The Enchanted Doorknob

Abstract A woman becomes a doorknob in the afterlife.

“It's never what you think it is.” �" C.T.

Flowers On My Grave

Prologue

When I was born in a small town in Pennsylvania, everyone knew 

each other by name. There were only three stop lights that I 

could see from my house. The grocery store had a revolving door. 

There was one major road in town with two lanes, and it was the 

place to be on Friday evenings, Saturday afternoons, and Sunday 

mornings. You'd hear the rumble of motorcycles as bikers would 

ride by and know their destination ahead of time. If they were 

going to the nearby state park to go fishing or to see a show in 

Scranton. The diner had a bell that rang at 7 a.m. and you knew 

your day was about to begin. My grandma lived right down the 

street from me, and my dad would sit on his porch with her. 

They'd sit out there until the streetlights came on in the 

evening. It was quiet. It was simple. 

When I got married, my husband's name was Josh. He worked for a 

big company, and he made good money, but we didn't have much. We 

had two kids. It was tough, especially with Josh working night 

shift for six weeks at a time. At first the routine of my life 

didn't change very much. I still worked as a librarian in this 

very small town where everyone knew each other's business. 

I think what made me feel the most alive was when someone would 

ask me for help and I could find them a book that helped. It had 

nothing to do with helping people or making money or doing 

anything for anyone else. When I found the right book for a 

person, it felt like my heart was full of joy because I knew they 

could change their life by reading those words. 

I always made lists of things I wanted to read but never got 

around to them. I had a special section in my house where I kept 

all the books I didn't have time to read and that's where I put 

this book that came out last week. The title was The Enchanted 

Doorknob. It said on the cover that it would take me to different 

places, and give me different experiences. There were so many 

other things in there too. But after reading the first chapter, 

my life changed. 

I had just started getting ready for work when the doorbell rang. 

I opened the door, and Josh was standing there with a bouquet of 

flowers in his hand. He said he'd been thinking about me all 

morning and couldn't wait another minute to tell me how much he 

cared for me. 

Get out the rose petals and put them on my grave, I said. 

What? 

My grave isn't here yet. 

You're right, you'll be gone soon. I've been thinking that a lot 

lately. 

Oh, stop it. I'm going to live forever, and besides I have too 

much of an impact with what I do for people to just give up now. 

You can't let the town library die on your watch, and there's no 

one else who knows all about books like you do. Besides, we're 

not done yet. 

You're so right. We've still got a lot more work to be doing here 

together. I'm sorry for what I said before, and I promise it 

won't happen again. Let me get the flowers out of your hand. 

What? 

They were put there by my funeral home as a reminder of the 

wonderful person you'll always be in the hearts of those who love 

you, and will continue to do so for all eternity. he said. 

I got upset but not mad. I had to think it through first before I 

could say how I really felt. He was right about the work that we 

still needed to accomplish in this small town of ours, especially 

with our children now grown up and gone. But my heart sank like a 

stone in the ocean when he said those words. 

He took me by the elbow and gently turned me around and back into 

the house. I couldn't do anything but what he told me to do 

because my body wasn't mine anymore. This was all part of it. It 

didn't matter that Josh was there, or that we were married, or 

that I was a woman in my 40s. These weren't things that could be 

explained to him right now. 

Get out the rose petals, he said again and walked back into the 

house with me. 

We put the flowers on my grave. 

* * *

The Library

The next morning when Josh went to work, I walked over to the 

library. This was all part of it too. I had never been away from 

here before and there are things that you can't explain no matter 

how hard you try. Things that make you feel like a child again. 

They don't seem important at first but they grow into what is so 

very much a part of who we become. The smell of the new town, the 

sounds of different birds singing in trees where there weren't 

any in my small town. 

I got to the library and saw a lot more than I ever had before 

because now I could see right through it. It was an old building 

and worn out from the inside as well as out. But I felt alive 

again like when I first moved here with Josh. There were people 

living their lives in this place, even though I couldn't tell 

what they were doing. 

When the sun started to set, a couple came walking up the street. 

They were holding hands and kissing each other. It didn't seem 

right that there was a door at my waist. I thought about getting 

rid of it but then realized how ridiculous that would be because 

they could see me in it too if we went out together. 

