[GeoffC]

He raised his hands to the door
“Open,” said he, in a voice so
low it could only be heard by
bats in the highest belfry and the most solid of oaken doors.

Nothing happened.

“Open,” he repeated, his voice
now so low that even the dead could not hear.

“Tsk. Modern technology!” he muttered to himself.
“Someone needs to get himself a job.”

“Open!”
The timbre in his voice was raised by a part of one part of one decibel.
(He’d remembered this door was made of ash,
it required a slight tonal variation).

Again, nothing happened.

He sighed, his breath condensing in the still
air, then repeated the command.
Then clicked his tongue three times, twisting
outstretched fingers in an anticlockwise motion.
(He’d forgotten to include the password, and
the memorable word in HEX).

There was a sudden creak as hinges, long crusted
with junk of time, shifted and the slab of ash
moved slowly outwards, very slowly. An eerie
sound, reminiscent of a teacher’s nails scraping
across a blackboard, ripped through the air.

The door to the box shuddered ajar.
Cobwebs stretched and tore, and spiders scuttled away -
their eyes shooting daggers at all who could see them - as
motes of dust billowed out from within the dark gloom.

At the side, on a bookshelf, an old mouse sat
combing her whiskers, whilst a trap lay sprung
at her side.
She, too, wanted her breakfast.

The door finally reached the end of its travel.

He reached inside. His fingers, long and thin, searched
desperately on the shelves. Long forgotten mould, detritus
from beetles, worms and unmentionables, he scattered these
out of the front of the box, as he retrieved two long shrivelled items.

“No!” He wailed, lifting his head upward to seek solace from
the heavens.
“No!….No! — Who’s been in my secret hoard of chocolate.
And who left this miserable half-eaten jam doughnut hidden at the back,
and this manky piece of streaky!”