Somewhere in America...

There is no one else in the room, simply her. It's one of those muggy days, where nothing you do will allow momentary respite from boredom. The CD player just shuffled its last song, the book sits idly on her lap. Somewhere, the cat is snoozing.

seriously, stay away from the doorknob. I know it looks tempting, but it is deceiving. It will mock you in the end...

This thought, unbidden, seems to stir the stilted, musty air in the room. Involuntarily, her eyes fasten on the doorknob.

"you waaant meeee..."

She shakes her head. She did not hear the doorknob whisper, that's just ridiculous.

"cooome to meeee...I will treat you welllllll"

"Jesus," she mutters, "it's getting too warm in this room, I need to get out."

She spends a few minutes getting her things together. Purse, cigarettes, wallet, shoes, sunglasses. She steps out of the kitchen and faces the front door again. As if drawn by a magnet, her eyes settle on the knob again.

She feels a familiar internal shifting beneath her belly. "Why am I getting hot? What the--"

that's how the insidious thing works! while you are initially dubious, it gets under your skin, filling your mind with subliminal sexual images...

"Must have...door...knob. No! Yes. Must have it."

The illogic grips her, her loins are filled with a longing her logical mind simply cannot comprehend.

She approaches the knob and attempts to climb atop it.

She gasps as the knob's brassy touch sets off electromagnetic reactions within her, her nipples become erect and her breath is caught short. She gently rocks back and forth in faster and smaller gyrations.

"oh, doorknob," she moans throatily, "sweet sweet doorknob..."