realized I hadn’t shut the basement door. Who knows what could crawl out of that tiny crevice? Cursing my existence and nursing a headache, I inched downstairs. Then I stopped. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing: Snow!
It rarely snows in my town even in the winter. But in July? In a basement? This made zero sense. The snow was wafting in from the half-opened door. My trembling hands found the key ring, while my eyes stared in bewilderment. I’d better shut the damned door before the entire basement fills with snow! I took one small step and slipped, smashing my head against the stairs. My entire body protested, especially my head, which already hurt.
Shivering and sore all over, I crawled towards the door, complaining the entire time, and slammed it shut. WOOSH. Immediately, the snowstorm ceased. When I shoved the key into the lock, however, nothing happened. The door wouldn’t lock, no matter how hard I tried. Again, I cursed myself. What on God’s green earth have I gotten myself into?
That’s when I noticed the skull. It was grinning. For a moment, I stared, mesmerized. It’s not every day you find a skull-clad door grinning back at you with a DO NOT ENTER! sign. When I jammed the key into the lock – this oughta do it! – the door spat it out. Not to be deterred, I dropped to my knees, grateful I’d worn jeans, and searched through the fresh layer of snow, but I couldn’t find the key. I went for my phone, and I dropped it too. Frustration was getting the best of me. Losing a key was one thing. My phone on the other hand…
Bewildered, I swept my hands across the icy floor until I found my phone, which was lying on top of the key. I grabbed both, then bolted upstairs. I could care less about locking the stupid door. Whatever was down there was Ray’s responsibility. Not mine.
Standing behind the counter, pretending to be busy, I fidgeted with my phone, hoping it was okay. It wasn’t. None of the apps seemed to work. Great, like I needed this. I did nothing for an hour except pout, while Maybelle neatly folded her laundry. Moments after she left, a middle-aged man entered, asking about the beer prices. When I responded, he left, shaking his head, grumbling.
As soon as the place emptied, I started shivering. It was getting colder by the minute. Automatically, I reached for my phone, and tried texting Ray again. Of course, my phone wouldn’t work. Worse, my screensaver was now a skull. Same skull as on the door. It was laughing at me.
Anger fueled my next decision. I may not be the most intimidating guy, but I’m far from wimpy. I workout regularly, and play baseball on the weekends. I can handle myself, thank-you-very-much. Time to teach whatever is down there a lesson.
Sometimes courage comes at the worst time.
I marched downstairs, keys in hand. To my surprise, the door had reopened. The basement was completely covered in snow. Two inches, at least. Shivering, I slammed the door shut, stuffed the key into the lock, and turned.
Nothing.
Heavy winds howled. The door belched a blustery storm which blew right through me, sliding me to the other end of the basement. Shocked and horrified, I dragged myself along the icy floor until I reached the door. I swear the skull was mocking my miserable existence. My body wouldn’t stop shaking. The sooner I’m out of here, the better. I decided right then and there I was gonna march upstairs, and close shop. Screw Ray. Besides, he’d be saving money, seeing as how the place was dead.
The door dinged.
Ugh. I’d better get back upstairs. It was rough going, lemme tell you. The stairs were small and slippery. I clenched the rickety handrail with all my might, careful not to smash my head, or worse, fall head-over-heels backwards. When I returned behind the counter, I was shocked to see my girlfriend standing there, arms crossed. Her eyes were confrontational. I didn’t dare speak. We had a stare-off, one I was destined to lose.
“My phone died,” I finally said, breaking the silence.
She smiled beautifully, but still, she regarded me with suspicion. Then I remembered my face was filthy, and I was a shivering mess.
“What is it?” she asked, clearly concerned.
I couldn’t lie to her, nor could I outsmart her, so I flat-out told her. “Wanna see something strange?”
She looked at me with skepticism, but nodded yes.
Hand in dirty hand, we descended into the basement.
“This makes zero sense,” she said, matter-of-factly.
Part of her face showed fear, but there was something else as well: curiosity. By now, the basement was a junk-filled hockey rink. I pointed to the door, and she gasped. She let go of my hand and glided towards the door, ducking under the stairs.
“Let’s go in,” she said, her eyes big and brown. Resistance was futile. She was always braver than me, one of the things I loved about her.
“It’s too cold,” I said through chattering teeth. Then I remembered something. “Wait here.” I scooted upstairs, to the Lost and Found bin, and rummaged through it until I found a pair of coats.
“Take this,” I said, offering her a coat.
Before I knew it, Rowan was leading me through the eerie door. “I don’t believe it,” she gasped. “What is this place?”
