Tuesday, June 23, 2009

behind door number 3

sometimes when i come home late at night when the moon is high and i am alone, i enter the building and feel the last vestiges of the pleasant evening crumble away into the quiet in anticipation of the end. my shoes clap against the tile, reverberate into the silence which seems to edge back, but little.

i stop in front of the bank of elevators. they are presumably empty, these elevators. that they are waiting is certain: pregnant with the expectation that i or somebody else will come and they will submit to our proddings and reveal their insides, mirrored to show reflections of us in grotesque parody.

as it stands, i don't push the button just yet, because i am not convinced there is nothing behind these doors. i know that the world is full of surprises, and not all of them are pleasant. i hesitate, knowing that tonight, as on other nights, there is evil waiting in the elevators, waiting to play the shell game for keeps.

there are three elevators of course. and all of the doors are closed. all three sit waiting for me to press the button to open the doors. inside one there is someone crouched below the mirrors lying in wait. there is a bottle in one hand, a cloth in the other, and the longing for murder in his heart. the knife lies close to it, beating in time. he will use it when he is away from the elevators: he'd like to use this net a few more times yet.

now our hearts pound in unison. he is anxious with anticipation: will my door open? will this be the one? he had heard me enter the building and my feet clap against the tiles. he knows i'm here. he knows that if he is patient, if he is lucky the prize will come to him.

and what's behind door number three? i ask myself. i feel too afraid to press the button now. i am not a lucky girl. monty hall is not here to support me. it's only four floors, i remind myself, and fortune favours the stairs.

as for him: he hears my retreat but does not move. he is content to wait, and see, if somebody else will press the button, press their luck; he'll just see if their number comes up.


  1. I'm going to lend you Dance, Dance, Dance the next time I see you :)


  2. hey corry: sounds like a good idea. does the book have any relationship to elevators? :)