Doorways and Dimensions

The afternoon sun started to warm the boards of the old barn. Expanding and creaking they soaked in the warmth. In many spots it came through the cracks and holes to create streaks of dust filled light on the interior. Slanting across the floor they illuminated the many rusted and rotting tools, crates and various other old things.

As the sun moved across the sky the beams of light traveled also, moving from one side to the other they cast their light onto whatever lay in their path. Late in the day they finally found the shelves against the wall. Mason jars of bolts and screws. Antique tins proclaiming their former use, rolled oats or tea. Covered with dust and cobwebs nothing had been moved for years, perhaps decades.

High up on the top shelf sat a box, wooden, it was what once held cigars. On this day a beam of sunlight came to rest on the box. Stirring the contents to wakefulness. Tentatively it sent out it’s annual request, a request of attention. For attention. It had been years since anyone answered this subtle request. This tingling at the edge of one’s consciousness. Barely touching whoever may feel it’s call, at most a slight breeze of intention.

On this day though she felt it, unknowingly beckoning her to seek it out. This odd tugging.

She was back, a brief visit to her childhood home. “Had it been three years already” she mused. Sitting on the porch swing lazily rocking. She realized in an offhand way that today was the summer Solstice. Slightly bored she called to her mom that she was going for a walk. Rising she danced lightly down the porch steps and headed down the old path toward the barn.

Smiling she reminisced about her childhood spent running down this very path. A handful of daisies picked fresh from the batch by the garden gate. Today though she let the daisies be. Meandering along the old barn soon stood in front of her. She paused. Pondering, “what was it about this barn that always made her slightly uncomfortable?” Not necessarily in a bad way, more a hyper attentive buzzing of her senses.

The barn had always been her father’s domain, he would sometimes disappear for hours it seemed. Always reappearing late into the night with never a explanation. Her mom had always just shrugged her shoulders and passed it off as something that kept him out of trouble. Since his passing though it had sat unused and decaying.

Still the tugging was there, gently pulling her to enter. With a glance back towards the house she pulled open the door. Grudgingly the old door opened with much noise and rebellion. The encroaching ivy coming away with the door. When it had given way enough for her to slide through she stopped. Peering into the interior she hesitated, still unsure of why she was here, now, doing this. Finally saying some curse words under her breath she stepped in.

Things felt different or she felt different. More focused. Yet calm. This late in the day the sunlight was slanting at an extreme angle across the floor and up the wall. The wall that her dad’s bench sat against. She walked over and pulled his stool from under the bench. Dusty, she blew as much off the seat as she could and sat down. Looking around her she recognized most of the contents that had always been left in the barn. Still she sat, saying to herself “Kate, just what are you doing here?”

Turning on the stool she looked at the shelves. There was nothing remarkable here. Looking closer she saw a picture frame that had fallen over. She picked it up and turned it over. It was a picture of her father sitting on the very stool where she now sat. In his lap was a very young Kate. Kate looked at the picture, a vague memory tugging at the back of her head. She looked again at the picture, there sitting on the bench was a wooden box. The name of the cigars her father had liked burned into its surface. “What was it about that box?” she thought.

Exhaling Kate closed her eyes Memories slowly drifted into her consciousness. Her dad doing one of the things he did best, telling her stories. Stories at bed time of places and people beyond imagining. He had sparked in her something that she would carry with her forever. A love of things unseen, of places only believable in your imagination. Smiling now Kate hugged herself. She missed her dad, gone now these past five years. “Why was she here?” She asked the heavens as she looked up.

There, out of reach, on the top shelf was the wooden box. Strangely illuminated by a beam of light. Kate again felt a tug, stronger this time. She couldn’t quite reach the box and had to get up on the bench to get it. Something felt right, holding the box she felt a warmth, a completeness she didn’t know she had been lacking.

There on the top of the box was written, For you Kate, when your ready.

Kate was stunned. What could her father have possibly left for her to find out here in the back of the barn? She sat quietly looking at the box for a few moments. Slowly opening the lid the faint smell of tobacco still rose from within. Inside were several things, an envelope with “Kate” written on it, a leather bound notebook and a velvet sack with something rather heavy inside. Kate picked up the sack and immediately set it back down. As soon as she had picked it up she had felt a weirdness come over her. A surge of some sort. Picking up the envelope Kate paused, took a breath and opened it. Taking out a letter written in her dad’s messy writing she read.

Hi Kate So you’ve found it. I always knew you would. How will become apparent to you in due time. “Time” being the focus here. Read the notebook, I mean really read the notebook. Then after that what you do is entirely up to you.

With all my love, Dad

Kate set down the letter and picked up the notebook. At first she just thumbed through it. It seemed to be instructions, observations and some odd formulas of days and weeks related to seconds and minutes.

Kate looked at the sack. “What had her father found?” She picked at the drawstring and pulled it open. Inside was a rather unusual looking crystal.

Kate suddenly became aware of how late it was getting, she carefully picked up the sack by the strings and replaced it in the box along with the letter and notebook. Tucking it under her arm she headed back to the house.

On entering the house her mom raised an eyebrow at the sight of the box but said nothing. Kate set the box down on the kitchen counter. She had a million questions. How much help her mom would be was questionable. Her mom cut her off in mid sentence saying “Read the notebook” Kate’s mouth fell open. She had known all along.

That night Kate slept little, reading and re reading the notebook. If not for what her father had instilled in her at a young age she wouldn’t have believed a word. But she did. The crystal was a key, the location of the barn a portal. To other worlds and other times.

The next morning she sat with her mom at the kitchen table having a country breakfast. The box sitting on the counter by the back door. Their conversation was very interesting to say the least.

Without going into detail Kate’s dad had found the crystal when they had moved to the farm. Something about native lands and rituals being a part of it. He had felt the same thing that Kate had felt. A power coming through the crystal. Her mom on the other hand felt nothing.

Later that morning her mom and her walked arm in arm down to the barn. The box again tucked under the other arm. They entered and her mom sat down on the stool to watch. She had seen it all before, many times. Nervously Kate opened the sack and took out the crystal. Holding it in her left hand she felt it’s power coursing through her. She focused her thoughts on opening a doorway and the air in front of her started to shimmer, wavering with scenes of a foreign landscape beyond. Kate looked at her mom, told her she loved her and stepped through.

Smiling her mom rose and returned to the house. Maybe the next time she would tag along.