The Haunted Castle 63

So much of a house is in its screen doors. In the mesh and squeak of a half door. One that isn’t stable wood, or sturdy brick but flimsy and removable.

When you open a screen door it screams at you.

You pause, Ask the door “why are you screaming?”

You think the door says nothing, so you leave it to scream.

         At first you ask often, though you do not get an answer you feel you should listen.

Ask more. You feel the door owes you.

You feel it’s your door.

         Then you grow tired, tired of asking, tired of listening, tired of the screaming.

You avoid the door. You use windows, dig holes, find small cracks and squeeze yourself into them.

The door is silent. It listens to you avoid it. It sits in its hinges and listens.

         Soon you forget about the door.

The door begins to sag to one side, the black mesh holding the wooden frame together is tearing.

         You do not ask.

You are tired. You hate your house. You only now realize you hate the door too.

         When you leave for the last time, you go out the back window. The wind is strong. You here the screen door scream.

 You stand. Wait.

“so much of a house is in its screen doors.” You think, in the neglected, the half used.

“This entryway that I leave behind is fragile. It screams” You find yourself saying out loud. ‘I should have taken care of this screen door’ you think. And then you leave it behind.