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I lived in that house for 10 years and I'd never seen what was behind that brown mysterious looking door until that last day.

The house I once lived in was old-fashioned with a smell of musk and damp with the feeling that someone was always looking over your shoulder. The living room was the first room when you entered the house. The room was filled with very used furniture. Uncomfortable seats with holes in them and springs coming out of them, worn down rugs over the bare wood floor, and a large display case with pictures, and dusty books. And the enormous window that, during the day, will let as much sunlight and energy in the room as it possibly can. My house is part of a beautiful street where each house seems to stand on it's own little hill like royalty. 15 was my house.

I remember the day before we were set to move standing outside the door thinking to myself, what's behind it, why is it locked and why has it been kept a secret. My mother tapped me on the shoulder and asked 芒聙聹What are you doing?芒聙聺. 芒聙聹What's behind that door?芒聙聺 I said, 芒聙聹Never ask me that, there are things behind that door that should never be seen, and never will be, you hear me芒聙聺 replied my mum harshly. I didn't understand what was so bad that no-one, not even her own daughter could see.

That day my mother was set to take some of our last belongings to our new house. I had my mind set on opening that door, doing whatever it took just to get a peep. I watched my mum loading up the car with old ratty teddies and my old doll called Elizabeth. That doll was my only memory of my Dad, he was killed in a car accident when I was 1, he gave me the doll the day before he died. I made a plan that I would open it, look and make sure no-one knew I had done it, I thought easy, nothing could go wrong. But that didn't happen.

I prepared myself with a flash-light and a penknife. I walked down the hallway each step I got more anxious, more weary. I got to the door, I stood and looked at it more, the black hinges, the shiny finish, surely nothing bad could be behind this door I thought to myself. I grabbed the door handle and took a deep breath, as I opened the heavy oak door to the mysterious room, the scent of mouldy leaves and wet dogs nearly made me throw up.

The room reminded of something out of a horror movie, the windows where boarded up, there was only a large table in the middle of the room. I heard a soft sound of a persons voice calling out and I heard a creak of the wooden floor boards like someone in a rocking chair. I grabbed my torch and knew that I wasn't going to like what I saw, I searched the room starting from the ceiling, the ceiling was normal, the same chandelier as my bedroom hung grandly. I moved my flash-light down and saw something in the corner of my eye, a silhouette of a person, a man. He was gasping, and wheezing, his face covered by his hands, his hands were different, very different. His tattered dirty clothes hung to his chest as if they were too small, his hair scraggly and almost gone. He pulled himself up slowly and lost his balance and fell down. I remember stepping back, not really sure of what to do next, so I ran. I ran out of the room, down the stairs and out of front door onto the porch. I was gasping for air, with my hands on the back of my head, I was so confused. What was it?.

I sat down on the deck chair outside thinking it over, rewinding it in my head. I saw my mother had come back from my new house with an empty car boot, and the look of confusion on her face. She came out of the car shouting at me, she knew exactly what I had done, but I couldn't hear her, my head was spinning my head was throbbing and then I fell. I didn't remember anything after that but I remember waking up in a clean room and I was blinded by the sun coming in from the window. I remember my mum walk in with a smile on her face, but not a happy to see your awake smile a more pity smile.

My mum sat down in the chair next to my bed, I felt calm not worried by what was a home, but I knew my mum was going to say something that would ruin that feeling. She sighed, her breath smelt of candy, she always ate when she was worried, when she finally had the guts to start talking I thought she would never stop. She told me that the person in the room was my twin brother, he was born with a disfigurement in his face, and has been locked away since my dad past away. I was angry, hurt and sorry for my brother all at once.

I ran out the room, I was so angry. I walked past the nurses they told me to stop, but I wasn't listening to anyone. I walked out onto the street the cold air hit me like a moments shock unable to breath. I fell to my knees and hit the cold grey cement pavement, I could feel the people watching me but I didn't care. I remember when I was younger longing for a brother or a sister, some sort of company, and now I do I feel these ill-thoughts, I feel guilty. After all it's not my brothers fault he is like that.