#WritcoStoryPrompt1
The parcel that had arrived today, contained an old key and a list of instructions to use it.
Though the arrival has caught me unawares and I had been given no prior knowledge of its being sent to me, I somehow had felt no surprise at receiving it.

The old door in my bathroom had cast a shadow over my daily life since I had descovered it. I wanted to know what its purpose was.

Standing in the bathroom, key in hand I prepared myself to finally figure out what it was.

Of course, this is one of the many scenes you always find in books. The moment when the main character must decide wheather to enter the strange place or call the police and get them to investigate.

Now, having stuck the key in the lock and hearing it click, the tell tale sign that it was now ready to be opened, I faced the same dilemma as almost every other character in every book I had ever read had gone through.

My phone was in my pocket, just waiting to be used.

Nothing good ever came from entering the mysterious door alone.
Not at first. But if each character just dialed 911, there would be no story.

Of course the door could simply be a long forgotten entrance to a broom cuppbord, or a small empty room, but if there was even a chance that there was something else, I was going to take it.

Squaring my shoulders, I readied myself to open the door.

The door knob was rusty and cold on my palm. It took about a minute of twisting and pulling to get it to open.
When I finally managed it, the door swung open silently.

What lay behind it was a dark expance of black.

I smiled to myself and took a step into that darkness. It took a moment of waving my foot around to finally find something solid.

I sat down and began shuffling forwards on my behind.

It was a stair case.

I almost put aomething between the door and the door frame to make sure it would remain open, but on second thought I just let it close.

The knowledge that I was headed for who knows what in pitch blackness and possibly would be unable to escape was both thrilling and all at once terrifying.

I was ready to become the storybook character.

Shuffling forwards again I began a slow decent downwards leaving behind the wretched normal life of Amy Reinbodlt and eagerly throwing myself into the path of something else.

The first path of crossroad a protaganist finds themselvs at had been decided.

All I had to do was wait for the next one.

I carried only my phone and a small pocket knife.
I was wearing nothing but a pair of lulu lemon leggings and an oversized hoodie.

I was totally and completely unprepared for what awaited me.

After all, if you want to prepare yourself for being the main protaganist in your story, you have to head in completely and utterly unprepared for anything.

The air was different, and in the distance I could see a light.

I had already begun my path.