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Hello there.

Sure, sure.   Come on in.

Are my parents or guardians at home?   Er.   No.   This is my place.   I’m older than I look.

Trust me.

Sure – I would love to talk to you about my security system.   You’re not just a criminal casing the joint, are you?   It wouldn’t end well for you, if so…  

Ha, ha.   Yes.   My little joke.

So what do I want from my security system?   Funny you should ask – I’ve been thinking about this recently.   See – the whole ‘has to be invited in’ thing is a fallacy.   There’s no mystical forcefields to keep me out – I mean, to keep others out; but it seems like I’m always invading or being invaded this last year.

Yes, indeed.   Lucky you came by.

Trouble is, doorways are liminal spaces, right?   Invitation myth or not, they’re got this metaphorical magic portal kind of shit happening.   The threshold of change and transition, the point where you cross boundaries, the eternal place between.   Between worlds, between lives, between death.   No wonder so many key moments in my existence (if you’ll excuse the pun) have taken place in doorways.   And it’s about both whom I invite in – and where I cross the line.   (Okay, you wouldn’t know, but people who read about this later will realise it’s true.   Never mind.)  

See – doorways are intimate too, yeah?   They’re the edge of your personal space, your inner sanctum, your secret life.

And then – the doors themselves.   Doors work two ways.   Yes – duh – I know ‘literally’, but think about this.   They keep out – and they keep in.   Home and haven, prison and sanctuary: the representation of what or who you lock away, the side of yourself that you close up and close off.   Doors are both the way into people, and the only hope of escape from things.

Now if I were the poetic sort, I’d even say they have some special mystical power there too, you know?   The kind of magician’s reveal: you open it and – ta da!   There’s the long-lost friend, the new antagonist, the failed romance, the old enemy…   Thing is, you have to open the door before you know if it’s that gift you’ve always wanted or something sent to kill you…

Hey, you must totally get all this, right?   I mean – ‘door-to-door’ defines your chosen profession.   And that always means facing the outer limits and inner demons, because you just never fucking know who or what going to be on the other side…

Sorry – pardon the language.   Oh – but it’s true?  

How funny.  


Anyway: security systems, yes.   A brochure – nice.   Let’s get down to business, shall…

Hm?   Oh.   Yeah – that’s my Cat.   You don’t wanna play with it.   It’s hungry.   And – bad-tempered.

See?   I warned you.   Oh – drew blood, did it?   That’s unfortunate.

Yeah.   It looks bad for you.

What?   Show you the door?   Ha.   That’s just what I’ve been doing, isn’t it?   Sit back down.   This won’t take long.


I said – sit back down.


That’s better.

Get comfortable.   You’re staying for dinner.   I don’t normally eat at home, but since you’re here… I won’t take no for an answer.   Besides – door’s locked.  

Security is important, you know.

You see: doors get metaphysical.   They lead down rabbit holes, into magical worlds, into people’s souls.   But they also let loose all the dangerous shit – they’re gateways to hell, portals to apocalypse, the entrance to the nightmare.

In fact, you know the saying, right?

To be at death’s door?


Never thought it would mean a real one, did you?


You see – sometimes I don’t even need to ask to be invited in.

Sometimes the dinner invitation comes to me.





  1. DAMN!! That was the scariest one yet. I will never sell door to door….Or let one in..

  2. Bon appetit

  3. “Now if I were the poetic sort”

    But you ARE, Mr. 8, You ARE.

  4. I always love when that sinister, seductive side of you comes out to play. Bloodletting awakens the poet in you, it seems. Tasty. Tantalizing. Awesome.

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