the Green Door

Between the bookshelf and piano in Aunt Lavender's parlor, there was a sap green door. Slightly worn and happily settled as if it had hung there since the dawn of time. I always felt foolish to have forgotten it, when it had clearly been here all along. I reached out to turn the knob and explore beyond, but instead I opened my eyes and remembered - it was only a dream.

Wide awake now, I perched on the edge of the frayed sofa, unable to keep my eyes from drifting back to the parlor wall, greeted each time by plain dark wood paneling and a faint sense of disappointment. I took a deep breath, filled my senses with the familiar scents of old varnish and roses, and wondered how long it would be before her perfume would fade from these rooms.

The wave of grief crashed over me. Aunt Lavender was gone. Impossible thought. I glanced out the rain streaked window towards the hill where the chapel, graveyard, and Aunt Lavender sat. She would have liked the rain.

I tried to focus on the lawyer's voice as he made polite condolences. It was a nice voice at least. Soft and deep, like a cat purring. My mind wanted to relax into it, go numb, but I needed to stay sharp. I only had two days off, and there were arrangements to be made, possessions to sort, charity donations. I had to meet with the realtor to discuss selling the property. And then I could leave Downhaven for good. By tomorrow I would be back in my dull but comfortable apartment complex and my dull but essential career.

The thought brought a stab of melancholy. The Downhaven Inn had welcomed me when custody battles and bitter parents had shaken me out of my childhood home. For years of uncertainty, its rickety stairs, eccentric locals, and peculiar guests had been a constant. I had trailed behind Auntie as she dealt with emergencies, charmed disgruntled patrons, stood firm against bullies. Lessons I hadn’t realized I was learning until called upon to put them into practice in my own life.

A prolonged silence brought me back to the present. I realized the lawyer, Mr Mattson, had been saying my name.

"Miss Down? I'm sorry, are you alright?" he said again.

I forced myself to smile at his concerned face, and waved a hand dismissively, "Oh yes, yes. It's just being back. It feels like a million years ago since I was here last. And yet, somehow, nothing has changed."

"Nothing ever does change in Downhaven." he said with a rueful smile. His eyes flickered over the room, worn mismatched furniture, braided rug, framed print on the wall.

"Do you know," he said distractedly, "Whenever I stay here I have the strangest dream..."

I sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"

"Something about...doors. Some kind of passageway. I don't know." he chuckled.

My stomach did a little dip. "A green door?" I asked as casually as I could.

Mr Mattson's gaze suddenly sharpened as he looked at me, "Why would you ask that?"

I opened my mouth. Then I closed it. What could I say? I had been dreaming about a green door that wasn't there for years? I laughed a little, "No reason."

He narrowed his eyes slightly, tilting his head as if debating saying more, before nodding briskly and turning his attention back to the papers in his hand.

"Right. Well, it's all fairly straightforward. As her only living relative you inherit the house and all its adjacent lands, as well as $20,000."

I felt my eyes widen, "I'm sorry, did you say twenty thousand?"

"Yes, those are her liquid assets."

"I had no idea she had that kind of money." My mind spun. I could do so many things. Pay off student loans. Afford a better car. Move to Downhaven, a wistful thought whispered.

Mr Mattson cleared his throat, "There is, uh, a stipulation to getting the money."

Ah ha, I thought, the catch. There was always one of those. I should have seen it coming.

He reached into his briefcase and drew out a small, slim black book, leather worn with age, tied shut by a bit of faded pink ribbon. Handling it reverently, he handed it to me.

"The will stipulates you must read this before receiving the funds."

"What is it?" I asked as I took it in my hands. Carefully I began to untie the ribbon.

"I believe it is her journal," Mr Mattson replied, watching me with friendly brown eyes.

Setting the ribbon aside, I flipped it open to a random page. Aunt Lavender's spidery handwriting greeted me.

"So I just have to read this? And I’ll receive $20,000?"

"Correct," said Mr Mattson, settling back. "We can begin now if you like."

"We?" I asked in confusion.

"I'm afraid it must be witnessed to fulfill the terms of the will,” admitted Mr Mattson sheepishly.

That surprised a laugh out of me. "So you have to sit there and watch me read my Great Aunt's journal?"

Mr Mattson's mouth quirked up on one side, "I'm afraid so."

I shook my head, "Sounds exactly like something she'd devise. Alright. Fine. Let's get on with it."

Hours later I had read hundreds of accounts of household affairs while Mr Mattson perused some files from his briefcase. I reached the last page as the sunet’s warm glow filled the room. Scrawled across the middle of the last page was a simple note:

Gwen -

I'm afraid I have run out of time, and it will be up to you to keep the portal open from now on. I know it is not a life you asked for, but I hope it is a life you will accept. Mattson can help. Next time you see it, have courage to go through the Green Door.

