THE DOOR

Welcome to Hell

Sarah Finch has been on the road for years trying to escape herself and not succeeding.

She glanced at her reflection in the rear-view mirror, frowning at what she saw: a gaunt, sickly face with bloodshot eyes and stringy, unwashed hair. She looked much older than thirty-six. I guess that’s what happens to stressed people who live nomadic lives.

Now here she was in another small town. This place was new to her, yet it seemed so familiar. Does every small town look the same? Or is it just me? One landscape blending into another, until they are all blurred together? Where am I? Somewhere in the Midwest? I have no idea.

An eerie silence enveloped this nameless town. No movement, no sounds, not even chirping birds or scampering squirrels. She was alone, although several cars parked on the streets indicated others were around somewhere. Her probing gaze regarded the small businesses on each side of the three-block downtown area; a pharmacy, clothing store, coffee shop and a bakery, among others. She shuddered.

Despite the apparent isolation, she couldn’t shake the feeling someone or something watched her.

Sarah forced her hands to relax their grip on the steering wheel. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. It didn’t help. Where is everybody? She glanced at her watch, saw it was only two o’clock in the afternoon. The desolate streets made sense now. Adults worked while their offspring resided in schools. Judging by the blooms beautifying the sidewalk, it was early spring, so school was still in session.

The surprising aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted through her open window on the warm breeze, disrupting her thoughts. At least one person worked downtown. The scent reminded her she hadn’t eaten in quite a while. She sighed deeply. Food would have to wait. She could taste the rich, dark blend on her tongue, teasing her hunger even more.

Exhaustion overwhelmed her. Tired of running from something she couldn’t remember, yet haunted by it every waking moment, sucking out even the tiniest glimmer of happiness in her life. No, she reminded herself, I’m headed toward something. Not running away. Since her sixteenth birthday, others persecuted her for a crime she didn’t commit. She had no memory of the event. Proof did not exist. Yet here she was. Still driving. She took another deep breath, held it a few moments, then exhaled. She didn’t feel any better. It was time to take a break. Sarah looked for a motel but wasn’t hopeful. These small towns rarely had good overnight accommodations.

A tingle in her stomach and an urge to make a right turn took over her driving. Following her strange gut feeling, Sarah weaved in and out of the picturesque town, finally pulling up in front of a beautiful, white, two-story house with a wraparound porch. As she gaped at it, an unfamiliar warmth filled her, and she smiled. This was her dream house. I have found it at last! Maybe now, I can finally set down roots. After all these years, this has to be a good sign.

So filled with wonder at seeing the magnificent abode, Sarah almost didn’t notice the man in the navy blue suit standing near the flower planters on the porch. He looked at her, smiled, and waved. The uneasy thought that he had been expecting her made her hesitate, staying in the car, her fingertips on the door handle. Shaking off the paranoia that rode her like a demonic jockey, she focused on a new concern: could she afford this place? Was it for rent or sale? She looked at the lush green yard adorned around the edges with brightly colored flowers, but saw no realtor sign. Deciding to take a chance, Sarah exited her vehicle and approached the stranger.

He held out his hand, introducing himself, “Damien Maxwell, realtor extraordinaire at your service.”

Sarah matched his smile as she took his hand, “This is the most beautiful house I have ever seen. Is it for rent?”

“For rent or sale, whatever suits your fancy.” The attractive, but not movie star handsome, realtor turned, opening the front door. “Look inside. The house comes fully furnished or unfurnished, depending on your needs. We aim to please.” He stepped aside, allowing her to enter first.

The moment Sarah stepped into the foyer, a lifetime of built up tension melted away. She deeply inhaled the comforting aroma of apples and cinnamon. She knew the tantalizing fragrance was an old realtor trick, making the house smell like a home.

It worked. She could already see herself living in this beautiful, well cared for building.

Sarah stood gaping at the glorious artisanship of the interior design. She ran her hand along shining wooden panels leading to the open living area. A sapphire blue cushioned sofa framed in glistening steel took center place in the room. A pair of matching recliners flanked the sofa. A glass and chrome coffee table sat in between them. Although it surprised Sarah that the room was devoid of any electronics, she admired the floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with tomes of all colors and sizes.

Damien Maxwell led the way, “Here’s the formal dining room, but there’s a table in the kitchen for more casual eating.”

Sarah admired the modern styled table and chairs. “This is all so beautiful! It’s exactly what I would have picked.”

