If I open the door and step inside, all of the mystery will be over. I’ll know the darkness hides only a lawnmower, broken chairs, and discarded motor oil containers. If I remain outside, I can continue to imagine more interesting possibilities: 50 year-old calendars of faded pin-up girls, stacks of dusty books, or maybe coins scattered across a work bench. Forgotten things, not discarded things.
Not every door needs to be opened.