BEHIND THE BLUE DOOR

Olivia had never been a curious girl. Puzzles held no interest for her. She didn't ask where the sun went at night, or whether the moon had followed her home. She preferred the quiet comfort of books, the routine of daily life.

An only child, she was four when she lost her parents, six months apart. It was Grammie–a pragmatic woman who believed books provided everything one needed, who raised her. Olivia discovered a kindred spirit, as her grandmother’s practical ways soothed the old soul within her small body.

This did not change as she matured. She grew into a serious young lady whose shy smile flickered like the sun coming out from behind a cloud and disappeared as quickly.

Being the last surviving member of their family, clearing out the house fell to her when her grandmother passed away. It had been difficult, pushing aside her sorrow and packing up her childhood memories, stripping her home of Grammie’s personality, and leaving a hollow shell that waited for the next family’s lives to fill it.

She was almost done, except for the attic, which is how she found herself rummaging through old chests and dusty, unlabeled boxes. The air smelled of mold and mice, and she tied a handkerchief over her nose and mouth to block the dust.

Forgotten family heirlooms, out-of-style clothing, and photographs never consigned to albums, battled for space with broken furniture and musty holiday decorations.

She did her best to sort the detritus into piles, keep—the smallest stack; give away–items too good to toss, which would make nice mementos for Grammie’s friends; and garbage—by far the largest pile.

It was when Olivia wrestled a wardrobe—dusty and missing a handle—out from the wall, that she discovered the small doorway.

It lay in a shadowy back corner, half-hidden by a portrait of some long-forgotten ancestor. She shifted the painting and regarded her discovery with a frown.

It was shorter than her, and quite skinny, not like a proper door at all. How odd. She’d have to duck and turn sideways to get through it. But the color was its most striking feature. It almost glowed, the only bright spot in the dim, dusty attic.

Where had Grammie found such a deep azure blue? She paused, her brow crinkling in unaccustomed confusion. Hadn’t her grandmother always preferred softer, more neutral colors?

But that wasn’t the only puzzle. This was an exterior wall. Olivia knew the house as well as anyone, and better than most. Had she not grown up crawling along its drafty corridors and marching around the postage-sized backyard, when ordered to get some exercise? She was certain there was no outside exit. So, logically, this door led nowhere. 

Was her grandmother responsible for this prank–if that’s what it was? That seemed unlikely for such a pragmatic woman. Therefore, it must be someone else’s idea of a joke. If so, she was with Queen Victoria. Not amused!

Yet she found herself reaching to touch the doorknob. I should just leave it for the buyer to check out…

But that didn’t feel right either. For the first time in her life, she was faced with something unusual enough to spark… something… inside her.

Olivia admitted she was curious. It was an unfamiliar sensation—something she had avoided for years, as if curiosity might lead to unwanted disruptions in her carefully ordered world.

Then her hand lifted of its own volition, reached out, grasped the tiny brass handle, and twisted the knob. 

It turned easily. 

She pulled the door open. It creaked, a long, low squeal, like something out of a horror movie. Olivia froze, then glanced quickly over her shoulder, her heart pounding. She was alone. Of course she was. How ridiculous to let anything so harmless as the door’s squealing, spook her. She tugged it wider and stared inside.

Nothing.

As she’d expected, only a blank surface. Just the same peeling wallpaper that lined the attic. No hidden room. 

Oddly disappointed, she slammed the door. A crash echoed, as if she had knocked something over. Fearful she had damaged the structure, she opened it more slowly this time, watching for debris to fall out.

The wall was gone.

Olivia blinked. That was impossible! For a disoriented second, she wondered if she had broken a chunk right off the house, and she leaned forward to stick her head outside.

But a strange glowing mist filled the opening. It might have been sunlight through fog, although some instinct warned her it wasn’t. It didn’t shift or swirl, for one thing, despite the slight breeze blowing toward her, tingling against her skin, like the moment before a storm.