They swept through the kitchen, Sarah not wanting to linger since this was her least favorite room. It had all modern amenities, and that’s what she cared about.

“Would you like to see the upstairs?” Damien Maxwell’s smile never faltered, his eyes wide and shining. He looked like an overgrown Boy Scout.

His demeanor relaxed Sarah. She never felt so welcomed. She knew this could be a façade, he was a realtor after all, but she believed him. He loved this house and would genuinely be happy if she lived here.

“Yes! Please!”

Sarah followed the realtor up the stairs. The second floor held three bedrooms and a huge bathroom. She glanced through the doorways at the two smaller rooms but was far more interested in the master bedroom. Her bedroom.

Damien Maxwell stood near the doorway of the room in question and gestured inside. He did not follow when Sarah entered.

The door slammed shut behind her.

Sarah let out a startled yip and spun toward the door. She grabbed the handle and turned. Nothing happened. Using both hands on the knob she twisted and pulled it with all her might. The door didn’t budge.

Her breath came out in rasping gasps. Her body shook. No. No. No! What is happening? "Mr. Maxwell, please open the door!”

Silence answered her pleas.

Sarah ran to the nearest window, pulled aside the curtains and tried to open the heavy window. No luck. Sealed shut. She went to the other window and found the same thing.

“Let me out! Mr. Maxwell, open the damn door!”

Sarah grabbed a nearby lamp and tried to break the window nearest her. The base of the lamp shattered. The window remained intact. She looked for a better weapon, finding nothing. She pounded on the glass, but it would not break.

She went back to the door and tried it again.

It opened.

But what she saw on the other side wasn’t the hallway she expected. Instead, she saw a dark fog shrouded forest with a silver half moon as its only illumination.

Sarah started hyperventilating. She bent over, placing her hands on her knees, and tried to steady her breathing. “This can’t be real.” When her breathing improved, she hesitantly leaned through the doorway, picking a nearby red rose. She brought it back into the room with her. She ran her fingers over the stem, leaves, and soft petals. Inhaled its sweet scent. Sarah pricked her finger on a thorn, then stuck the damaged digit in her mouth. The rose was real, all right. Or she was having one hell of a hallucination.

She backed up and closed the door again, refusing to wander an impossible forest in the dark. She looked at the windows to confirm it was still daylight. A golden sliver shone between the pink curtains. What is happening? I’m on the second floor of the house, in the middle of a small town. And there isn’t a forest for miles. Am I losing my mind?

Sarah examined the master bedroom, decorated in white with pink roses, from the wallpaper to the bedspread. Again, she noticed how it was something she would’ve chosen. Nausea roiled in her stomach. This was too weird. The entire house, furnishings and all, were exactly to her tastes.

She went to the windows and yanked down the curtains. Sarah pounded on the glass, hoping to get someone’s attention from outside. She saw the realtor, Damien Maxwell, talking to a man out on the sidewalk. Although she made a lot of racket, neither man noticed her.

The only way out was through the doorway. She took a deep breath and resolved to do what was necessary to escape. Sarah opened the door again.

And almost fainted.

The Eiffel Tower and noisy traffic greeted her. Sarah had never been to Paris, but she had seen plenty of pictures and videos. She might have been to Paris, Texas. She only traveled to destinations she could drive to, and she didn’t remember any of them. The past few years were nothing but a blur. She contemplated living in a new city. In a new country. She didn’t speak French, but many people there spoke English, didn’t they? She put one foot over the threshold and inhaled the pungent stench of urine. She thought the air would smell like baguettes and perfume. Disappointment filled her. Not focusing on her surroundings, a fast-moving taxi nearly flattened her. She jerked herself back into the room and slammed the door.

Should I open it again? Where will it lead to next? A swamp? Quicksand? A cliff in the Alps? She refused to open it. Sanity would eventually come back to her world, and she could leave this room, this house, get in her car and drive away. She sat on the floor with her back against the wall, staring at the dreaded door.

The temperature plummeted. She could see her breath in plumes as she wrapped her arms around herself and shivered so badly her teeth clattered. Inanimate objects would not bully her. She didn’t spook easily. Is this that Maxwell guy’s doing? Why is he against me?

The air got so cold frost formed on the furniture. Sarah had two choices: she could go through the door wherever it led, or she could stay in here and freeze to death.

She opened the door and collapsed to her knees, her body trembling so hard she couldn’t stand.

