The Appointed Room

I based this snippet on the painting “The Appointed Room” by Martin Cone. It was on display at the Speed Art Museum in Louisville several years ago, and it stuck with me. I may turn this into something longer at some point.

Gripping the white porcelain doorknob, I eased open the door, its paint a dull green that reminded me of wilted lettuce. The door should have creaked, should have squealed in protest as I opened it. This house, abandoned for 60 plus years, should have squeaked and groaned as I traversed its rooms and hallways. It should smell of damp, of rot, of dust, of time left unchecked to wreak its havoc, It should show some sign of neglect,

But it didn’t.

The door glided open at my touch, light from the hallway spilling into a room remarkably similar to all the preceding rooms I’d explored. A band of paint, the same lettuce-green as the door, adorned the walls to about a quarter of their height, the remainder of the walls painted a shade of ivory that reflected the door’s green tint.

I stepped into the room, my steps oddly muffled. I couldn’t discern any clear purpose for this space. It might have been a bedroom; it appeared to have a closet. At any rate, off to the right, a widely ajar door opened onto a lightless place.

Ahead of me stood another open door, leading to a hallway and a set of stairs. I’d long since lost my whereabouts in this place. Maybe the hallway in front of me was one I’d already been down, albeit from another direction.

With every step I took in this house, I expected some terrifying secret or ghastly specter to reveal itself. And for every step I took, the house seemed to whisper, “This is a normal house. Nothing is amiss. Nothing is awry. Let your guard down. Keep exploring.”

If there had been cobwebs; if there had been old newspapers curled brown with age and rodent piss; if there had been the creaking doors and groaning floorboards, my senses might have been soothed. But as it was, every nerve vibrated like a plucked guitar string.

Nothing was wrong.

Everything was wrong.