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The Inspiration …
A story …
“There’s a door under my bed.” Her 4 year old’s voice curious, not afraid. Her parents took her back to her room, showing her the floor beneath her bed was occupied with but a few stray toys.
Disappointed, she didn’t tell them when the door returned under her tea-party table or the back of her closet.
Or all the times she slipped through the door to play for weeks, months, then years. Schooled between the stars, riding comets with her friends.
She always came back the moment she left.
Her 5th grade teacher wrote, “She’s so patient. An old soul.”
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Now, your turn …
Sam Fletcher says: June 30, the day it appeared. The night before, bedtime, it wasn’t there – next morning, it was. We thought it might go somewhere, that we could step through – never occurred to us something might step back.
That night, the first murder – and then another, and another, and another. Some darkness had come through.
I woke to find him standing over me – light in the shape of a man. “You,” he said, “you must fight this darkness that mankind may be saved.”
Now I’m old. The battle passes on – this gate from another realm and the war that must be won.
Our little girl went up to bed. A young lady came down for breakfast. We had become accustomed to her changing dramatically overnight. We knew that something very odd was going on, but she seemed so happy, well adjusted, and very, very intelligent; so, we took her out of public school after the fifth grade.
The cowboy who came downstairs with her was different.
“You do realize, she is nine years old?” I asked him. They were holding hands in a manner that said they were very familiar with one another.
“She is old for her age,” he replied.
jacmo says: Huddled inside the small stone home in the Bog she knew the sounds and what to do. Jump down from her bed, douse the fire and escape into the night with her family, it had become like a game. The difference was this game had life threatening consequences.
As she and her family disappeared into the night she called silently for the Banshee of her dreams to come and rescue them from the hated Black and Tans. She had seen her many times in dreams do that and wondered why she hadn’t come to their aid when need the most.
Steve White says: When the door opens you go through. What will you see on the other side? I don’t know.
The one time it was open to me I had a glimpse of green and snow and a whiff of chocolate. The blue light blinded me. But I stood there, rigid, as my nerve failed, and then the door closed, and that was that.
I’ve tried ever since, each and every day. I’ve pushed and shoved, kicked at it, and beaten on it until the paint pealed and my hands bled.
When the door opens you go through. See the other side.
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