"The Red Door" by Malcolm Nadeau
Image Description: The keyhole of a red door with peeling paint
When we first saw the old wooden house,
gray paint peeling from its skeleton,
it was swaying and shaking,
whistling and groaning.
In the corner of my eye, I could see
a tall, blood-red door
surrounded by nothing but long leaning trees,
just ghostly moribund woods.
There came
a scent of pine.
The house howled with the wind.
The first step in
felt as if we were not staying long.
With each step, the house creaked more and more.
The furniture was covered in thin white cloth,
sunlight breaking on it.
Each room felt different—some were kept up, no dust,
some forgotten.
Flower wallpaper was peeling and ripping
from the old, cracked walls.
Peeking out a window I see nothing but woods and
the same red door,
bright and tall, like it is meant to stand out.
As if the door keeps secrets, like it is hiding something.
I laugh to myself.
A door in the middle of the woods?
But I feel like it’s looking back at me.
There is a chill down my spine and
I walk away from the window,
feeling I’m being watched.
I walk back through the house slowly.
The feeling doesn’t go away.
The floor still creaks
with
every
step
I
take.
Malcolm Nadeau lives in Kittery, Maine, and is in eighth grade at Shapleigh Middle School. He started getting more into writing after joining The Telling Room and has really enjoyed the program so far. His story “The Red Door” is a fictional, narrative poem about a mysterious red door that was found in the woods. Malcolm enjoys listening to music and likes to play basketball with his friends. He loves to read horror stories and suspenseful thrillers.