She held out her fingers and hesitantly touched the cloud. It was warm but not damp as she’d expected. When her hand returned unscathed, she gathered her courage, closed her eyes, and pushed her head through the opening.

After a few inches, she felt the mist melt away from her face. She opened her eyes. They widened in shock. Olivia was so surprised; she stepped right through the doorway.

She found herself in a small room. But that was impossible. There was no space for anything else amid the roof rafters. Certainly not a cozy compartment, with soft, flickering light coming from an unknown source, shimmering in intricate blue patterns covering the walls.

The door slammed behind her, and she spun around, her breath catching in her throat. She twisted the handle, wrenching and pushing with all her might, but it remained closed. She charged forward, ramming her shoulder against the wood, before standing back, rubbing her bruised arm.

Her breathing increased with every failed attempt. This strange little room had her trapped!

With her spine pressed against the door, Olivia tried to control her breath. Small spaces had never bothered her before, but then, she’d never been forcibly confined before, either. 

I’ll never escape by panicking!

Her eyes were drawn to the walls, as those intricate blue patterns began to shift and curl, dissolving like ink in water. They shimmered and flowed. Images appeared, fluid lines graceful and sinuous, bringing the depictions to life.

At first, they made no sense—a cobblestone street slick with rain, a woman laughing in a sunlit garden, a child pressing a seashell to her ear. Then Olivia recognized the attic, only it looked different, cleaner, and piled with trunks she’d never seen before.

The drawings moved, and like an animated line art movie, led her down the familiar stairs to the kitchen below. Voices she couldn’t identify talked and laughed. She could almost hear them, but they faded in and out, as intermittent as a faulty radio signal.

Her grandmother entered—she looked so young—twirling a locket between her fingers. Olivia’s eyes blurred, and she reached out to run a finger down one outlined cheek she missed so much.

But the pictures moved on. Were these memories? Things the house remembered? Was that the street out front? Had that earlier child been Grammie? Were these her distant relatives, talking in the kitchen and working in the backyard?

Her fear abating, Olivia stepped closer, mesmerized by this glimpse into stories she’d never thought to ask about. 

She watched the girl grow older… bring home a handsome young man, who soon carried her across the threshold. The woman she decided must be her great-grandmother grew wrinkled and bent, bedridden, then disappeared from the picture. But not before this younger Grammie’s belly bloomed round and firm. 

Next thing Olivia knew, there was a baby. Her mother? She leaned forward with a smile, watching as the infant crawled, walked, and ran, became a teenager, then a lovely woman, bringing home a gawky young man. “Dad?” she whispered.

As she followed the moving drawings around the room, trying to peer into the distance, her foot struck an object that tinkled as it rolled. She bent down and picked up a delicate brass key, its surface worn smooth by time.

Olivia traced its cool edges with her fingertips. A brief hope flared… but it was too large to fit the small door. She curled it into her palm, then slipped it into her pocket and returned to the pictures on the walls.

Something shifted inside her. She found herself wanting to know more.

Her parents disappeared from the scene, and her grandparents aged, until Grammie sat alone at the table. What else had happened, just beyond her sight?

“I wish I knew more about my family’s history,” Olivia said aloud. She could hear the surprise in her own voice.

A soft click sounded behind her.

She held her breath as she spun around, then moved closer. Almost afraid to hope, she reached out and twisted the handle.

The door had unlocked.

She gave a small gasp of relief, ducked and stepped back into the attic.

As Olivia crossed the threshold, the warm light of the room melted into the attic’s dim gloom. She turned… The doorway was gone.

She stood motionless in the stillness. Had she imagined it? She pressed her hand against the wall but touched only peeling wallpaper and dust. No evidence remained suggesting there’d ever been anything else. 

She fumbled with her pocket, pulled out the big brass key… and began to smile. Was this a final gift from her grandmother? She might never know.

As Olivia descended the attic stairs, she looked around her with fresh eyes. That spark of curiosity continued to kindle inside her, and she stared at the key, already wondering where it might lead.