The Wall – A short story
The doors with their archway stood once faded lines were drawn. They were massive in size and grandeur. They seemed to be the doors of a King or noble man.
She set down her paints and went to the door. She touched the door and the carvings began to raise or fade depending on her command. She closed her eyes. She felt the wood form under her hands. The intricate details ebb and fade as they recessed or became pronounced. She inhaled the aroma of newly carved wood, of stain, and of age as well. All combined together in harmony. It was beautiful in her mind. She opened her eyes to see the beauty still in front of her. They were just as she imagined them. She wondered what was behind the doors. She longed to open them. She reached for the knob and the handles with both arms. She expected to fling them open but they were locked. She tried the small, plain door. It, too, was locked.
The doors needed her command. She looked around. There was a pen and a notebook near her. She sat down with that pen and notebook and she began to write. The story unfolded before her. She wrote and wrote and wrote. The doors began to moan and groan. Whispers and winds flowed through the room.
Her family was there. Friends and strangers began to gather again to see the massive doors that were so delicately placed within the otherwise blank wall. Everyone stood and waited for her to open the doors or tell them the story. Few believed the door was real, even though they looked real. They were just painted, right? However, they would comment that they were exquisitely done. So life like. So real. They came and went all day coming back to see if it was done. Some mentioned they thought they could hear the doors unlock. Others wondered if they really heard the sounds of animals, people, and wind behind the doors. Each said they heard something different.
Before she handled the story to her husband, she tore a piece of paper out of the book. She glued it to the wall next to the doors. She stood at the doors with her hands on the knobs. She paused. Could she do this? She inhaled and exhaled. She looked at her family. Her husband stood there with his hand on the back of one of his children, another in his arms, a third had her arm wrapped around his bicep. She wondered, should I do this?
Her husband went up to the paper and in a muttered voice whispered, “BEWARE. If you enter into these doors, you will not return the same – if you return at all. BEWARE! THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING! GOD SPEED.”