The man had a big nose and a mustache, the woman had curly brown 

hair and wore glasses. They talked to each other for a little 

while before he pulled her hand and she was gone with him into 

the library. He stood there for a minute or two then walked back 

out alone. I wanted to see what they were doing inside, but now 

that I could see right through it all, I didn't want to be seen 

either. The man had dark eyes and wore a suit that looked like he 

was on his way to a funeral, which made me realize how much time 

had passed in this new life of mine. 

I saw people come and go for the rest of the day. Some were old, 

some young and many in between. All of them had their own stories 

to tell but it wasn't my story any more. I was no longer a person 

who could see or hear the things that they didn't want others to 

know. My body would move as if I was one part of something much 

larger than myself now. It made me think about how many other 

people there are in this world, so very many and all with their 

own stories. 

I thought it might be different inside at night but it wasn't. 

But then the moon started to rise and that's when things got 

interesting. The first man came in alone and I heard him 

whispering. It was a poem. Then he left and someone else came in, 

a young woman who had her head bowed in prayer. That made me 

think about my life because it wasn't all good times like this 

one. There were hardships and sad times too but when the moon is 

full of light, I feel much better. 

I would be surprised at the people who come to visit with their 

books. Many are looking for something that isn't in there 

anymore, a friend, a loved one, a place. But they don't know what 

it looks like or where to start. So when someone new came along 

and started talking about it, I was curious. 

There were many things I didn't understand at first. People would 

touch me when they entered the library but that's all. Then one 

day a young man came in with a big book bag and he opened it up. 

He took out this book and asked for help finding something inside 

of it. That's why I'm here, to help people find things. This is 

my purpose. 

When I died, my husband said there was no way that the town would 

be able to afford the kind of books we needed. They couldn't have 

the new things they wanted so they had a big book sale and gave 

them away for nothing. That's how it got here. Now someone took 

one off the shelf and read the back cover, and then looked at me 

with tears in their eyes. This is exactly what I've been looking 

for, she said. Her name was Susan. 

I wanted to know more so I asked her a few questions. She 

explained that the book had helped her find a job after college 

when no one else seemed able to. It told her how to work with 

people, and it showed her how to be patient and understanding. 

Now she worked with children who didn't read as well as they 

should. In this world of new technology I'm not sure if it's the 

same but in my time, you had to actually know how to read and 

write. 

This is how it is that when people come into a place like the 

library looking for something that will help them, there are so 

many who can't even find what they want because they don't know 

where to look. There are those who can't even read or write but 

would rather be here than at home by themselves. I used to be one 

of them. 

I didn't expect Susan to stay very long after she got the book, 

but she sat in a chair and read for hours. When she left it was 

dark outside. She thanked me and said You're all right. That's 

when I knew what my purpose was. It wasn't just helping people 

find books anymore. 

I would watch many more days pass before another person came into 

the library at night. There were two young men who sat in chairs, 

one with a book in front of him and the other not. The one 

without a book read a book to his friend but I couldn't hear it 

because they didn't have their heads together. They left after an 

hour or so. It was quiet again until another person came in. This 

time it was a woman alone who sat at a table with her own book 

and cried for hours. 

This is how my nights went by for many months. Every day the sun 

would set and I would feel its full moon light shining through 

me. That's when the real work began. 

* * *

After Hours

The first thing that I knew of the woman in the red suit was when 

she came into the library late one evening after the library 

closed. She looked as if she'd been crying too. She went to a 

table at the back of the room, took off her high heeled shoes and 

put on something with a rubber sole on the bottom so it would 

make no noise. Then she did some other things that I don't 

remember but there was this strange smell in the air when she 

moved around. It reminded me of chemicals that you use to clean 

with. After everything was quiet again, the woman got up and 

left. I didn't know her name or anything about her but it made me 

think. 

I had a new purpose now too. I knew that things weren't right. 

There were people who would walk in here after dark who wouldn't 

be there during the day. They were not like those in the library 

who read by themselves and cry or come with someone to share. 

These were different people but they did have something in 

common. 

