The Front Door

The Front Door

Amelia Vale

It was a perfect day out. The sun was shining, the wind was blowing through the trees in a way that made the leaves dance, and the sound of teenage boys’ laughter had lifted itself all the way up against the thin glass window of Aiden’s second-story bedroom. He looked through the window mindlessly. He watched as they pushed each other around, laughing as the others fell against their bikes.

Aiden eyed the bikes. They were rusted, with paint chipped all around the wheels. The vibrant colors had dulled with time, and the tires had lost their traction with use. They were far from his own bike, which sat unused in the garage of the Taylors’ new home. It was the same one he’d had since he was a young child. It still had the training wheels on, dust covering each tread of the tires. He had never gotten to use it. It had been a birthday gift; one he’d received months before the diagnosis. Since then, he had been stuck in his bed. His legs had barely been strong enough to lift his body across his bedroom, let alone pedal a bike down the driveway.

“Duchenne muscular dystrophy.” The doctor had said, “It’s a genetic disorder that will affect Aiden’s muscular development.”

“His muscular development? How will it affect his muscular development?” His mother had asked, crossing her arms anxiously.

“This mutation will cause a lack of a muscle called dystrophin. Dystrophin is one of the main proteins that strengthen the muscles. His muscles with start to weaken over time.” The doctor had elaborated.

“Well, what can we do?” She had asked, rubbing her temples to relieve the stress.

“Ms. Taylor…” The doctor had sighed, looking to the ground momentarily, “There is no cure for DMD. The only thing that can be done to help is to try and slow the disease’s progress before he stops walking.”

“Stops walking?” Those words had been the ones to pull Aiden out of his daydream. Stop walking? How would he just stop walking? No walking meant no running, no jumping, no climbing or dancing or biking.

“Yes, Ms. Taylor, that’s correct. Aiden will likely lose his ability to walk by the time he turns fourteen.”

The boys had moved across the street, to the old house the stared into Aiden’s. It was run-down, and the neighborhood began to fear that it was haunted. Moss had climbed up its rotting, wooden walls to cover any windows that offered a view of the inside. Spiders had died in their webs that hung on the corners of the front porch. Flowers had died in the once-appreciated garden, overtaken by the harsh weeds that grew up through the soil. Aiden had spent the majority of his time watching the house through his bedroom window and was sure that there was nobody who was inside.

The boys spun their fingers around, trying to push the responsibility of ringing the haunted doorbell on another. The fingers eventually fell to the ground as the tallest boy put his hands up and volunteered himself. He pushed his hands into his pockets and sauntered up to the front porch. He skipped a step towards the front door. He stood in front of the door. His head tilted downwards towards the doorbell. He stood still for a moment. Aiden watched him raise his hand. He laid his pointer finger on the doorbell. After what felt like an eternity, he pushed the doorbell, hearing it ring just for a second before turning on his heel and sprint back towards his friends. Aiden watched the tall boy swing a lanky leg over his bike, a movement that he hadn’t been able to do on his own since before the diagnosis. The rest of the boys followed his actions. Each of them balances anxiously on their bikes, completely silent as they watched for any signs of paranormal activity coming from the house.

A minute passed. And then another one. The boy began to sit back on the seats of their bikes, one by one. They started to turn to each other, starting mindless conversations about where they would get their next meal from as they waited for a non-existent ghost to jump out at them. The tall boy grumbled something and took off on his bike, displeased with the result of his show of courage. The boys watch for a moment, looking back and forth between the house and their friend before pedaling off down the street. Aiden watched the house for a few moments, eyes tracing its intricate metal window frames and knotted braids of moss. A light breeze passed by his window, chilling him through the glass. He reached for a blanket, wrapping it over his shoulders, before turning back towards the window. He squinted his eyes, watching the house’s antique front door slowly blow open invitingly. He looked down the street, trying to telepathically summon the group of boys back to their watching spot, but they were long gone.

Aiden pushed the blankets off his body, reaching for his braces despite the sense of shame in his stomach. His mind flickered back to the tall boy, the way he jumped up the steps with ease, how his legs carried him down the walkway in the garden, the speed that his legs pedaled the bike away from the house. All of the things that he would never be able to do. It stung in his mind that he would likely be trading out his shiny braces for a clunky wheelchair by the end of the year. It stung slightly more that the boys he’d just observed had little appreciation for their perfect mobility.

