T
he Door has many rules. Do not look at the Door. Do not talk about the Door. Definitely do not talk to the Door, and if the Door itself talks, do not listen to its whispers. Do not open the Door, and do not go through the Door, not frontwards, backwards, sideways or any other way that could possibly be conceived of. In fact, do not go near the Door for any reason, and and do not breathe near the Door. A thousand little rules, for something that appears quite toothless. Its appearance then, to help with avoidance. It is a simple affair. The wood had been bright red once, but after an indeterminable number of years, the color had become faded and worn. White stone formed the frame, each irregular block stacked on top of another. It may have been pristine once, but is now yellowed and grimy with age. It was in the middle of nowhere, remembered by no one. The surrounding land was a fertile, overgrown sea of green. Here and there the crumbled remains of walls and buildings peaked through the foliage. The air hummed and buzzed with thousands of bugs. Except for the area directly around the Door. That small circle of land was completely and utterly dead, as if even nature knew to avoid it. But this is not the full picture. A door, a single surviving remnant of a long dead structure, surrounded by reclaimed ruins, is hardly cause for all these rules and superstition. Perhaps if there was something behind it, but there are no walls. The secret of the Door lies lies through it, not behind. It is a room, and it feels small and claustrophobic, despite the fact the walls cannot be seen. There is light, but it is difficult to say where exactly it comes from, and in any case it is not enough to illuminate the room. Only enough to extenuate the shadows. Any potential visitors would notice none of this. Their eyes would undoubtedly be glued to the creature that called the place home. He is called the Silver Prince, and his impressive bulk is held aloft by five arms. They stretch off into the darkness from different angles of his body. His eyes, of which there are seven, are locked on the Door, and have been for a very long time. Waiting for it to open. Waiting for prey. The Prince had not eaten in many years. Prey was on the other side of the Door, and therefore had to come to him. It would happen. It had to. It was how he himself had wound up there, after all; despite the rules surrounding it, someone always got curious about the Door. He had been lucky, and quick, and now
The Door
Jason Hill 61
