The little door of my caravan squealed open.

Then the inner door squealed open, and a man was waving a rush light and shouting.

The door squealed horribly and went up a half-inch.

As she stepped inside, the door softly squealed, then slid into place.

Then, while he watched, paralyzed, with staring eyes, the door squealed and started to swing open.

The front door squealed and she was back in her easy chair, sipping her drink.

The warped door squealed as I stepped through into a suffocating cloud of smoke.

The outer door squealed in protest as it was pulled open.

The door squealed as it slid up the tracks, a shriek announcing: Here she is!

A door squealed open, swung shut, and footsteps hurried away.