#WritePhoto: Through the Door

 Participating again in KL Caley's #WritePhoto, inspired by this really cool door in a wall.

Blue. Image by KL Caley

 Participating in the weekly #WritePhoto blog hop at KL Caley's New2Writing blog. Every Thursday a new photo prompt. Post stories, poems, or whatever by the following Tuesday and link back to KL's page.

About 800 words.

Through the Door

“Don’t use that one.” I reached out a hand to stop Beth from touching the latch on the big blue door.

 

“But we always go this way. This isn’t the time to explore. It’s going to rain.” She waved a hand at the clouds that had grown thicker and darker as we walked that morning.

 

“I know. But look at this.” I pointed to the small, pointed door in the bottom half of the big one. “Let’s use this one.”

 

“Isn’t that the cat door?” She was running her hands over the metallic gold stars that studded the door, her fingers trying to read the meaning of the array.

 

“Pretty big for cats.” The door must have been nearly three feet tall at the highest point, though it looked smaller because the main portal was so large. “And I don’t think many felines can manage a latch like that. No, it’s for the Little People.”

 

“Whatever. We aren’t cats or Little People, so why not stick to the Big People door?” She didn’t laugh, as I had expected her to.

 

Sometimes Beth doesn’t want to humor me.

 

“Please?” Eyelashes working overtime, I made my plea.

 

Beth rolled her eyes. “We’d have to crawl through. What if someone sees us? It’s so undignified, Dee.”

 

I looked around, exaggerating my action. Not a soul in sight. There never was, here at this odd bit of wall in the middle of nowhere.

 

Knowing she’d follow, I bent down and unlatched the little gate. It took a strong pull on the ring to get it open. The hinges acted as though they hadn’t been used for a long time, even emitting a few melodramatic squeals. I dropped to my knees, poked my head through, and followed it with the rest of my body.

 

I turned at once to help Beth through and up onto her feet, before she could change her mind on me. “There, now, isn’t that a nice way to add a little magic—” I stopped talking.

 

Beth gazed over my shoulder at the big meadow, her eyes huge and her mouth a little open.

 

I turned around, and my own mouth dropped open.

 

This wasn’t our meadow. A short way in front of us a lake filled the space between two low hills—had they always been there? On the other side of the lake there appeared to be a village of some sort, baking in the mid-day sun.

 

“Let’s. Get. Out.” Beth reached for the latch of the large door, which mercifully still stood behind us.

 

“Wait! Shouldn’t we go back the way we came?”

 

Her look was pure poison, but she dropped to the ground and touched the little door.

 

It didn’t budge.

 

I saw the problem at once: there was no latch on this side. The big door had a two-sided lever to lift the latch, but the little door was completely smooth on this side.

 

“Was it always like that?” And how had it gotten latched? We hadn’t pulled it shut, and it had opened so reluctantly…

 

Beth gave me another glare. “Does it matter?”

 

I glanced again at the village across the water. It didn’t look like anyplace I knew. And I didn’t see any cars. No train at the far end of the valley. I got the feeling that we were a very long way from home indeed.

 

“This was your idea,” Beth said.

 

I opened my mouth, clamped it back shut. No point arguing with the truth.

 

She stood up and dusted off her knees. “What now?”

 

I gestured to the larger door.

 

“And if it doesn’t take us back?”

 

Stupid question. How should I know? Beth knew that. She just wanted me to make things all right, the way I did when the sink stopped up or the lawn needed mowing. I thought about reminding her that magic was more her area.

 

A noise made me turn and look behind us. A line of men walked out of the woods to our left, at the edge of the lake that should have been a meadow. They’d seen us, and they were wearing furs and carrying a lot of pointy objects, and what they were yelling didn’t sound like “good to meet you!”

 

I reached for the door latch. Please please please take us home?

 

The men broke into a trot that ate up the distance between us. I pushed open the door and ran through, pulling Beth with me. We slammed the door shut and leaned against it, panting, hearts racing, not sure if we’d been silly or had just escaped a fate worse than death.

 

A raindrop landed on my nose and I looked up with a rush of hope.

 

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©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2023

 As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated.

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