Tag Archives: door

1562. Knock! Knock! Knock!

Old Mrs Hilda Pinkerton may have turned ninety, but she was no slug. She was as sprightly as a lively fifty year old. She drove her own car. She did her own shopping. She cleaned her own house. She volunteered twice a week to deliver Meals-on-Wheels to people around the town. But there was one thing she wouldn’t do. She wouldn’t knock on a door. No doorbell, no delivery. She simply would not knock with her knuckles. Knock! Knock! Knock! Anybody home?

She herself had a button to push at her front door. It would ring most pleasant chimes in the house. How lovely to get visitors! Talk! Talk! Talk! Could Mrs Hilda Pinkerton talk! And the kettle was always hot in case someone visited. But if someone knocked on her door she wouldn’t answer. Never. Never. Never.

It had been well-nigh seventy years since Mrs Hilda Pinkerton had physically knocked on a door. Since giving up such a practice she had married twice, had six children, been widowed twice, become a grandmother and a great-grandmother, and thrice won a potted plant and a large jar of marmalade at Bingo.

She could still hear it. In her head. That knock on the door seventy years ago. Knock! Knock! Knock!

Knock! Knock! Knock! It was the policeman come to tell that her brother had been killed in the war.

1531: The closed door

(The opening sentence for this story was suggested by River of The Stories In Between. If you want to join in the fun of suggesting a future opening sentence for these stories, click here for a peek as to what’s what.)

When it comes to doors, they are either open or closed, and this one is definitely closed. Thus growled the witch to Gretel. Hansel and Gretel had been captured by the witch at the very moment they were breaking a chunk off the witch’s candy house. Contrary to what is believed, Hansel and Gretel never shoved the witch into the oven; they were too polite. Hansel had wasted away and died of forlornity. The witch took Gretel and threw her into a small room.

“When it comes to doors, they are either open or closed, and this one is definitely closed,” said the witch pointing a skeletal finger at the door at the back of the room. “Open that door and you will die.”

Gretel pined for freedom and life. She, naturally, did not wish to die. “Oh woe is me,” she said. “If only Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother could turn up and save me. Even Batman in spandex would do.” You, Gentle Reader, should know better. That is not going to happen.

Gretel lived in that little room for seven years. In the end, just like her brother Hansel, she died of forlornity. Little did she know that the door that was “definitely closed” was unlocked and led to the great world outside and freedom.