Queen Grumble Doors Novels & Stories

She didn't realize she was just the Matriarch’s new sledgehammer, brought in to crush the trash when it got too loud. Zuri reached the hidden stairwell. She paused, looking back over her shoulder at the dark, miserable expanse of the Breeding Quarters, listening to the cacophony of weeping men and roaring beasts. "Make sure the extraction chambers are cleaned thoroughly," Zuri instructed the Silencers at the door. "The Anvil has excellent hearing. If she catches the scent of human blood beneath the monster's rot, she might start asking the wrong questions. We wouldn't want to break her heart again, would we?"

Devoid of any actual plants except for dead scraggly weeds, the planters are cracked and crumbling with age I observe, illuminating them with my headlamp. Halting in front of the massive arched doorway deeply recessed into an arched chiseled stone alcove, I raised my eyes to the top, guesstimating the doors were easily ten feet in height. The door knock is a snarling twisted horned gargoyle's head. My gaze lowers and my awe instantly sours to irritation with an audible groan at the sight of the obnoxiously heavy chains wrapped through the iron ring hand pulls on the door. Secured tight with a massive rusty padlock that looks to be a hundred years old and unlocks with not one, but two differe

Dilo growled, her voice returning to low and slightly menacing, nodding to Rex with a half-smile as she stomped out of the room with her clothes clutched in front of her. “Just so you know,” Kealy said as she chuckled, waving her hand in front of Venya’s half-gaping looks at Rex, “Our bath wasn’t cold.” Pushing Venya out of the room, Kealy took one more peek before smiling and closing the door. Rex had only just gotten a fresh pair of pants from his bag and slid them on when the door slammed open and a swaying Grub entered, muttering to himself, “AH WONKY LEG, GRUB HAS HAD BEST TIME!” he shouted when he saw Rex, his voice incredibly loud like he was trying to be heard over something, even th

Mister slung the door open with an attitude that instantly disappeared when he saw that it was his great grandmother standing there in front of him. "My queen, come inside out of the cold, why are you walking? Are you hurt?" Mister asked her as he stepped aside to let her inside to the warmness of the room. "I'm fine child, never better," she said as she entered the lab and sat down graciously. "My queen, is it done?" Pearl asked her in a quiet voice. "It is done," the queen said with a tired smile on her face. "No! Why?" Pearl asked her in disbelief, as she broke out in a sobbing fit of tears. "What is happening here?" Mister chimed in as he suddenly became alarmed, but the air got so heavy

- Grace Bang! Bang! Bang! The hammering on her mother's front door was enough to shake the entire house. Knowing the quiet life Grace’s mother lived, it didn't take much to guess that the person banging on the door during the middle of the night wasn’t here for Brenda Olivers. With a deep groan, Grace clambered from her childhood bed and slipped on her old pink robe. Her instincts already told her who was at the door, and she hurried to answer before her mother could get the chance to put her slippers on.

"Shit! She’s lost her mind!" Garrick shouted and grabbed an ice spear, ready to charge upstairs. "Too late!" I barked, already turning to grab a fire axe. The massive alloy door was rising painfully slow, its surface crusted in frost. The extreme cold had clearly messed with the hydraulics. By the time it lifted just high enough for someone to crawl through, a sharp metallic crack rang out from inside the mechanism. Then, the entire door dropped.

I move the way I've moved for four years — efficiently, minimally, taking up as little sound as possible. Caius's quarters are in the north wing. I've never been to the north wing. I've cleaned the corridor outside it. I know the floor layout, the door positions, the specific squeak in the third board from the left that I've been meaning to report for two years. I step over it. His door is open. Not all the way. Six inches. The specific gap of a door that has been left rather than closed. I stop outside it. The scent is stronger here. Much stronger.

Niko As I survey the room, I notice three distinct doors, each providing access in and out of this space. The first door, positioned at the back, swings open to reveal a cramped area filled with storage cupboards. Among the clutter, I spot an elderly woman nestled among the shadows, her presence almost hidden. She exudes an air of gentle vulnerability, with silver strands framing her soft, weathered face. Though her age marks her features, she radiates a sense of inherent harmlessness, as if shaped by years of quiet resilience.

I twisted and turned again but it didn't open. It was locked. The council room was never locked. Never. A quiet tension slowly crept up my spine in the most unconformable way. I stepped closer to the door and pressed my eyes against the heavy wood. Then leaned in slightly, pressing my ear against the heavy wood. “…This is defamatory!" The voice of an Elder came muffled through the door, the wood swallowed most of it, but I still caught it. My breath slowed as my fingers pressed lightly against the door.

I called softly nervously, “Abby, come to Hey, wait for me, don't leave me alone!” I ran to it to cautiously go to the backs of the vaults, the brown paint was peeling and falling from its walls, crushing your hands or everything with which it had contact, it smelled bad, aged and dusty, it was difficult to find the unknown door, that when opened it squeaked due to the rust on its hinges. “Let's go in and leave it open,” I suggested, “so they won't hear anything.” Abby nodded, showing her head on the other side of the door, then her back and finally her legs, going all the way in.