In January 2013, I posted a short story entirely to Twitter, at the account DoNotOpenDoor. It was an interesting experiment, forcing me to write a story in a way that could be broken down into 140-character sections.
Here’s the entire story, “Do Not Open Door,” presented in its original, glorious Twitter format. I hope you enjoy it.
The handwritten sign was unambiguous, its message spelled out in capital letters: “DANGER: DO NOT OPEN DOOR”
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
Standing on the long-abandoned second floor of a historic mansion in Harrisburg, I considered my options.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
Outside, the sun was setting. It would be dark in 15 minutes and I couldn’t find any working lights on this floor.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
Below me, the new first-floor restaurant was full. My husband and two friends were there, with no idea I was up here.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
The building, which served as a state hospital 50 years ago, had been vacant since Hurricane Agnes in 1972.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
Curiosity had driven me to sneak up to the second floor. “DANGER: DO NOT OPEN DOOR” isn’t what I expected to find.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
I thought I’d see old padded rooms, creepy bathrooms, that kind of thing. I saw those, but also the sign…
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
The handwritten sign was yellowed with age, marked with water spots, and attached to the door with deteriorating tape.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
It would be easy to open the wooden door (painted yellow), if not for the silver padlock holding it shut.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
The lock was nothing like 50 years old. I guessed someone had installed it within the past few months.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
I debated returning to my dinner companions. Instead, I pulled on the padlock. It wasn’t latched.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
I stared at the door I could now open. If I had come this far, I decided, I might as well continue.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
I lifted the lock out of the staple, put it in my pocket and swung open the hasp.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
The doorknob turned without resistance. My heartbeat pulsed in my ears, the only sound I heard.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
I pushed the door open. In front of me was a stainless steel wall. The entire room was maybe five feet deep, 10 feet wide.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
In the middle of the wall was a door similar to a restaurant’s walk-in freezer. Was that all this was?
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
The metal door opened with a hiss like when you open a can of soda. Fog, or smoke, leaked out. I felt cold air.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
Inside was a full-on laboratory, beakers and tubes everywhere. The lights were dim and tinted green.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
Four cylindrical glass cases each held… something floating in a thick, translucent blue liquid.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
They were heads, one in each of the four cases. I suppressed the urge to vomit.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
The heads weren’t human, but they were close. Their lifeless eyes stared back at me. I jumped when I heard a noise behind me.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
A tall, thin man wearing a lab coat and carrying a clipboard asked, “Who the hell are you?” I didn’t answer.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
“You can’t be in here,” he said. I nodded and tried to leave. He blocked the door. I said, “I should be going.”
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
“But you’ve seen them,” he said. I nodded again, then quickly kneed him in the groin. He fell to the floor and I ran out.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
I closed the second door, the wooden one, behind me. I pulled the lock from my pocket and attached it, making sure it clicked.
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
Back in the dining room, my husband and friends chatted casually. “Hey,” I said. “I’d rather eat somewhere else. OK?”
— DoNotOpenDoor (@DoNotOpenDoor) January 28, 2013
Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed the story!
Erik Arneson 