Entamaphobia



Not many understand my fear of doors. I don't fear what they look like, of course, but what they're capable of. Always before I open one I must slowly peak inside before entering.

This fear started when I was only four. Both my parents and my big sister, Margaret, were in the living room watching some boring crime show whilst I was in my room playing with Legos. My door had been shut at the time.

 I was in the midst of building a strange little fortress when it began opening impercepitably to where it was left ajar. I felt as if I were being watched and paranoia crept inside of me. I cried out to my parents and before they could reply the door immediately shut. Thinking nothing of it, I continued to play with my Legos.

 If that hadn't left me in fear of doors, my next experience certainly did. This is what I'm here to tell you, what imprinted the fear upon me.

It was my thirteenth birthday. My best friend, Anthony, was staying the night so we could play Star Fox together. We were in my bedroom and it was about 2 am, past our bedtime.

"Man, I'm really getting tired..." Anthony complained.

"Come on, let's play for a little longer. It's my birthday after all."

He lifted his watch up to his face, "Not anymore it isn't. We can continue playing in the morning as soon as we wake up."

"Whatever..."

Anthony got up and walked over to my door. "Well, I'm going to sleep. See you in the morning, okay?"

 I was too infatuated with the game as I glanced over at him and rolled my eyes. "Whatever." I had said once more.

He sighed before exiting my room and shutting my door firmly.

Every so often after he left I'd look over at my door because I felt as if it were staring at me. That it was mocking me. It was angering me.

I'd just shake it off and continue playing. "You're going crazy. It's all in your head". That's what I'd say although deep down I knew I was wrong. Right before I was about done playing the door slowly opened to what seemed like a 45 degree angle.

"Anthony?" I whimpered. No response. It were too dark to see outside the door frame. I said his name once again and I was left without an answer once again.

 "This isn't funny, Anthony." I got up from my floor and hastily walked over to the door and shut it.

A safe feeling overcame me as I walked away from it, heading towards my TV to turn it off. But as I turned around to face the door, it were open again. Exactly like it were before.

 Furiously, I stomped over to the door. I came between four feet of the door frame and stared out, waiting for my eyes to adjust in the pitch darkness. With no luck I extended my arm out to shut the door.

Before I could touch it, it slammed shut. I fell backwards in fear. Was this just a trick?

The door then opened again, and slammed. Over and over and over again. No one woke up though which I found odd.

 That's a lie. I couldn't feel anything except for fear. My ears began ringing and the door's slam became louder. It felt as if it were telling me a story.

I was paralyzed with fear. Tenebrosity overtook my body and all I could see what my pale white door. Opening and closing. The sound was turning me mad.

It felt as if it had been going on for hours when it had only been going on for a few minutes.

I had not blinked.

I had not even breathed.

I just stared and waited.

Just then, as I was about to yell out my parent's names, there was a final slam and it shook my entire bedroom. My TV fell of its stand and shattered upon the ground. Was I the only one to experience this?

I then heard the footsteps of both my parents come close to my room. And then another pair of footsteps followed by light that poured from under my door. Then more footsteps.

Still, I lied there. Paralyzed with fear. That's when I realized I was crying, and I had too realized I was scratching at my legs which left me bleeding. How could I not have remembered doing that? First my parents came into my room, then Margaret, and lastly Anthony. They then turned on my lights and began questioning me.

I was not listening, however. I was still focused on my pale white door.

It was laughing at me. And that is all I remembered from my second experience with doors. It wasn't the last time, it has been going on and off for all of my life.

Little to say, though. I had gotten that door removed. But even then, I would still feel the strange paranoia that I had once felt that one night.