Collaborative story- The Door

The Door

 And the last door upstairs wouldn’t open. Pete tried the bundle of keys we were given by the real state agent when I bought the house, but the door seemed glued to the frame floor and walls. Pete tried a lock picking tutorial he had read on the Internet just to find out it was not as easy as in the movies. The house was Victorian, quite deteriorated but still glamorous. Pete insisted this was the house. Coming from a wealthy family as I was, money was not an issue, and nothing compared to starting a new life with the person who had brought hope  into my middle-

aged pretty dull life. So I wrote the cheque and gave it to Pete. Deal closed.

(by Alicia)

 When we moved to the house, the door was still closed. I really wanted to see what was behind it, so I told Pete to open it. We didn't have the key and we couldn't pick in again. Pete told me to forget, but I couldn't. So we broke the door. I had been expecting that moment for days, but then, when it opened, I was really disapointted. The room was empty. There was only an old box in a corner. I Iooked around the room, but there was nothing else. I opened it with no expectation, and inside there were only some old photographs. I looked at them, and noticed that there were photos of my family, my mum, my grandparents and myself. I was shocked. The last owners of the house didn't know me. They didn't have 
contact with my family. Then who had put the photos in the box before we moved, was a mystery.

(by Tatiana)

 I took the photos and ran downstairs to tell Pete. My legs  were trembling when I found him outside the house, sitting on the stairs Reading a book. I explained everything really fast and almost yelling, I was really scared. He asked me to calm down, and told me that everything was Ok. I relaxed and asked him if he had anything to do with the box, but he said no. That afternoon I stayed at home but far away from the room. I knew that there was nothing there but I still sensed something strange. That night before I went to bed, I left the photos in the kitchen and locked my room’s  door just in case. 

(by Carola)

 The next day when I got up, the old pictures had been changed for recent ones of me sleeping the previous night. I thought I was going crazy. Then I heard steps in my room. I went upstairs and there was nothing strange there. I didn´t know what was going on in the house.

 When I went back to the kitchen the box was empty and the photos were on the floor. I discovered a photograph with my name on a grave. I started yelling and ran out of the house to the police station. When I came back to the house with the police officer everything was in perfect order like nothing had ever happened.

 After that, people in the neighbourhood said I was mad. So Pete took me to the mental hospital where I´m living since then.

END (brainstorm of ideas in group, written by Nicolas)

The Door

 And the last door upstairs wouldn’t open. Pete tried the bundle of keys we were given by the real state agent when I bought the house, but the door seemed glued to the frame floor and walls. Pete tried a lock picking tutorial he had read on the Internet just to find out it was not as easy as in the movies. The house was Victorian, quite deteriorated but still glamorous. Pete insisted this was the house. Coming from a wealthy family as I was, money was not an issue, and nothing compared to starting a new life with the person who had brought hope  into my middle-

aged pretty dull life. So I wrote the cheque and gave it to Pete. Deal closed.
(by Alicia)

 That door kept me insane for weeks, I couldn't sleep or eat well, curiosity was killing me, I had to open it somehow. I kicked it, I tried with a hammer, an axe, even with a flamethrower. NOTHING. The door didn't burn or break. I was nuts, so in my last attempt, I sprayed it with hairspray and then burned it with the flametrhower again, and this time the fire destroyed the door.  I saw a very tiny digital screen with numbers. After a while I thought 'What the hell is doing that kind of technology in a victorian house?'

(by Milagros)

 When I tried to touch the screen, I heard a voice saying: "Please, enter the code". I didn't know what to do. So I called Pete and he immediately came. He stayed in the room and I decided to go to the kitchen to call the state agent whom I bought the house.  I was getting nervous because nobody answered my phone calls when I heard Pete calling me from the 'strange' room. He had broken the code, and suddenly appeared a message on the screen that said: "You should better get out of my house, if not, there would be bad  consequences".

(by Geraldine)

 A week later other strange message appeared "you wanted this", then I've got really scared and I decided to call a paranormal expert. He could opened the door and after hours and hours of investigation he discovered that under the house there was an indian cementery and the spirits where taking the house and they wanted to be alone."But I don't want to go away" I said and then the doors and windows started to get open and closed very fast and making a lot of noise. The lights turned off and nobody ever heard about us anymore, what happened to us? We're still in the house scaring the people that tries to live there...

END (brainstorm of ideas in group, written by Tomás)

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