The Door by Maressa Mortimer

The Door

by Maressa Mortimer

Amethyst giggles at her nephew, his dark blond curls flapping in the breeze. “Auntie Thyst, this way,” he shrills, and she obliges. He laughs wildly when she pretends to hide from him behind the rock, ignoring her sister’s eye-rolling. He shrieks with glee when he spots the large wooden door, set in a grassy area. It’s a door to nowhere, playing on people’s imagination. Simon grabs her hand and drags her to the door. Amethyst pretends to be a struggling prisoner. “In go, Auntie Thyst, in door,” he shouts, his face a mix of purpose, thrill and satisfaction. “No, no,” protests, Amethyst, trying to sound worried through her giggles, her heart filled with all the right kinds of feelings towards the sweet little boy. The stern jailor won’t be persuaded though, and with a final push, he sends her through the freestanding doorway.

Amethyst stumbles through the doorway, narrowly missing the top lintel, trying to decide which way she’ll make her escape. The grassy area on the other side of the door is small, and bordered by rocks, with tiny trails on either side back to the main path. These gardens are pretty and imaginative, she thinks, at the same time moaning and protesting in her role of condemned prisoner. Simon’s warm chubby hands give her a last push and then she stands on the small grassy patch. But it’s no longer small. Amethyst gives a snorty sound between a gasp and a laugh, knowing that her mind is playing tricks.

She turns round to the door, suddenly uncomfortable. She is just in time to see a cherubic but blurry face grin at her fiendishly, tiny hands pushing the door shut, laughing like an evil jailor. Amethyst gasps, she suddenly wants the door left open. Too late. The wooden door slams shut with a startlingly loud bang, and the entire door vanishes at the same time. Amethyst cries out, her voice following the door into nothingness.

All that she can see is a green undulating field, stretching into the distance. Wildly, she spins round to where the door was, only to come full circle at the discreet little cough behind her back. A man stands just behind her, his tophat out of place, his extremely white face reminding her of street artists in London. There is nothing funny about this man though, and Amethyst can hear the tiny whimper escaping her constricted throat. The man merely raises a black, pencilled eyebrow, and in a voice that reminds her of blowing on a blade of grass, he says, “Welcome. I think. Not many people would simply barge through somebody’s door with that level of noise, but there...” He stares at her, his jet black eyes expressionless, making her shiver, and her throat uses that moment of weakness to allow another little whimper to escape. Both eyebrows are raised this time. “I...I didn’t realise,” Amethyst begins, wanting to apologise for...for whatever it is she has done to upset this person, then reminds herself that she was simply playing with her nephew, in a public

garden, so there is nothing to apologise for. So she stops and manages to look straight back at the man.

He merely shrugs, “Stranger privilege, of course,” his voice colder than his eyes. She glances over her shoulder, hoping the door has reappeared. Disappointed, she looks back at the man, determined to stand up to him.

“As far as I know, these are public gardens. I simply went through the door, and that was that. So this isn’t just your own private space.” She hadn’t meant to sound like a girl in the playground, but Amethyst hopes that kind of voice still works on adults.

It doesn’t.

“Colonialism is a thing of the past,” the sharp, reedy voice tells her, and his eyes seem no longer expressionless. Amethyst suppresses the shudder that wanders all over her spine. “You can no longer walk into somebody’s house, claiming it for the Crown,” he adds, his dark red lips thinning out to a very fine line. Amethyst swallows and looks around the large field, the horizon a pale green shimmering in the distance.

“Not much of a house,” she sneers, brushing escaping bits of hair from her face, the seaside breeze reaching the garden easily. She opens her mouth to carry on along the same line, then stops. Her dress might be billowing in the wind like the sail on a Viking longboat, but the man’s long coattails hang perfectly straight. His hat sits calmly on top of his head, and his rather long, floppy hair doesn’t move at all.

This time he raises both eyebrows and purses his mouth. Amethyst swallows the second half of the high pitched hysterical whimper down, even though her entire being feels like shrieking out loud. “Well, just show me the door, and I’ll gladly be off,” she gasps. The man frowns, the pencilled lines above his eyes meeting at the top of his thin long nose.

“You cannot abuse your Stranger privilege to escape an awkward situation,” he intones. “You have abused your perceived power, and upon finding it lacking, you cannot simply withdraw.”

Amethyst can feel her temper warming up and she ignores the shaking of her freezing hands. “I have no idea what you are talking about, or even who you are. I don’t care either,” she adds quickly, in case he gives her his life history. She simply wants to get out. Or back into the public gardens. The man grips his walking stick a bit tighter, casually swinging it, his reptile-like eyes never leaving her face. Amethyst looks at the walking stick, its small movement unnerving her. What is the knob made of? Is that a skull? Or a head of some kind? An eyeball?

She steps back a little and...

Finish the story for me! What happens next? Mail it to me at vicarious.ome@gmail.com, and I will use it on my website under Stories! Surprise me!

Maressa Mortimer is Dutch but lives in the beautiful Cotswolds, England with her husband and four (adopted) children. Her debut novel, Sapphire Beach, was published December 2019, and her first self published novel, Walled City, came out on December 5th 2020, followed by Viking Ferry, a novella. Beyond the Hills is the second book in the Elabi Chronicles, and will be released on June 18th 2021. All Maressa’s books are available from her website, www.vicarioushome.com or local bookshops.