The first one came in around 1 a.m. The man was big, I would say 

over 250 pounds. He had on a suit and tie and carried a briefcase 

and wore glasses. That's what he looked like at least when he 

walked into the library. But soon after that he took off his 

jacket, opened his shirt and tucked it into the pants of his 

suit. Then he did something strange with the tie too. 

When I first died, the man who put me here said I would be a 

book. He said what people would know about books is how to get 

one from a shelf but they would never think that a book could 

move or take on different forms. So when someone took one of mine 

off, I had a chance to make it look like it just fell off the 

shelf and then roll away because there aren't any hands with 

fingers. But now things have changed. 

I wasn't used to this at all. It's not the kind of thing you can 

practice for or be prepared for. You're either ready or not. If 

you are, they will bring you a book and it will start. I didn't 

know what my book would look like but that was up to them. 

When he brought me here, I had no idea how long I would last in 

this new form. They said that maybe a month but now it's been so 

much longer than that. There are many things that I've seen in 

the time since then too. It's hard for an old person like me to 

get used to all of this new stuff. Sometimes there are people who 

don't know how books work at all, and sometimes you would think 

that they should. But it seems we have a lot more in common than 

I realize. 

The woman in the red suit was back again late one evening after 

dark. She had no trouble finding me because she wasn't looking 

for a book. I'm a doorknob now and people don't usually look at 

their feet unless there is something on them that catches their 

eye. At least I think it's an old habit of mine to keep looking 

down. 

I didn't know what the woman was going to do until she started 

reading me like a book. She had a flashlight and held me up so I 

could see everything in her hand. That's how I know about all the 

things that we used to have around here but don't anymore. Then 

she put it back on the shelf. 

The next day there were two men with briefcases who came into the 

library after dark. One of them had a tie like the man before. 

The other had on a suit and dress shirt without a tie. They 

looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, then did the same 

thing as the man before me. Then they left. 

The woman in red was there again that night too but I didn't see 

her with this pair of men who came into the library late one 

evening. They were both young and wore jeans and t-shirts. The 

older one had on a baseball cap. They came to my level, touched 

my surface, then looked around for something else to touch 

because they don't know what it is I'm talking about. 

I didn't have much time before someone else was coming into the 

library after dark. It seems that every night there are more and 

more people who come in here when everyone should be at home 

sleeping. There was a woman with long red hair, two men with 

suits on, another man who looked like a hiker but had on city 

shoes instead of boots, a young couple holding hands, and many 

others. They don't look the same as they do during the day. The 

street lights have to be out by then because the library is in 

darkness. 

I was thinking about how many people came into the library at 

night when I heard someone crying. That's when I realized that 

this must not be a new thing. It didn't start with me. A few 

nights ago, one of these people had been a young man who looked 

as if he hadn't slept in weeks. He had dark circles under his 

eyes and wore the same jeans every time he came in and I wondered 

why. 

The crying didn't stop until morning when everyone went away 

again but then it started up again. It was like clockwork, a few 

hours after midnight all of them come back for their night visit 

with me. I don't know who they are or how long this has been 

going on but it's not new. 

It was late one evening when the woman in the red suit came to 

see me again. There was something different about her now. She 

didn't look so sad and she had a small smile on her face. It's 

what I have to assume that people usually have on their faces 

because there are so many things in this world that make them 

happy. 

Did you know your husband? she asked. 

Do you mean Josh? 

I never met him. 

I don't like talking about the past. I'm not ready to hear it all 

again and my thoughts aren't very good at finding the right words 

when they're needed most. But I understand what she's asking now. 

There were things that he and I didn't do, or could have done 

better than we did. 

Yes, I said. 

Why? 

I was so selfish in this life of mine. In it, my time here on 

earth as a person. So focused on myself that I didn't realize all 

the people around me who would be affected by what I did. 

That's why you're a doorknob now? Because of your selfishness? 

No, she said. 

What? 

If you could tell us something we might find useful, it would 

mean so much to us. It has helped us in this life of ours but now 

there are new things and other things that have changed too. I 

remember hearing about how people used to not be able to use 

their phones because they weren't allowed in libraries when the 

public was using them. 

Yes, I said. 

