The Secrets Beyond The Door:

Silence spread like smoke from a dampened fire, as the crowd hushed its chatter. After all, this was the reason why they had all gathered. A slender man creaked up the steps and onto the podium, his presence reminiscent of a statue. 

“Well I won’t keep you all waiting” the Mayor’s voice boomed over the pressure pot of people pressed up against each-other infront of the otherwise barron cement wall with its single wooden door. A paradoxical symbol of dreams and fears as to what the brutalist structure could possibly hold with in it. Their shared hope and anticipation had become a near tangible feeling, as if it had polluted the air. 

For one of its residents was going to be selected to go beyond the door. It had been a year since the last time the city had all gathered. Time, which like a cider during fermentation, had only fed the pressure to the point of near disaster. No one ever spoke of what they saw beyond the door, to this day its mystery remains. All that is known is that those who return either go on to achieve great things or become crazed and obsessive outcasts who beg incessantly to be allowed back in once more. 

The dominating figure held his hand above the bowl of names, an instrument of fate as it danced around playing with the air. It struck down like an eagle plucking its prey from the water, drawing out a slip of paper indistinguishable from the sea of others around it.

“Mabel Somers”

The crowd instantly split, like wood with an axe struck through it, to reveal a woman frozen in disbelief. With a nudge from her brother she stepped out to walk down the aisle of onlookers, a mix of awe and resentment burning in their eyes. It was as if a spotlight had been shone on her, the attention of every eye drawn to her. She averted her gaze to the ground but before she knew it she had come to the great grey wall. She could feel its cold presence drawing the heat from her body. She looked up to the mayor, for guidance or perhaps reassurance. The old face remained as deathly still and she’d always remembered, the only sign of life to be found was in his eyes moving from her to the door. 

It became the centre of her vision, dominating her mind. She didn’t even feel the piercing eyes behind her anymore, it was as if everything else had vanished and nothing existed apart from this solitary door found among a bleak canvas of concrete.

Her hand quivered as she reached toward the spherical bronze handle. Twitching as if the terrified inner part of her was trying to take control, trying to alert her and convince her to flee fate. Her skin pressed against the cool smooth touch of metal. Gripping firmly, so as to reassure her this was real and it was happening. She twisted and pulled bringing a breath of air from beyond the door which hastily splashed over her. She muffled a gasp, surprised that this draft was not miserable and cold like the wall but instead brought with it warmth and playful fragrances. Along with this warm air a pool of light bled through the crack. Mabel heard shuffling behind her as towns people fought each other for a peak but all that could be seen was a glowing haze of light which swallowed Mabel’s figure as she journeyed forward into the unknown.

With the door sealed, she was fully transported into this peculiar place held behind it. She braced herself for a cold dark and dank feeling, but it never came. Instead she felt a comfort; it was in the air, in the lighting, in the sounds of a distant crackling fire and the flickering of candles. It could even be found in the very inner part of her too, a warmth like that which is felt when you return home after a hard day. But to say she felt at home would be misleading, every part of her shared discomfort in this foreign place and yet this was contradicted by how the place itself wanted to make her feel. She knew what this place was and yet it was perhaps the last thing she expected to be found trapped in a concrete prison. 

The expansive room boasted of mahogany furnishings and sandstone walls, candlesticks brimming with light and a miraculously unattended fireplace roaring with life in each corner. But most noticeable of all was the vibrant display of patterned colours spread generously across the shelves all throughout the room. They held objects stuffed full of folded paper and encased in dyed leather, these were of course books and thousands, million even billions of them. Stacks of shelves reached up unnaturally high along with the wall, extending upwards to no visible end, as if its reach exceeded the sky and heavens above. There, in the centre of it all, was a small but bright ball of light floating in the air.

Mabel’s head remained tilted back as she walked around the room examining this light and searching for the towers end. Her disbelief was short lived when she stumbled carelessly into an arm chair positioned in the centre of the room. Looking down she found it was accompanied by a small table. Strangely, she hadn’t noticed either when she had first entered. Perhaps she was too distracted by the wonder of the room, however some illogical part of her mind seemed to ponder if it had been there at all. She took a breath before continuing her exploration, hoping to discover what made this place so important.

Mabel felt pulled across the room as she searched for answers. Making her way towards a shelf, she reached out to a book stored at her eye level. It was a deep blue with two golden lines at the top and bottom of the spine. Other than these markings there were no other indication as to what might be found inside. She eagerly pulled the book free from its neighbours and flicked to the first page. The page was cream white and empty aside from two words. A name: “Jemal Tennison”. Reflexivly she pressed her curled finger against her lips considering the name before flicking through the next few pages where she found a detailed account of Tennison’s first few days on the earth. She was introduced to Mr and Mrs Tennison and their first born son Marcus who was rather unpleased with Jamals arrival. Flicking forwards a good fifty pages or so she learnt he had developed a fear of heights after his brother had lured him up into the treehouse before removing the ladder from below him. He was left up therein the old oak tree for the best part of a day until his parents returned home to the scene of sibling rivalry. 

Mabel analyzed the writing, at first it presents as historical, recounting details of events, but then it’s more than just that; the author captures thoughts and feelings too. This was all very odd to Mabel, she debated in her mind why someone would write up fictitious stories of peoples lives, going into such detail only to store them away for just a single reader once every year. 

