the door

At night, there is no sound. The stillness of the night can be haunting, and quiet is eerie in itself. When there is no noise, the mind is free, and images and sounds can spring up out of the tiniest thing.
The face could only be seen when the light, which cast across the hallway from the bathroom, fell upon the ancient wood of the door. The light shone on it in a single stream, hitting it and pouring down like silk. From the silhouette, the loose figure of a child could be seen. The grains of the wood formed hair, paled in the light, and a long flowing nightgown. But what was worst were the eyes. Two knots, a pupil's width apart, stared at you. They were cold and lifeless. Eyes that stared deep into your soul, grasping your mind. Going where they had no permission to be, they examined your being, holding you at an arm's length, only to drop you without notice.
The face was small, that of a young girl, but the eyes were the most haunting. To this day, they have not removed themselves from my soul.

Written for English.