text: Rebecca swung her legs out of bed and blindly stumbled through what she could have sworn to be a sea of dirty clothing. She used her arms as if they were the sweeping canes of a blind person crossing a street, if that street was a bedroom and if blindness meant the light was turned off. It occurred to Rebecca as the heavy fog of sleep loosened it's grip on her brain that this was a lot of work just to use the bathroom. Finally reaching the hallway, she groped the wall in the general vicinity of which she knew the light switch to be. It took almost a full two minutes for her eyes to adjust to the new arrangement she had made with the bulb hanging from the ceiling. The lack of casing around the fixture wasn't making the adjustment any smoother. Rebecca wasn't materialistic, she didn't take much interest in the appearance of non-sentient, inanimate objects. When she finally opened her eyes all the way, Rebecca, still laden with sleep-brain, was taken aback by the two doors. *Only* because there's only ever been one door across the hall from her bedroom. The first time Rebecca had seen the Black Door, she had been rushing to get ready for work just as the sun was creeping up in it's early-morning way, and it had been half the size it was now, stationed at the end of the hallway on a blank wall. The apartment next door had been on the other side of that specific wall, so she thought it was quite an odd choice of the door to make. She thought this, of course, after she had finished having a panic attack that caused her to run to her bedroom and slam the door. She did *that*, of course, after having stared at the door for several minutes, wondering if she was having a psychotic break. There stood the brown bathroom door she knew and loved, in all of it's warped and cracked glory. Standing in contrast to the Black Door on its left, the *modesty* of it made it fit right in with the yellowed, peeling wallpaper it made it's home in. The bathroom door knew it's place, it didn't try to be something it's wasn't. It was subtle. It was dependable. It was for functionality, not for show. It didn't vie for Rebecca's attention like this-this-this *intruder*. The shiny Black Door was silently screaming to her, it's frame mere inches away from the bathroom door's frame and a full foot taller. It was desperate. It was begging to be opened. Rebecca could feel it's longing in the depths of her chest. She could feel the weight pressing down on her lungs, quickening her breathing, her heart beating faster in turn. She was fully awake now. She didn't know if this Door was real, and if it was, she didn't know what it's intentions were. Could Doors have intentions? She didn't know. There were a lot of things regarding the Door that she didn't quite understand, most of all it's very existence. Rebecca came to the conclusion that the best thing to do was ignore it. This is the second time she'd seen the door, albeit the first time being several months ago. Now she was absolutely sure that this was an issue that needed to be brought to the attention of a trained professional. She didn't feel any shame admitting that she needed help, there's nothing wrong with trying to improve one's self. This was the sort of mantra she repeated to herself as she nervously edged right, around to the left side of the bathroom door. If anything, this whole exchange with the Door only made her have to pee more. Once finished, she washed her hands and crossed the hall without turning around to look at the Black Door. Despite the rise in temperature it would cause, she decided to close the bedroom door. Once through the threshold, her bedroom opened left and her bed sat in the opposite corner. If she left it opened, the angle would be perfect for her to stare at the Door all night. Adversely, the Door would have a perfect view of her as well. However, all of these preemptive strikes didn't matter, Rebecca found. As she closed the bedroom door she snuck a peek and much to her surprise, the Black Door had vanished. ... After several weeks of cheap therapy, dwindling nightmares and no appearances from the Black Door, Rebecca was starting to believe the prognosis that she was simply 'over-worked and over-stressed.' It was almost laughable that she had been so frazzled by a *DOOR*. It didn't even *do anything*, she reminded herself. Which some might argue, is the most sinister bit about the whole business. She arrived back at her building thinking it all behind her, but something was making her arm and neck hair stand at attention as she walked through the first floor towards the stairs. The hallway seemed... off. Rebecca couldn't quite put her finger on it and she slowed her pace.. She furrowed her brow. The hallway was longer. She realized the hallway was longer and her breath stopped short, because it wasn't longer by much, there was only one...extra...door. Her ears rang as she sprinted past the door, shoulder grinding along the wall opposite so she could be as far out of reach as possible, her footsteps echoed like thunder off of the twisting metal staircase, her eyes scanned every door she passed as she ran down her hall to her apartment. She used shaking hands to desperately fumble with her keys and she looked back and forth, not knowing why she was so afraid, not knowing what she was watching out for, only thinking of getting inside and calling her therapist. After what to Rebecca like 10 minutes she finally got inside, slammed the door and fell against it with eyes closed. After a moment, she thought about what she was going to say to Dr. Werren. She knew how many apartments are in her building, of course she did, they're all numbered. *This* door, this door didn't have a number on it. What she couldn't understand, however, is why the door wasn't black. It was a gray metal door just like the rest of the doors. She wondered if it was even a Door at all, if maybe she hadn't just made a mistake and jumped to an irrational conclusion. Perhaps the number had fallen off. She thought that maybe she should go back and look at the door, she thought she owed it to herself to follow through on her therapists suggestion to rationalize fear. Rebecca stood, still leaning her weight against the door. She ran her hand through her hair, she took a few deep breaths. She wasn't so proud that she couldn't admit that a few nervous, relieved laughs escaped. She probably looked like a crazy lady. Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden sharp rapping on the very door she leaned on. This startled her but she knew the human interaction would re-ground her in reality. As she simultaneously asked who it was and turned around, she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the scream that erupted not a second after her eyes fell upon the Black Door. The front door to Rebecca's apartment was gone. In it's place stood the Black Door, holding the same dimensions as the space's previous occupant. Hand still over her mouth, Rebecca slowly backed away while tears formed in her eyes. It dawned on her that every time she had seen the Black Door, the hinges were visible. When one enters a room, the door swings away from them, into the room. She realized this means that whatever the Black Door separates, she was on the inside of it. It appeared that the Door had grown tired of waiting. The Door was no longer trying to catch Rebecca's attention, the Door was no longer giving Rebecca the luxury of ignorance. Rebecca lived on the 5th floor, the bottom panes of the tall windows were purposely painted shut. For the first time since moving in, she cursed herself for not spending the extra money on a nicer place. She didn't know when it had happened, but she now saw that the outside of the windows were pitch black despite it being the middle of the day. She whipped her head back and forth looking for any way out. Another quick rapping. Harder this time. Something wanted to be let in. It was running out of patience. Rebecca ran down the hallway to the opposite end of her apartment, which suddenly felt very, very small to her. She pounded on the wall with her palm, yelling for help, yelling for the police to be called. Ironically, this was the very same space that the Door sat in the first time she saw it. She yelled that there was a fire, she yelled that she was suicidal, she yelled that she was going to fucking blow all of you fuckers to hell, she'd kill you all. No matter what she claimed there was no response. No matter how long she yelled, nobody came to her aid. The Black Door sat quietly in place of her old front door, whom she missed dearly. She walked back and stood before it, almost in defeat. She wiped the tears from her face and considered sitting on the floor and staying there until she starved to death. Slow. Deliberate. *Knock.* *Knock.* *KNOCK.* Without having much of a choice in the matter, Rebecca strode to the door and twisted the knob.