This Door You Might Not Open

First posted August 2021.

It is, by now, a familiar sight. The wheels of the gilded carriage rumble like the warning of distant thunder up the winding path to the castle. Through the window shines the bright face of a young woman, so enraptured by the splendour awaiting her that she does not notice the storm clouds darkening the horizon. On the delicate hand she places in her husband’s as she steps down from the carriage is a simple yellow gold ring.

In dazzled wonder, the castle’s new mistress gazes up at the rising towers of gleaming white marble. Red roses bloom and twine around the door, and birds sing low and moodily from manicured gardens. She looks up in awe at gilded windows sparkling in the fading sunlight, and fails to see the face of her predecessor gazing back.

The figure in the window flickers in and out of sight, as if a curtain blowing in the breeze obscures her every other moment. Her once-bright eyes follow the still-bright young woman below. The shadow’s movements seem to echo the newcomer’s in melancholy repetition, making mournful the joyous gestures of the excited bride.

Blissful days pass as the lord’s new wife makes herself at home. All for which she ever yearned is at her fingertips, and extravagances of which she never dared to dream are piled at her feet. She does not see the ghost in the corner, weary lines etched into her spectral face; she sees nothing that is not her own joy and merriment.

The ghost knows this joy too well to share in it. She, too, once came to the castle in unprecedented splendour and mistook wealth for love. Now, Penelope knows what awaits all who enter this place in blind happiness. She watches as her death is replayed before her eyes with different bodies, time and time again.

She does not know why the other victims do not stay as she does; perhaps it is her penance for being the first, the cause of all later misery. But this one, she thinks, is different. Greed is not what lies behind her eyes, but curiosity. The fine gifts delight her for a moment, but it is the books, the puzzles, the games that captivate her. She wishes to learn, to engage, to play. There is more life in her than the others, more desire, more fire.

In this house, curiosity is just as dangerous as greed. This time, she cannot let it happen again.

One day, the lord tells his young bride that he must go away on business, and he leaves her with the ring of the castle’s keys. “All these rooms are yours to explore,” he says, slowly bringing each golden key around the ring. He pauses at the last and smallest key, holding his wife’s gaze intently. “Save for this one. You must not enter the room this key unlocks, Lucretia.”

“Why ever not?” she laughs as if playing a game, taking the key ring from him.

He grasps her hand, nearly crushing it. “Do not enter that room.”

The door echoes as it closes behind him, and Lucretia sits pouting on the sofa, idly moving the keys back and forth on their ring. Her eyes move from one long, dark hallway to the next as she fidgets with the keys. “Which one,” she says softly to herself.

Rising from the sofa, she walks around the room. The ghost stands in front of the last hallway, arms stretched as if to bar the path. Lucretia shivers as she approaches, and turns away.

She chooses another hallway and unlocks the first door to her left. Inside, the walls are lined with hundreds of books, and a large leather armchair sits in front of a cold fireplace. Morning sunlight streams through the windows and dances on Lucretia’s fingers as she runs them along the spines on the shelves.

Penelope sits at her feet and watches her face as she reads. She watches Lucretia twirl her stray blonde wisps of hair as she loses herself in the world on the page, watches her eyes scan the words with hungry eagerness to consume all she sees, watches her laugh like evening bells and bite her lip as tears fill her eyes. The sun’s rays move around the room as hours pass, and eventually darkness falls on the little library. Lucretia sighs as she closes the door behind her, reluctant to leave a room of such wonders.

The next day, it is the first door to the right that she unlocks. In the centre of the room is a billiards table, and at a small table in the corner is a chess board. Several packs of playing cards are lined up on another table. On one wall hangs a dart board, and gleaming swords line the opposite wall.

With a rueful smile and a sigh, Lucretia sits down at the chess board. “If only I had someone to play with,” she says, unwittingly looking through Penelope seated opposite her. She rocks the white queen back and forth with one finger. “Perhaps when he comes home.”

Penelope watches quiet concentration fall over Lucretia’s fine features as she surveys the billiards table. The young woman’s eyes dart between the balls, calculating possibilities and strategising. When she lifts the cue, she does so slowly and deliberately, like a hunter taking aim at skittish prey. She takes her thoughtful countenance to the dartboard and the playing cards as well, carefully considering every move she makes. It is not without a trace of pride that Penelope thinks their lord doesn’t know what he’s got himself into.

