1408- Door

“I have to get out of here,” he whispered, and blundered back into
the sitting room. He became aware that his shoes had begun to make
odd smooching sounds, as if the floor beneath them were growing
soft.
…

Mike blundered toward the door, his feet smooching and now actu-
ally seeming to stick a little at each step. The door wouldn’t open, of
course. The chain hung unengaged, the thumbbolt stood straight up
like clock hands pointing to six o’clock, but the door wouldn’t open.
…

Then flames scorched the undershelf of his chin, banishing thought.
The heat rising from his blazing shirt put that waver back into the
world, and as he began to smell the crispy aroma of his chest-hair
starting to fry, Mike again bolted across the sagging rug to the hall
door. An insectile buzzing sound had begun to sweat out of the
walls. The yellow-orange light was steadily brightening, as if a hand
were turning up an invisible rheostat. But this time when he reached
the door and turned the knob, the door opened. It was as if the thing
behind the bulging wall had no use for a burning man; did not, per-
haps, relish cooked meat.

- 1408, chapter II