Booktok Doorframe Lean Novels & Stories

"We've got to break in; I don't have the codes." The rest of them lined up, right shoulders aimed at the doors. "Aim for the seam between them. That's the weak link," Asher called from his position. "On three." I counted down. The doors cracked open on the first try; we slammed the doors so hard against the walls that the left door bounced back almost smashing Atlas in the face. "Kiema!" I ran through the sitting area straight into the bedroom.

No camera visible; the glass in the door’s square was too thick to break without noise. She went still, listening. Far off, boots on concrete. Closer, the faint hiss of air through the vent. The building breathed with them. The chair, then. She tipped it, levered her weight on the loose bar, and felt it give with a metallic gasp. She worked slowly, carefully, mindful of echoes, until the crossbar slid out—two and a half feet of hollow steel with sharp corners where weld had failed. She tested it against the cot frame. Solid. Against the door seam. Useless. Against the window bars… too short to reach from the floor. The high slit stared down at her like a thin, indifferent eye.

I search the room carefully, looking through shelves and drawers till I come across a candle stand sitting on the shelf. What's a candle stand doing on a bookshelf, with tons of books? Doesn't Killian worry about his books getting caught in fire? Unless…... I picked up the candle stand, and to my surprise, it only moved an inch, then a resounding click echoed in the room. I yelped, stumbling backwards when the shelf started moving. It shifts to the right, exposing a door behind it. So doors like these exist not only in movies? Curiosity got the better of me, so I twisted the doorknob and opened the door. It led to another room, well furnished and dimly lit.

There would be no civilised discourse. Demetrius shattered the fragile sense of security she’d been clinging so desperately to with one effortless shove that saw the door opening. It made a dull cracking noise, breaking at both the lock and the hinge so that the left door now sagged noticeably. With an equal lack of effort, the boy nudged the pieces of furniture clear of his path. He turned then to the now busted door with an exasperated sigh.

"I don't think it's too big." "You don't?" "No." "So why won't it fit?" George pointed toward one corner. "You're trying to take it straight through." Lee blinked. "Oh..." "Turn it sideways." Lee laughed quietly. "That makes a lot more sense." Together, they lifted the bookshelf. George guided one end while Lee carefully turned the other. Within seconds... The shelf slid neatly through the doorway. Lee stared at it for a moment. "...I spent fifteen minutes fighting that thing." George chuckled. "Happens to everyone."

My legs feel shaky and unreliable as I slowly make my way across the shop's crunchy, debris-strewn floor to the front door. I have to lock it, but the simple action proves almost impossible. My hand shakes so violently, a pathetic, uncontrolled tremor, that I cannot align the bolt to hook it into the frame. I close my eyes, take a deep, forced breath, and wait, leaning my forehead against the cool wood of the door until the frantic, erratic drumbeat of my heart finally begins to slow. Only then can I slide the bolt home. The place itself is profoundly depressing. Every detail contributes to the oppressive atmosphere of neglect. The glass shelves are shattered, only their jagged, sharp edges,

Holy shit, there's something behind those books. I'm examining the bookcase closest to the wall, every fucking inch. Now I see it. There's just a little gap between the outside one and the next one. The others are screwed tight. This is a fucking door. Really? This is so cliché, a secret fucking door. But why? Gold, baby, that's why.

The right wing of the house, although clean and well-groomed, appears to be hardly ever used. Renee looked to the left and found a large golden door, curiously she opened the door handle. It seemed hard and stuck, but then after Renee's few tries, the door opened with a little difficulty, with a creaking sound due to the hinges that had not been oiled for a long time.

I dash towards the section of wall beside the bookcase, which stretching almost the entire length of the room. I squat done and run my finger over the far back holes along the side for the adjustable shelves and count up from the bottom. One. Two. Three. Click. I glance back over my shoulder at the only visible door in the room. My breath hitches as another loud bang echoes in the small room.

She said and shifted her hand fully into the room, then she started making her hand curve in a way that the torch could reach the ground and she could see what was actually happening. She didn't this for sometime and got tired then returned back to her previous position "I didn't see anything. Maybe we should try going into the house by ourselves so we could see what is truly going on with her. " She said to them. Immediately, I started hearing some pushing sounds from my door. They have started pushing. But the door didn't open. They had forgotten that the door wasn't made of cheap woods A door made with wood from Australian Buloke. They can't be serious right now. If they ever want to get