That's something we don't do anymore either, so many people use 

their phones in all places of business. In my old life, and in my 

new one too for that matter, it took a lot of courage to tell 

someone you were wrong about something because then they would 

think less of you. Now with what we have now, no one can hide 

anything anymore. 

That's true, I said. 

What do you think? Could the people who use this library at night 

be responsible for a murder? 

I don't know. Why do you ask that? 

Why not? Because there was a young girl who worked here and she 

is dead now and it didn't make sense to us. It couldn't have been 

one of these people because they're new, but what if it was 

someone who had come in here for the first time? We don't know 

that we don't have any idea how many people are out there. There 

could be millions. 

I thought about this and then started talking about my life as a 

person. 

I didn't notice all of the things that I should have noticed when 

it was important to me. That's what it means to be selfish in a 

sense. You're only thinking about your own needs, desires, wants 

and fears at any given moment. It makes you so focused on those 

things that there is no room for others. Like my marriage with 

Josh. 

What about Josh? 

We would sit out back after he got home from work. We would talk 

for a while then go to bed. If I had asked him what it was like 

the first time we met, or how he felt when his father died, he 

wouldn't know because those aren't things that come up in 

conversation unless something specific happens. 

Do you think your marriage would have lasted if someone asked one 

of these questions? 

That's a good question. I don't think so. 

I wonder what people who didn't ask the right questions will find 

out as time goes on. How hard it is for some people to tell 

others the truth because they are scared that no one wants to 

hear it or because they want to be liked by those around them and 

not be rejected, especially in a small town like this. 

I don't think so, I said. 

What? 

The young girl who died here. She was only 19. Her name is Emily. 

There wasn't much about her that anyone knew. Do you think it's 

possible to find out what really happened without asking the 

right questions? 

If I could, I would do. 

I want you to ask the questions for me, she said. 

Then I can tell you if there are answers in the books at the 

library. They're not all fiction as people used to say when they 

first started saying that about television and movies because we 

didn't have them yet. But sometimes that's true of books too. 

She had a little smile on her face again but it was hard to read 

what she wanted from me. 

What is there that I should ask? I said. 

I'll give you some questions to use, she said. But first, if you 

don't mind, could you tell me why you are here as a doorknob now? 

If you're going to be helpful with these other questions? 

Ask the questions when I'm ready for that and we can go back to 

this later. 

* * *

Emily

The woman left but my heart felt light. It's hard not to feel 

heavy when death is around all the time, but it's something that 

everyone has to come through sooner or later. But the questions 

she wanted me to answer were interesting because they could help 

with a mystery that was haunting Emily's family and her boyfriend 

who runs the library. 

It took me some time but I found out about the girl whose murder 

had everyone in such an uproar. It didn't seem like much of 

anything to me at first, but it did seem important enough to 

them. When a person dies or is murdered, there are usually people 

who come to grieve and offer comfort to the family or help with 

arrangements for the funeral if that's what they want. 

But no one had been over here in weeks. They were all so angry 

about everything that was happening, but it seemed as though they 

would get through this too even if they couldn't figure out how 

it happened yet. 

I started asking my questions to anyone who came into the library 

at night because I didn't have a particular person in mind at 

first. But soon I had some suspects and then they could be 

narrowed down based on what each of them said about their 

whereabouts that fateful evening. The young man with dark circles 

under his eyes was there, he's a regular. He told me the same 

story every night but if it's true, why would he come in here at 

all? 

Because you're a doorknob and I can tell my secrets to you, he 

said one evening. 

I'm not sure about that, I said. I don't know very much about 

this life of yours so what could you possibly have to tell me? 

No one else comes in here at night except for me. 

Maybe they're afraid someone will see them using the library 

after hours. 

Oh, oh yes! They do come in here sometimes but only when they 

think it's safe. The others don't know where I live so they would 

not come looking for you if they knew. They would ask my wife, 

who is out of town right now with her brother and sister-in-law. 

Or a friend. I don't have any friends because none of us ever get 

together except in the evenings to watch television. That's what 

we all do. 

Do you know what she died from? 