He made his way through his room, to his door, slowly down the stairs despite the cramping in his legs and the aching in his hips. The pain occurred because the dystrophin in his muscles wasn’t abundant enough to make the muscles and bones in his leg strong enough to carry the weight of his body. He’d learned that in the fifth grade, when he researched his disease as a part of his research presentation. He had spent the previous night working tirelessly on his posterboard, proud as he stood up in front of the class despite the slight embarrassment he always felt about his braces and began his presentation.

“Okay, grandpa.”

It had only taken a few moments for the embarrassment to force its way back into him, burning a bright red on his cheeks as a stuttered through the rest of the presentation. The clinking of his metal braces against the hardwood of the home’s flooring brought Aiden out of the memory and back into reality. He looked into the kitchen, watching his mother meticulously scrub small bits of dried sauce off of the plates. He opened his mouth to call to her, but quickly closed it and pushed through the door.

The sun felt too bright. He couldn’t recall the last time he had been outside, in the sun. He slowly crossed the road, looking back and forth continuously in hopes that no car would come into sight. He slowly pulled himself up the steps of the front porch and looked into the house. The door was wide open now, completely pushed back by the wind. He looked back, up at his bedroom window, before turning around and facing the open doorframe once more. He pushed himself through the doorway, hearing the old wood creak at the pressure of Aiden’s braces. A painful, high-pitched ringing filled his ears. He ripped his arms upwards to cover them feeling, the braces slip from his arms. Aiden braced himself to hit the ground harshly, waiting for his legs to give out under the unsupported weight of his body. He waited. And waited. He looked down at his feet. They stood strong under his body, failing to give out. He raised his arms, watching to make sure his braces hadn’t somehow clung on. He took a step forward. The house creaked and ached, but not his bones. They held him, urging him to take another step. He stepped again. He stepped once more into the living room, making eye contact with an elderly man sitting in a chair.

“Oh, I’m- “Aiden began, searching for a justification for his presence in the stranger’s home.

“Hello.” The man said, keeping his eyes forward.

“Hello.” Aiden responded, lowering his voice, “Who are you?”

“Riven.” He grumbled.

“Well, what are you?” Aiden asked.

“I’m just the owner of this house.”

“What is this house?”

“It’s just a house with a very special door.” He said, bringing his eyes to meet Aiden’s, “You ever seen Aladdin?”

“Yes.” He replied.

“Not all genies come in shiny lamps.” Riven said, the corners of his lips turning upwards.

“You’re a genie?” Aiden asked.

“Something like that. It’s the door that really has the power.” He explained, “Once you walk through it…it’s everything that you could ever want.”

“Well, why hasn’t anyone else found it? It’s right here, in plain sight!” Aiden said, laughing a little at its obviousness.

“Every single person that goes by this place has something they need to do, to see, to be instead of noticing that door. They’re all too busy thinking three days ahead of themselves to look up and notice what’s right in front of them. Everything. Every little thing they could dream of is right here, but they’ll never be just here in this moment to see it.” Riven said, shaking his head.

“When I walk back through the door, will I lose…” Aiden continue, “everything?”

“No.” Riven said, “But you can’t tell anybody. You have to let people find what you have found. What sitting in your bedroom, noticing the simple things right in front of your face brought you. Promise?”

“Promise.” Aiden nodded, giving him a thankful smile as he shifted his weight, getting used to the ability to stand once again. He turned around, once again getting used to the feeling of walking on his own two feet without any metallic assistance. He walked through the door, feeling the soft warmth of the sun on his skin. His eyes lifted from the ground and towards the sidewalk to a group of boys, waiting on their bikes.

“Aiden, hurry! She’ll get you when you’re turned around!” One of them shouted, the others giggling as Aiden walked slightly faster.

“What was in there?”

“Was there a witch?”

“Was it dark?”

Aiden looked towards the house, the closed door, covered in dust and antique carvings. He looked at the moss-covered windows, feeling the gentle grin of Riven through the window. He lifted his leg over the bike, starting to pedal.

“I guess you’ll have to find out yourself.”