All my love,

Auntie L

The book slipped through my fingers and thumped softly on the faded carpet. I stood up, my heart racing, blood rushing to my head making me sway. I had never breathed a word about that dream to anyone.

Mr Mattson had stood up when I did, a concerned expression on his genial face as he awkwardly reached out as if to steady me.

"I'm fine." I said waving him off, "Just sat too long I think."

He seemed slightly less than convinced, but he nodded and bent to retrieve the journal. "It looked as though you had finished, did you get through to the end?" he asked as he offered the book to me.

Mutely I nodded, holding it gingerly.

He regarded me in an assessing way before he began gathering up his papers and coat. "Very good then! We can transfer the funds tomorrow when banks open, it is unfortunately too late now. I'm assuming you are staying here as well, yes? Excellent. We can head over after breakfast. Good evening, Miss Down," he said, and gently shut the door behind him.

____________________________________________________________________________

That night I curled up in my third floor bedroom, and opened the journal again.

I searched painstakingly for any mention of paths or portals. Instead I found the same descriptions of guests, accounts, recipes. Despite my diligent attention, no further answers surfaced. I reread her cryptic last message. How did she know about the green door in the parlor wall of my dreams?

Finally exhausted, I pulled on Auntie’s old cardigan and slipped the journal into its pocket. I curled up, breathing in her scent that still clung to blue wool; rose and earth and fresh bread. “I wish you were here.” I whispered to the dark. ____________________________________________________

As always, in my sleep the boarding house is slightly askew. Edges of rooms run off into gray, stairs are steeper, colors brittle. I went to the parlor, half floating, half walking through this in-between place. And as I knew it would be, the green door was waiting for me, glowing like sunlight through a leaf. As if behind it was a warmth, bright and powerful, waiting to be let in. I walked towards it, hand outstretched, and just as I touched it, as expected, I awakened with a jolt.

But something was different this time. I gasped, disorientated. I was not in my bed, not asleep. Somehow, I was still there, in my dream of the parlor, and yet, I could tell, from the cold under my toes, the stillness of air ringing in my ears, my awareness of blood rushing through my veins - I was very much awake in the real world.

Which meant the green door glowing softly under my fingers was, inexplicably, in the real world too.

Behind me someone cleared their throat and I whirled around. Out of the shadows stepped a man, “Apologies for startling you, Miss Down.”

"Mr Mattson?" I whispered. Somehow in the half light from curtained windows he looked larger, different from the mild mannered lawyer I had met earlier. He smiled a sharp smile as he shoved his hands in his pockets. His eyes reflected emerald light from the door, the friendly brown replaced by the color of spring grass. The shadows following him hinted at wilder aspects, silhouettes of wings and horns and height out of place in a proper parlor.

"Are you really a lawyer?" I blurted out.

He laughed, "Yes, as a matter of fact, in more worlds than one,” he said, his voice still deep and soft.

My hand brushed against the door again. It felt strangely warm, as if it had been sitting in a full summer sun all day.

"Is this real?" I whispered.

"The door? Oh yes." He walked slowly towards me until he could reach out and pat it as if it was an old friend.

"This portal has always been here. A doorway between worlds. Guarded by the Downs. For a good long while we thought your Aunt Lavender was the last of the gatekeepers. You had shown no inclination you could see it as a child, and when your dad passed away, there was little hope we'd be able to keep this one open.”

Turning to look at me he continued, “But then today, when I mentioned a door, you asked if it was green, and I realized there might yet be hope. I had to be sure."

"The journal," I narrowed my eyes at him accusingly, "it was never a stipulation of my inheritance was it?"

That razor smile again. (Surely there were too many teeth happening.)

"A small deception. I knew what Lavender had written in the end. If there was any chance you could see it, that we could convince you to stay, I had to try."

“What about the $20,000?”

“Still yours, although I know your Aunt hoped it would be used to keep this place running.”

I folded my arms, "And what if I don't want to stay here and be your portal manager? I have a life of my own. A job. An apartment."

He spread his hands, a smile still in place,"It is entirely your choice. An unwilling gatekeeper is useless to us all. You can go back to your apartment and job. Or," he gently tugged at my elbow until I unfolded my arms. He placed my hand on the warm, glowing brass handle, "you can follow in the footsteps of your family. My job is simply to make sure you know all the paths open to you.”

My free hand crept into the blue cardigan’s pocket, my thumb brushing against the little black book. “Have courage…” I whispered, and I turned the knob.