We walked, head down, until we came to a clearing. It was a winter wonderland! A palace made of snow. It was too dark to see much, so we crept forward, cautiously. My knees wobbled, my heart near explosion. I hated Rowan at this moment. Or perhaps, I hated her bravado. Something didn’t feel right about this place. I knew this was a bad idea.
“This is amazing,” she said, seemingly unaffected by the wintery weather. I, on the other hand, was freezing to death. The coat helped, but barely.
Something screamed.
We halted, scanning the vicinity, seeing nothing but white.
More screaming, like a million souls crying at once.
“We’re in a torture chamber,” she declared.
I was gonna rebut, when the ground below us started cracking. The ice moaned. Oh no, I thought. We’re gonna fall through. Violently, the ground jerked; I slipped and fell backwards, my hand leaving hers. She reached out, trying to save me, our fingers narrowly touching, but I ended up in a plot of snow. Then the unthinkable happened: the ground opened up and swallowed her whole.
“Row!” I cried, watching her fall through the ice. Just before she disappeared, her eyes found mine, in them I saw love. Then she was gone. I called out for her again and again, weeping. Tears froze on my ashen face. The weather was worsening. The torrent of screams more severe.
CRACK.
Belly-first, I dragged myself towards the hole in the ice, holding on for dear life. The ground around me was swelling. One more crack and I’m a goner. I reached the gap, looked down, and shuddered. Rowan was right. It was a torture chamber. Beasts, with thick mangy fur and sword-like claws, were tearing people apart, limb by limb. Blood and snow and fur collided. Mounds of bodies lay frozen, caked in crimson blood, moaning and crying. My mind couldn’t comprehend what it was seeing. There must’ve been millions of souls down there, all suffering.
Carefully, I crawled backwards toward the door, fearful it would close and I’d be trapped. My hands were blue from frostbite. The door seemed impossibly far. I didn’t think we’d walked this far. The ground crunched as I crawled. A spec of light found me, and I yelped. I was crawling on the bones of the dead.
Another scream. This one I recognized.
“Jackson! Get out while you can!”
“Row?”
My meager voice fell flat. Her words terrified me, made worse by the fact that she’s the best part of my life. I couldn’t just leave her. The whirling winds told me otherwise. My face was being pelted with ice pellets. I had to escape. Finally, I reached the door, and loped through it, slamming it shut. I jammed the key into the hole and this time it clicked. SHWOOP.
My heart was heavy. I needed to help my girlfriend before it was too late. Deep down, I knew it was already too late, but I refused to believe it. First thing I did was close the laundromat. After checking my phone (still not working), I dragged myself to the police station; I hated doing so, but I had to save Rowan. I told them everything. The dispatcher laughed and twirled her hair, chewing her bubblegum. After an hour of waiting, an officer greeted me. He was old, near retirement, and looked crabby.
I led him to the laundromat and showed him the door. By now the snow had melted, but the floor was sticky and wet. He told me to open it. I took a deep breath, then I stuck the key inside the door with the DO NOT ENTER! sign. The key snapped.
“Ah crap.”
The cop snarled.
I shrugged, trying to ignore the prying eyes of the human skull, pestering me. The officer was having none of it. Eventually, after questioning me again and again, he contacted Rowan’s parents, who were distraught. Then he contacted Ray, who was livid.
…
Fast forward a few months: Ultimately, I was relieved of any charges. For the time being, at least. Rowan never turned up. Foul play, they declared, me being the number-one suspect. Ray, who’s surveillance cameras were non-functional, fired me. We haven’t spoken since. Everyone in town looks at me funny. No doubt. They think I’m a murderer.
Missing Rowan more each day, I’ve decided to get my life straightened out (whatever that means). Yesterday, while on my way to school (I’ve been accepted into a community college), I was stopped by the same cop who questioned me earlier this summer. He was plain-clothed and looked fatally exhausted.
“I’m retired,” he said. “Follow me.”
To my surprise, he led me into a doughnut shop, ordered coffees and crullers, then sprung something remarkable on me.
“I believe you’ve found it,” he said, flatly. “The Doorway to Hell.”
I spit out my coffee, soaking him.
“Hell is cold, not hot,” he said, not bothering to wipe the coffee stains from his khaki shirt. “And I’ve spent most of my life searching for it,”
He asked me to describe it, with detail. I tried, but instead I started weeping. I’d finally gotten over the grief. Now this? He reached into his pocket, produced a small black box, and opened it. What I saw made my skin crawl: A key. It was large and silver, at its tip was a skull. The skull was grinning.