This was the place that forever changed her life. I’ve been running from these memories forever. No, not running away. Going toward something better. She took off a sneaker and sunk her toes into the warm, squishy sand. She removed her other shoe and stepped away from the door.

The crashing waves of a pristine ocean splashed the white sand. The beach, strewn with seashells and seaweed went on for miles. Seagulls called to one another as they competed with sandpipers for scraps. Not too far away blazed a huge bonfire with driftwood set around it for seats.

On the other side of the bonfire, people jumped up and down. Sarah gradually heard music. She focused on the sound and realized it was “Yeah” by Usher, Lil Jon, and Ludacris.

“Wow. That song was popular when I was a teen.” She walked and watched the dancing adolescents. The music transitioned into “The First Cut Is The Deepest,” by Sheryl Crow. Sarah froze. This really was too much of a coincidence. Her heart slowed to a momentary stop, her breathing came deep and heavy. She squinted and tried to get a good look at the faces of the happy youths. She slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.

One of those faces was hers.

How can this be happening? How can I be here, to the one event that ruined my life? She forced herself to relax. This could be my chance to remember what really happened. She kept a safe distance away and observed the people before her.

After a time, she didn’t know how much; she saw herself leave with another girl, walking towards the sea caves. She recognized the girl as her best friend at the time, Amy McIntyre. Why are they going to the caves? Didn’t they know how dangerous that was?

Apparently not. They laughed and playfully shoved one another. They stopped at the mouth of the cave, engaged in a disagreement. Sarah couldn’t hear what they said, but their body language betrayed them. After several minutes, the past Sarah headed into the cave. Amy waited, then reluctantly followed.

Sarah, in the here and now, refused to go further. She didn’t want to know what happened. She turned to go back to the door. She couldn’t see it, but knew it had to be there somewhere. Her heart raced and her chest felt tight. She could not move.

The air turned freezing, just like in the bedroom. The cold forced her into the eerily illuminated cave. She couldn’t figure out what caused the green phosphorus glow, but she could still see her past self and her companion.

When she stood inside the dank cave, only a few feet behind her past self, she shouted, “Stop! Don’t go any further! It’s dangerous! You don’t know what could happen!”

The girls did not respond to her shouts. Sarah ran up to them and grabbed herself by the shoulder. Or at least that’s what she meant to do. When she reached out to touch the past her, her hand went right through the body.

“Oh my God! Am I a ghost? Am I dead?”

No. I can feel the cool air on my skin. I can feel the hard ground beneath my feet. If I’m real, then they are the ones who are ghosts. How is any of this possible?

The past her led the way through a narrow passage that opened to a large cavern. Amy objected to going through the passageway, but after a few moments followed. The now Sarah, thinner than ever, just barely managed to squeeze through the opening.

Sarah gaped at the magnificence of the cave. The past her pointed to the drawings on the walls. Neither one of them were historians but the cave paintings looked ancient.

Amy stepped closer, not paying attention to where she walked. She slipped into a pool of icy water. There was no way for her to climb out. She floundered for a few moments then gripped the surrounding stone.

“Help me Sarah! Pull me out!”

The now Sarah moved closer to the pool and looked up at her past self. She didn’t recognize her face. She wore a mask of pure evil and malicious intent.

Amy clung to the side of the pool. The past Sarah stepped on Amy’s fingers and grinned at her wickedly.

“Sarah, what are you doing? Why won’t you help me?”

“I have hated you for so long, Little Miss Perfect. Everyone thinks you can do no wrong, but I know better.”

Forced to let go, Amy floundered in the freezing water for several minutes as the person she thought was her best friend watched her drown.

The now Sarah stared down at the pool. Her reflection startled her. She still looked like a fresh faced sixteen year old, not a haggard thirty six. Is my whole life an illusion? I murdered Amy in cold blood, I can no longer refute that.

Before Sarah could come to grips with the horror of her past, she found herself suddenly in the frigid pool, looking up helplessly at the past her. She knew better than to grab onto the side. She dog paddled to stay afloat as long as she could.

I want to live! I have to live! I’ll do anything! Anything! I can’t die like this.

Sharp, stabbing pain, like a thousand needle pricks, assaulted her body. She could barely keep her head above the water. I’m so weak. So cold. I can’t lift my arms; I can’t even feel my feet! I’m going to die, I know there’s no saving me, not anymore, it’s too late. Amy, forgive me.

The world went dark.

Sarah Finch has been on the road for eternity trying to escape herself and not succeeding.