A Door to Adore

There was only one rule: don’t open the door. It applied to those who wanted to survive.

Monowi, Nebraska, had a population of one. The world didn’t know that the “Red Door” ensured it stayed that way.

“Why is it here?” Eric’s voice was brittle, nervous. He ran a hand through his hair—blond, with dark roots creeping back. His presence made the population two. Meyer, his partner, made it three. The trip to Monowi, the smallest town in the U.S., was a quirky adventure for a new couple.

The door followed them.

It started innocently enough. The couple assumed it was some bizarre design quirk at the renovated grain lodging. But then it reappeared, bright as blood, in the abandoned Depression-era gas station, its color screaming against the dust-choked ruins. It was at the library next, and even now, in the tavern’s dim light, it stood against the far wall like a quiet invitation.

Monowi’s only resident, the mayor, stood behind the bar, half hidden in the shadows. “I wouldn’t open it.”

“Why not?” Meyer asked.

“Everyone does, though,” the mayor said, ignoring the question.

Eric’s fingers twitched. His eyes stayed on the door. “What’s behind it?”

The mayor shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Meyer’s heart kicked up. “Let’s go, Eric. Please.”

But Eric was already moving. The door’s handle, ice cold and waiting, settled into his grip. “I need to know.”

The mayor watched as the couple vanished without a sound. That was the best part—watching them disappear, feeding the door. The door needed sacrifices, and tourists were good for that. So long as someone came along and fed the “Red Door,” it remained in Monowi.

He wondered what would happen when he died. Would the door stay in town?

The mayor shrugged. Not his problem.