He recoiled when he saw the door. Fear, cold, coursed through his veins; icy terror streamed through his arteries. Stealthily, slowly and systematically he found his way forward. The door loomed large and then larger. A bead of sweat ran down the bridge of his nose and waited to fall. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand; he wiped his hand on his thigh and stared at the damp pattern it left on his linen trousers. He tore his eyes away and returned his attention to the ominous door. It stood there, daring him to approach; taunting him with its golden eye and its promise and threat of new possibilities. He paused and breathed deeply; courage eluded him, but bravado enamoured him. His felt his faltering footstops on the gravel. He heard the blood pumping in his ears. He watched the door come closer and ever closer until it faced him and stopped him. It was close enough to touch; it presented itself as an obstacle unsurmountable. The bravado, that's all he had now, for reason and bravery had fled. He reached out an arm. It was smooth and cool with a thin coating of condensation. He took another deep breath. He smoothed his hair, straightened his tie and polished his shoes on his calfs. He took the key from his pocket and gently and silently pushed it into the lock. The door swung open without any pressure being applied. He was blinded temporarily by the sudden bright light upon his face. Unseeing, he carefully felt his way towards the faint outline of a creature standing in front of the light. The abrupt brightness disoriented him and the sharp warmth made him feel drowsy. As he stumbled out of the shadow the creature within cried: 'Where have you been? What time do you call this to be coming home? Your dinner's in the bin.'