A Door

Why did I even come in today? I think ruefully, staring out the front window into the rapidly disappearing parking lot. Evidently, I was the only one who thought blizzard was a slight exaggeration when I heard it on the radio this morning. We haven't had a bad snow storm in decades, so of course the one day the heavens decide to open up and dump icy white fury on our heads is the day I have the early shift.

The library is

of decent size, if not overly populated, even on a good day. We usually get a

few visitors on average, with two or three staff members despite the multiple

floors to cover. On the upside, it is always quiet, as a proper library should

be. And of course, around exam time, our numbers swell to a shocking handful of

study groups. But not today.

I only received

the email announcing the closure after arriving to work. Convenient. Not that I

expected much better. The batty old woman who runs the facility doesn't have

quite a complete marble collection. So now, I am the only person in the

building.

I look out the

windows again. Already a thick blanket of snow covers the entire parking lot,

not to mention my car, but also the small courtyard beside the library, and the

entire deserted street beyond the grounds. It's the kind of snow that mutes

everything around it, muffling all sound so that you can practically hear each

flake drifting to the ground. The utter lack of other people helps this effect

too.

I consider the

chore going out into the frigid temperatures to brush off my car and start the

undoubtedly arduous journey back home and quickly decide against it. It's

early. Maybe once the storm blows itself out and people start driving on the

roads, everything will be marginally more passable. Besides, even though the

library is closed, the heat is running and the staff lounge is stocked with

snacks. I'll be fine for a few hours while waiting for the conditions improve.

And I'm in a library, so I'm hardly to get bored.

Despite

technically having the day off because the whole library is closed, I decide to

get my work done anyway. It isn't as though there is much on my plate. I have a

few dozen books to return to their shelves at most, all either reference books

or young adult fiction. The sections are all well alphabetized, so this task is

hardly mentally taxing. In fact, something about organizing and putting books

in their proper place is calming to me. Or at least to my mild OCD.

After finishing shelving books, wiping down the front desk, checking the library’s email, and washing my mug from my coffee, I find myself a little at a loss for what to do. The weather outside is no better. Actually, I think it’s gotten worse. Visibility barely stretches past the edge of the crunchy, yellowed grass of the courtyard currently buried beneath a knee-high snowdrift.

The silence is comforting rather than oppressive, though I still feel the need to tiptoe and avoid excessive noise as I wander the various reading rooms. Eventually I make my way to the third floor and pass a door that, on first glance, is an unremarkable as its neighbors. And yet, for as long as I’ve worked at the library, the door’s been closed while all the others in the hall where I stand are usually open. I test the handle and find the door locked as well. Few doors are ever locked here, the idea of barring a room of books unthinkable to the library’s owner and caretaker, my boss. If there was even a single book in the room beyond, locking the door would be tantamount to hiding away knowledge in her eyes.

The longer I consider the door, I begin to realize this door has always been locked. The one time I asked a colleague about it, he simply shrugged and said the room was out of bounds and had been since he started working here. The other staff had the same story. We could go pretty much anywhere in the library, even the dank basement where the lead paint and toxic cleaning chemicals were probably kept, considering the age of the building. But not the ordinary looking room at the end of the hall on the third floor.

As I said, the library is housed in an old building. That means we don’t have cameras or real security. But there is an air of ancient mystery that I really only ever notice when I am alone and take a moment to consider it. I don’t know the exact age of the library, or what the building was before. It feels as though it has always stood here, immortal as the stories kept within.

Suddenly, I want to see inside this apparently forbidden room. Glancing out the windows, all I see was blinding white. So clearly, I have some time. I was alone. No other staff members or the old woman looking over my shoulder. No security measures to alert anyone I’ve stepped where I’m not supposed to. And my curiosity, encouraged by looming boredom and the allure of breaking the rules, flaring beneath my fingertips.

But the door is still locked. First, I go back to the front desk in search of the key. I find several keys, but none of them fits the lock upstairs. Where else might a secret key to an out-of-bounds door be hiding? The woman’s office? I journey to the back of the building on the first floor. Her office might not be a mysterious, perpetually locked room, but it isn’t one I frequent either. Other than my initial interview, I don’t think I’ve ever stepped inside. The door opens easily, though I expected this one to be locked too. However, one of the keys I found at the front desk was labeled “Mrs. M’s Office” so maybe the old woman didn’t put a premium on her own privacy.

Her office smells slightly stale and slightly of fake flowers. Orderly bookshelves line the walls and a comfy looking reading chair sits in the corner. Her desk, on the other hand, is a mess. Trying to sift through random books, papers, files, pens, notes, and other miscellaneous office debris without making it look like I’ve done so is a challenge. But a cursory scan of the desktop and a peak in each drawer reveals no keys. Time for plan B.