Each day, Lucretia unlocks a new room. The mysteries within do not cease to enchant her once they are known; she delights in every new opportunity revealed by each opened door. Penelope watches her in a way she has never watched any of the others. Among them, Lucretia alone is full of light and life, of joy and wonder, of cleverness and wit. As the number of doors remaining shrinks by the day, so Penelope’s dread increases. She knows Lucretia well enough now — the way she steels her gaze at her goal and sets her heel before she strikes. She will want to open the last door, and Penelope will not be able to stop her.

Still, when the day dawns, Penelope does her best. She blocks the hallway, and though Lucretia shivers, she passes through. All the way down the long hall Lucretia walks with a skip in her step, excited to see what the final room has in store for her. Penelope races ahead and stands in front of the door. She places her hand on Lucretia’s shoulder. “Please,” she whispers. Lucretia shivers again, but does not respond. She turns the key in the lock and pushes the door open.

The curious smile disappears. Over Lucretia’s shoulder, Penelope looks at the rotting face of her corpse, hanging on the wall next to the other five. The room is thick with the rusty smell of old blood, pooled on the floor in dark, still puddles.

Lucretia’s stuttering breath fogs in the chill with which Penelope’s presence surrounds her. The front door creaks as it opens and the lord’s voice booms through the castle, shouting Lucretia’s name.

Shaking, Lucretia carefully closes the door, trying not to make a sound, and pulls the key from the lock. She swallows a gasp as she looks at the key, its bright yellow gold stained red with fresh blood. Frantic scrubbing with the bottom of her hem makes no difference. The lord’s footsteps approach.

She glances up and pauses, eyes widening as she looks at the place where Penelope’s ghost stands. Penelope turns, but sees nothing behind her. Curiously, she looks back at Lucretia. “Me?” she says, her voice a hoarse whisper.

Lucretia nods sharply.

“There you are,” the lord says from the end of the hall as he approaches. Lucretia turns, hastily shoving the key ring in her pocket and smiling warmly.

“Welcome home, my lord,” she replies. “I trust your journey was productive?”

He glances at the closed doors around them. “Indeed. And how were your own explorations?”

“Oh, wonderful,” she says, nodding at the door across the hall from the forbidden one. “I was just leaving that study, I’ve been reading all the—”

He interrupts her not with words, but an extended open palm.

She looks up at him with feigned confusion.

“The keys, Lucretia.”

She frowns. “Am I not to have keys to my own—”

“The keys.”

Lucretia’s eyes catch Penelope as she moves around them, behind the lord. None of the other wives had ever been able to see Penelope; now she has an opportunity to help, and no idea what to do with it. She has no instructions to impart, no secrets that can save the young bride.

The lord reaches into Lucretia’s pocket before she can stop him. He examines the ring, and slowly raises the blood-stained key between them.

There is silence as Lucretia stares in terror at her husband, who stares back in growing fury.

Suddenly, Penelope has an idea. “Get the keys,” she says.

Lucretia grabs the key ring from the lord and tries to run, but the lord refuses to release his grip. She cries out as her arm is jerked back. The spectre pushes through the lord, and the sudden chill is enough to startle him into loosening his grip. He falls to his back with a thunderous thud as his wife breaks away from him.

“Follow me.” Penelope races ahead of her, leading her back to the first hallway they explored together. The lord roars in wrath and the floor shakes beneath his thunderous steps.

Lucretia’s hands shake as she fumbles with the key ring, trying to find the key to the door Penelope indicates. She winces as she opens the door, as if she expects more bodies rather than the game room she saw before. Lucretia takes a sword off the wall and turns, just as the lord lunges at her.

He stops, gasping shallowly. Blood slowly oozes from the wound, staining his yellow doublet. Exhaling through gritted teeth, he growls as he reaches for Lucretia.

Lucretia’s grip loosens on the sword in fright, but a cold, misty hand covers her own, holding her hand in place. Standing behind her, Penelope wraps her phantasmal arm around Lucretia’s waist, and they hold the sword piercing the lord’s stomach together. His eyes widen in recognition, and Penelope smiles as she and Lucretia push the sword through him.