Emily? She died from the poison they used on her in the old days 

before medicine got good enough. It was called 'strychnine'. I 

read about it in a book at home, but I don't have any books here 

with me right now to show you. 

What else did she say to you? I said. 

She said that sometimes things aren't what they seem. Or at 

least, we might not be ready for the truth. The thing that 

Emily's parents are waiting for is the right question and once 

it's answered there will be some kind of resolution to this 

tragedy but nothing like we're expecting. 

I don't know when it happened but I began to feel more like a 

person than an object. It started with small things, just 

thoughts about my past. But then I became aware of what people 

were saying in the present. 

The woman in red came back and asked me if I had found any 

information that would help them find out who killed Emily. I 

didn't know exactly how to tell her because they wouldn't have a 

clue where to look or anything like that, but I told her as much 

as I could. Then she left again. 

I didn't want to think about the murder anymore right now but I 

couldn't stop. There was so much that I needed to get used to in 

this new body and this life of mine as a doorknob. It wasn't 

until later when one of my regular visitors came into the library 

at night that I realized why Emily's murder had all of this 

attention. Her name is on the door, just like mine. 

* * *

Truth, Glory and Darkness

I didn't know anything about being a doorknob but now there was 

no way to go back. But if it makes people happy to have me here 

and help them in any small way, then it will be worth it. That's 

my purpose now because this isn't what I had planned or expected 

when I took on this new form. 

It would take time to get used to everything, but I'm doing that 

now. I'm glad for the books at least, even though they aren't 

exactly right sometimes and some are not very good. They were all 

I have so I'll use them because there isn't anything else to go 

by. But it's hard when you can only hear one part of what people 

are saying and making a big deal about something without knowing 

the details. 

It seems that everyone has secrets but they don't even realize it 

when they're talking. It takes someone with my special talents to 

notice, and that is why I was so glad to be here as a doorknob 

because there were many things for me to take into account before 

I could try to help them figure out what had happened. 

I'm not sure if it's easy or hard. I'll just say yes because I 

have to because that's the only thing I can tell you at this 

point in my life. But it's definitely worth doing and I wish I 

was still a person so I could get more of these secrets about 

other people out of their mouths when they don't even know 

they're talking. 

I would be lying if I said that there were many days without 

things happening inside the library at night. There are so many 

people who come in here to ask for help with a problem or to 

learn something new. I do what I can but it's not always easy 

because often there's no book about something like they want to 

know, and even if there was one, there would be other things that 

the person didn't understand. 

I did get used to being a doorknob in time. It took me a while to 

adjust. In the beginning I had thoughts of what my life would 

have been like if I could go back and live it over again because 

there are some things you don't know how to ask about at all 

until they happen. But now I'm glad for this new form, even 

though it's not exactly what I expected. 

I do miss being a person but I don't think that will last much 

longer. It doesn't seem as though my time is any longer than 

before and then there will be no one to come looking for me in 

the library every day and night because all of those who know 

about me have gone on with their lives. They would never see me, 

they would not even think about me if I hadn't become a door but 

that won't happen. 

I'm happy for my new form as a doorknob at the old library 

because it gives me more than ever to take into account before 

helping people solve some of life's mysteries. This is what I was 

meant to be and I will continue doing this until they can see the 

truth in all of its glory, or in its darkness.

* * *

Reviews

[Franky]

God this is weird! Holy s**t

Seriously. I read it three times. I only did since it was worth it, and I learned and appreciated more each time. Wonderful, creative ideas! You came up with something really good and kinda wild out of nothing! Very nice.

The one small piece of advice? It's a little long. Maybe cut out about half. I know that sounds harsh but people at this site won't read longer posts- no matter how Damn good they are. It's reality.

But you kicked a*s here. I do wonder what happened to Emily?

[Ufi Auttorri ~ Amy C. T. Serrat]

Wow ... so, Franky, YOU are the proverbial exception to the rule.Of course you know that becoming a true rereader is akin to becoming a "fan" in other circles. {snort} ... but, hey, we humbly accept your words on behalf of our benefactor's life-fractal. Thank you very much for (re) reading.

[Franky]

It was a pleasure. I enjoyed reading and re reading since this write is remarkable in its shear creativity. I loved it. Keep writing.