3

Michael did his best to roll out of the way from his wife as she swung her axe at his head. She screamed bloody murder as she thrashed out, sending a blur of red flying in front of him. He ducked and pounced at her, knocking her to the ground. He picked up the axe and positioned it high above his head. Shannon’s eyes immediately turned back to brown. She screamed and covered her face, trembling. “Shannon? Is that you?” Michael whispered quietly, sweat dripping from his forehead. “What are you talking about?” Shannon asked as she slowly got to her feet.

“Let me see your eyes.”

Shannon slowly put her hands down, revealing her dirt brown eyes. Michael sighed with relief and put the axe down. “What’s wrong with you?” Shannon squealed, facing turning red with rage. “Y-your eyes. They were red…. You tried to kill me!” Michael sputtered. Shannon looked around and placed her hand on her forehead. “There’s something wrong with this.” She whispered. She lifted her hand off of her forehead for one second. She gasped and bolted for the truck, slipping on ice. Michael hesitated and chased after his wife. The silver pick-up stood frozen next to the bridge, Fascination still splattered across it’s exterior. “What’s wrong? What did you figure out?” Michael asked, breathing heavily; while Shannon just flipped open her laptop. Shannon just grunted and kept typing, the fluorescent light from the screen the only source of light in the dark automobile. “Here! This bridge has been home to thousands of disappearances! Michael, you should stay away from this door, it’s messing with your head.” Shannon said, as her eyes glinted with sympathy. She didn’t like this situation as much as he did, she had had a little taste of what he’d been going through. His hands had thawed enough to spread his fingers, but the cold stuck to his skin like the door had etched itself into his mind. He sighed and regained whatever ounce of his old self he had left. His eyes seem to wander across the interior of the pick-up, searching through every incline, every bump, and every stain that he had grown accustomed to. He hadn’t been to work, which he should be doing right now. This door had clouded his thoughts and taken his life over, in the space of one day. He jumped into the leather seats and turned on the ignition. “Y-your right.” He hesitated, glancing at the bridge. He could see another maniac opening the door and walking in, he wanted it. He wanted it now.

4

“You’re gonna be late.” Shannon beckoned from the kitchen, tossing Michael his endless ring of keys.

“Thanks. Be back soon!” he hollered, exiting the house.

The outside of his home wasn’t as pretty as the inside. Unkempt flowers that Shannon insisted she’d water to make them “beautiful” were now crumbly towers of gray, their patio, once again, Shannon’s idea, was cracked and weeds sprouted out of it like a child’s fingers in a sandbox.

Michael made his way past the old patio to his pick-up but stopped. No way could he drive to work in this crazy-car. Not with Fascination still plastered on it. He sighed and traversed a jungle of thickets to get to his old car.

The silver paint was a little chipped, and a small scratch was etched on the left side. Not that bad. At least it was better than having a secret obsession plastered for the world to see.

He sighed and climbed in, turning the ignition. It purred to life. He raced out of the driveway and stopped at a four way intersection. For a moment, just a moment, he thought about turning left to the bridge. The road in front of him, dirty and filled with potholes, was the road to the shelter and his work. The road to his right, not as bad as the road ahead of him but still pretty bad, was the road to the lake and the bar. And the left road, clean and pristine, scotch-free, was the road to the bridge.

Sweat rolled down his forehead as he thought long and hard about this choice, knowing at once he’d be late for work.

________________________

As much as Shannon loved Michael, the man had gone off his rocker. The door on that bridge didn’t even lead to anything! It’s just a door that opens a hole in the bridge. She walked to the sink and started to wash the dishes, the strong smell of cleaner filling her nostrils.

She loved Michael. She did. But She couldn’t find a way to love him now, now that this obsession had manifested itself. Her four years of psychology told her he was dealing with something in his life, and this curiosity for the door had pushed him over the edge. No, not curiosity. Obsession. Raw obsession. It made her nervous. What if he killed someone for this? But even she, the happy, perfect wife, had felt drawn to this door. She wanted to know what was inside. She wanted the-

“Ouch!”

She drew back her bleeding hand, the other one holding the knife that had cut her. Little modules of blood dripped from her shaking hand, sharp tinges of pain stabbing at Shannon’s mind. She stared at the cut, her mind ignoring the pain. It looked different. Good. Blood was good. Blood was very, very good. She smiled and wiped a little blood off with her forefinger. It looked delicious. He placed it in front of her lips and lick her finger clean. The glorious taste ran down her mouth. She wanted more. Her wound had stopped bleeding. She needed more.

“MORE!” She screamed, slamming the utensils on the counter onto the floor.

____________________________

Josiah Kent had left his Accord in the river, too shallow to swallow it. He carried a duffle bag, thousands of stolen keys jingling inside. His heavy trench coat couldn’t shield the cold wind blasting at his body, as he stopped at the door that had plagued his life. His heart stopped. Two sets of prints were a around the door, snow brushed off of it. Intruders invading his home. They might get in. Then the keys will change again!

The purring of an Accord echoed the bridge softly, then became louder. Josiah twisted around, saw the car, and jumped off the bridge. It hasn’t high enough to break his neck, he’d learned that from experience, but his did end up falling in the freezing creek. He prayed to God no one saw him.

_____________________

Michael’s car stopped and he turned it off. He cried as he walked silently to the bridge, his tears making impressions in the snow. His heart wrenched at the idea of deceiving poor Shannon, his beloved wife of eight years. Not again. He wouldn’t tell her. This would be his little secret, his little locked diary page.

The loud window that had slammed at the Accord was now simply a small breeze, brushing leaves on their branches into the small snow.

He stopped at the door, then looked around. He stooped down and looked at the snow. There was a shoeprint in front of him, a shoe too fancy to be his. Someone else was here. Someone was invading his territory.

“Hello.”