Sliding Closet Door Handle Novels & Stories

I walked farther inside, my gaze moving over the details. The vertical wood paneling behind the bed. The small recessed niche with hidden lighting on the left. The slim bronze closet handles, custom-shaped. The vanity built into the wall, topped with warm travertine and an unframed oval mirror. I had seen this before. Not this room. Or maybe exactly this room. I had designed too many Monaco penthouses for men who thought “warm” meant placing one brown pillow on a gray sofa. But those bronze handles... I touched one.

The adrenaline from our conversation was still humming under my skin, but it was nothing compared to the thrill of what I was about to do next. I kicked off my flats, moving with absolute silence across the plush carpet of my room. I slipped into my walk-in closet, bypassing the racks of clothes until I reached the far back corner where my long winter coats and heavy evening gowns hung. Pushing the dense fabrics aside, my fingers searched the dark wood paneling until they brushed against the tiny, flush brass button I had discovered that afternoon. I pressed it. With a low, almost silent mechanical hiss, the hidden door slid open. The dim, amber motion-sensor LED strips instantly flickered t

It made me cough, and sneeze but I was okay again soon. I held one of the two handles for the double-doors on the wardrobe and pulled. The door came open with a creak. Inside the wardrobe was a line of clothes hanging on hangers. They were old, but looked like they were in good shape. I found a sweater on one of the hangers. Pulling it on over what I was wearing, it itched a little but helped keep me warm. I closed the door on the wardrobe and found my way back to the window and took a seat in the chair that was still there.

"It looks like someone rammed this door." Frowning, I rushed to see what he meant. The door leading to the closet hung on a single hinge, and pieces of a broken, plastic chair were spread all over the floor. A few metal shelves were turned over, and a pair of black heels lay under one of them. Charlie's shoes…

Slipping it on and doing some of the buttons up, when I got out of here and in my car, I’d do up the rest. Making my way to my clothing from the night before, I scooped them up and hurried out of the room. I ran down the hallway, towards the front door. Stopping to grab my purse from the little end table before turning towards the door. I gave the handle a tug, but it wouldn’t budge. There was no way to open the door, there was a small metal box near the handle with a keypad on it. I wished that I’d been paying more attention last night, when he’d typed in the code.

It’s just too thin. The cloth like cover torn by accident while I sticking my nails in between the very thin opening. I took it off and found a handle at the bottom. It is a secret door, just like what I have in my room. My heart is raising again as I used my force to open it upwards. There is another door. I opened it by the small doorknob and is surprised to see something I least expected.

said Magda no less calmly, but the tail of her eyes had been staring warily at Avelyn's hand which was about to open the sliding door quickly. "I wonder what's stored in this wardrobe." Magda couldn't stop Avelyn from opening the sliding cupboard. In a single pull, Avelyn had put all of her strength into opening the dark sliding door that had intrigued Avelyn from the start. "No ma’am!" "Why can't this be opened?" Avelyn snorted huffily when there wasn't the slightest movement of the sliding door Avelyn was trying to open.

There was a discrepancy of about six feet behind the master suite’s walk-in closet. She made her way to the master bedroom, the air growing cooler the closer she got. She pushed open the heavy double doors of the closet, the smell of cedar and expensive, tailored wool greeting her. She moved the rows of suits, the racks of ties, and the shelves of unworn watches, her hands feeling along the mahogany paneling. She expected nothing. She hoped for nothing. But then, her fingertips brushed against a cold, metallic seam. A hidden hinge. She pressed her thumb against a small, circular indentation, and with a soft, pneumatic hiss, a section of the wall receded.

At the pack house I’d had a bathroom the size of a small apartment with a tub you could swim in and heated floors and products lined up on glass shelving that cost more than most people’s monthly rent. This bathroom had a shower with decent pressure, a mirror with a slight lean to the left, and a window above the sink that let in a thin line of evening air. I preferred this one. I turned on the tap and set my clothes on the edge of the sink and turned to close the door behind me. The door clicked. I frowned. I tried the handle. It turned but the door didn’t move. I tried again … same result. “Okay,” I said aloud to nobody.

There is some steam evaporating as I look at it. The way is paved with limestones. It's not slippery which is good. The grass was trimmed and most of the trees were pruned as well. I immediately opened the huge door. I tried pushing and pulling but it won't budge. I found out, it was a sliding door made of black oak.