Plan B is a dubious attempt to pick the lock with a bobby pin and pieces of a broken pen. It takes some fiddling to even fit the makeshift picks into the lock. Already, I am trying to formulate plan C, sure that this won’t work seeing as my only knowledge of lock picking comes from TV. Then, astonishingly, I hear a faint but distinct click and the handle turns. Probably for the best, as plan C involved trying to kick the door in. Staring at the lock with disbelief, I enter the secret room.

At first, my eyes seem momentarily disconnected from my brain. Blinking, I try to make sense of what I am seeing. In all honesty, I expected an empty room, maybe meant for storage but never used. I expected it to look like any other room in the library. But now I wonder if I’ve mistaken a secret room for a simple, disused exit leading outside. Well…except for two things. I was on the third floor. And last I checked, there was a blizzard going on.

So how is it I am now standing in a warm meadow, the green grass beneath my feet leading right up to the carpet of the hallway back through the door? Yes, the door is still there. Picks still sticking out of the lock. Dim hall and the smell of books beyond. But somehow, through this door, in this forbidden, always locked room, it is spring time. Maybe early summer. A gentle breeze ruffles my hair, bringing with it scents of dewy grass and flowers that are currently out of sight.

Immediately, I want to step further, to explore this impossibility. And I also want to rush back through the door and slam it shut forever, barring the unknown. As it is, I can’t stop myself from glancing back at it every few moments to make sure it is still there, still open, my only way to return to reality.

Eventually, I shove down my fear, replacing it with burning excitement. I’ve read this story a dozen times, never once imagining that something like this could truly exist. After shoving a doorstop firmly against the bottom of the door and tying the interior handle to an adjacent door for good measure, I leave the sanctuary of the threshold. My mind tries not to think it, not temper my expectations, but I can’t help but consider the possibility that this place, wherever I am, is magic. Magic! Something I love reading about but don’t really believe in.

What if this place is magic? Obviously something beyond the ordinary allowed the door to exist in the first place. I wonder if the old woman knows about this. It seems likely. She’s always struck me as a bit odd… or, you know, entirely insane. Perhaps ‘eccentric’ is a better description. Aren’t all the intriguing magical characters like that?

I’m not sure how long I wander through the meadow. It soon blends into a spacious forest, sun shining between the branches. I can no longer see the door when I look back, and I try not to let that frighten me. I’ve simply traveled too far for it to remain in sight. So far, this land seems rather normal, disregarding the fact it is stored inside a room in an old library. The sky is blue, the sun warm and bright. Squirrels chitter high among the trees and birds flit across the sky, their songs sweet. Nothing strikes me as particularly supernatural. But I don’t let that disappoint me. The mere act of walking through a place that should exist thrills me plenty.

After a while, I begin to consider that this place is the sort where time works differently and I suddenly worry that back home, maybe I’ve been gone for days now. On the flip, maybe I’ve been gone for seconds? Then the possibility that the doorstop failed or the door just disappeared when I left it creeps into my head. It isn’t likely, but then again, knowing nothing about this place beyond what I can see, how can I know for sure what’s likely and what isn’t? Or what if I can’t find my way back to the door once I am ready to leave? What if I remain lost forever?

It is these fears that have me turning around and not quite running, but jogging quickly back the way I came. I am angry with myself for letting silly worries ruin the chance to live out a once in a lifetime experience, a literal fantasy. But not angry enough to stop…jogging quickly. Once my mind starts overthinking, little can stop it.

Luckily, I find my way to the edge of the forest easily enough. The sun remains clearly visible, making it simple to retrace my steps. Unless the sun moves differently here. Shut up, brain.

I feel a little stupid and mostly relieved to find my fears were for naught. The door stands open and secure right where I left it. But is it just me, or does the library beyond look a little different than when I left? Loathe to leave this new discovery, I am more concerned by the shift in light coming through the third floor windows in the hall.

And as I walk back through, part of me feels dumb again. Sure, I left this door open so I could make sure I got back through. But what if something crossed over into the library while I was gone? Birds, small mammals, or something more sinister. Just because I saw no evidence of supernatural creatures didn’t mean none were there. Carefully, I untie the door and let it close, all the while scanning the hall around me in search of some sign of what’s different.

Then I see it. Not some scary beast or other escaped other-worldly guest. Through the windows, sun now shines, glinting off freshly fallen snow. My heart pounds as I pry my phone from my pocket, having all but forgotten it was there while I was in the other land, to check the time and date. But only a few hours have passed. It is still the same day, same year. Evidently, the blizzard stopped while I was gone.

I take the picks out of the door, but hang onto them. It is time for me to go home while the roads look safe enough, while the snow has ceased and the sun shines. But I am determined to step through that door again. However, for now, I lock it, feeling protective of the secret.

I gather my things and shiver as I step outside, already longing for the warm weather I found through that door. I can hardly believe it as I think it. I found a door to another world. I feel like the heroes in my favorite books, only sorry that I found so little adventure through my own portal. This time, anyway.