Behind doors are secrets (to discover or not)

By Stella Z. Hu (aka Twig)

Discussed: blood, possible death

A liminal space I found in my school, and what I left there.

There’s an odd, twisted kind of whimsy to be found on an empty hidden stairwell
In the wings of an auditorium stage
When your teacher is absent and your classmates are all on their phones.
The corners have dust and cobwebs.
The walls are yellow, cracked, warped, and peeling, with a few fluorescent lights
Illuminating red stains on them.
They’re probably watercolor paints,
but I can’t help but think of some innocent fellow child’s blood.
The thought makes me both shiver and giggle.
There’s no telling where it goes.
I pulled a little on the two doors on either side of the landing at the top, but I couldn’t open them.
Might be for the best.
I don’t try to pull harder. I’m not quite brave enough for that.
For all I know some nightmarish creature could be sealed behind one of them.
Probably not. But the thought won’t leave my mind.
I can’t tell if it makes me feel more terror or glee.
I might give it another shot sometime.
Once or twice I think I hear voices from above,
and I wonder if I should run before I’m caught.
I don’t. I freeze and wait until they’re gone.
I sit on the landing in the middle, and I read a book.
I feel the need to add something to the atmosphere,
make it raise just a few more questions and few more neck-hairs for the next person.
I take out my pencil and scrawl a message on the wall:
Don’t ask.
Don’t listen.
Don’t forget.

Process

My mentor and I used a word randomizer to match abstract ideas with concrete images. One particular combination got me thinking about this piece.