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In time the creaking didnt subside, nor did my perception of it. Whenever the door was opened or closed the sound would pierce through my ears and dilute my thoughts. Though Karen was wrong about it leaving me, she probably knew that Id adapt to it. The sound never became less annoying, dont get me wrong, I still hate it, but my patience for it grew out of necessity. Though even with my increased tolerance the creaking was enough to stir me from slumber whenever Karen rose to use the toilet. Maybe Id never fully adjust after all. I cant tell you how many times Ive sprayed grease into those old hinges on that seemingly older door. The owners of this complex mustve cut some serious corners to have recycled doors, but the price for rent was cheap enough. You get what you paid for.
Now aside from the creaking of this door everything else was perfect, that is until I started to notice the door was taunting me. Sometimes Karen would leave the door open, and the air conditioning would kick on only to move the door. The door would sway slowly and the slight movements were enough to sound the alarm to make that drawn out creeeeeeak in the dead of night. That sound would scratch at my brain until I rose from the bed and closed the door. Sure enough, like some sick joke, the door would seem to open itself by some force of magic. With one long creak it would torment me but how? I closed it. The door must not be catching. So, more firmly, Id close it, and thatd be the end of that.
Every time I had to do this dance with the door, and Ive done this frequently, I felt a strong sense of unease well up in my chest. It was as though I was five years old again and I was peering into a pitch black hallway. The fear felt reminiscent of those days, and so I pushed it out of my mind Im too old to be afraid of the dark still. Id talk to Karen about these occurrences and my unease with the situation and shed just jokingly dismiss it, teasing me.