Growing bored of Jamal, Mabel placed his story back on the shelf before dancing her fingers across several other spines until she landed on a forest green cover. Pulling it free with a satisfying tug, she carried it over to the armchair and began to read. This story belonged to Pennelopy Richards, although Mabel soon discovered she was known as Penny to her friends. Unlike Jamal, she decided to skip over the boring years and go straight to the good stuff. Penny’s first kiss at 14 years old to a handsome young lad named Scott, the time she sneaked out of home at 16 to tip cows with her friends, to her first heartbreak when Scott chose to date her bestfriend Gretel instead of her. Hang on, Gretel Thornsberry, Mabel swore she knew that name from somewhere. She skimmed through a few more pages in search of another mention but this was in vein as Penny moved town shortly after that tragic day. That name kept ringing through her mind like an annoying jingle, but she couldn’t place where she knew it from. “If only I knew which one of these cursed books belonged to this Gretel Thornsberry” she burst out in frustration, twirling around and absorbing, once again, just how many books there were. 

That’s when she realised, what if these books weren’t some crazy old persons’ writings but were written by some powerful and mystical old magic that was able to encapsulate the unique stories of every living individual. Perhaps something as powerful and mystical as the door itself. 

Her thoughts were interrupted when she realised the shadows around her cozy lounge had become elongated. Looking up, she realised the ball of light had slightly dimmed and taken flight, moving across the room and now residing directly infront of an earthy red book. Curiosity sparked, she hopped up from the chair and approached the book. She had to roll across the ladder from the corner of the room and ascend it in order to reach the book in question. Immediately after she removed the book from the shelf, the tiny ball buzzed past her head and returned to where it had been before, once again emitting a bright light. Her hand shaking with anticipation, She turned over the cover to reveal this was in fact Gretel Thornsberry’s story. Mabel had to catch herself as a rush of excitement almost caused her to lose her grip on the ladder. After safely returning to the floor she wandered across to continue her investigation in the arm chair. 

It didn’t take long for Mabel to put a face to the name when she read about Gretel’s fascination with nature, botany and particularly flowers. This instantly brought to mind the old florist who works down the street, her shop was called Thornsberry Flowers. Mabel had waved good morning to her no more than two days ago. 

Mabel concluded that these stories were not only historical accounts but they were also about people who are still alive. This sent her head spinning as she frantically flicked through the pages towards the end of the book, until, suddenly, the pages went blank before she’d even reached the last. Examining the book again, there was still a fair chunk of it left unwritten. She turned back to find the page where the words ended, only they didn’t end. Instead, she witnessed the words being etched into the book by an invisible pen. They spoke of a rude customer going hysterical because Gretel didn’t have the flowers he wanted in stock. These words confirmed that this was all occurring in real time; that as she sat there, the world was still in motion. She’d almost been convinced by this place that she had slipped away to another realm.

Mabel slammed the book shut, along with her eyes. Overwhelmed, she needed to process it all. Reflecting on all she had learnt about this place, she became aware how much time had passed and it wouldn’t be long before the door opened again indicating her time to leave. She wondered how best she could make use of the time she had left.

Her mind immediately went to a friend. Well, not exactly her friend, as she’d never been particularly kind toward Mabel. Regardless, Mabel did still look up to her. This was of course Prascilla Debalt or Perfect Prascilla as she was often referred to in Mabel’s mind. The woman was extraordinary; no, that’s selling her short. She held two doctorates, owned the largest home in this town and the next three over, had raised two handsome boys on her own and ran her own business. She started to wonder, what if she were able to observe Prascilla life, she could dissect her mind and find a way to recreate her life. Something inside of her came alive with excitement. She spoke her name and the light went to work finding her book. Another quick trip up and down the ladder and Mabel was back in her chair itching to start reading. As she turned the first page, she was immediately confronted with the fact that Prascillas father had wanted a boy. If it weren’t for him outright saying it at her birth, then it still would've been fairly obvious with his notable absence over the next few weeks. Mabel felt unexpected compassion for Prascilla , she wasn’t protected by some spell that made everything go her way after all. In this moment she saw the potential within this library, given the chance to read peoples whole stories, she was offered insite into why they were the way they were. She could no longer judge someone for their actions without considering the story that was hidden behind them. 

And yet something else burned within Mabel, a deep pleasure in knowing this woman wasn’t too different from herself. She jumped forward a few hundred pages and that was when she stumbled upon something that made her eyebrows crinkle up into her forehead. An affair with none other than Mr O’Connell. Mabel shreeked at the scandal this was, for O’Connell was married to her brothers ex-girlfriend Christina. She nervously read on, heart racing, as she uncovered how they had kept it a secret for so long. The more she read the more she felt a burning desire grow inside her. It was exciting, it was enticing, it was all so inviting, Mabel wanted to find more, wanted to go further. And why stop at the gossip of her town, why not take a look into stories of royalty, leaders and figures of influence.

This feeling scared Mabel. She could feel it begging her to read on. If it had its own way she would waste her whole life reading into the messy and dirty buried secrets of everyone she knew or those she didn’t even know. Then she considered where this could lead, considered how others ended up when they returned from the door and these thoughts brought with them a bitter twisted taste. Her mind fled as fast as it could, considering instead the responsibility she had to make use of her access to this library. She imagined what good she could achieve given her position. She could play the part of a mediator, understanding the different sides to points of conflict. She could aid police in their investigations. She could uncover terrible plots of people who wish to do the world no good. She could gather a firm grasp on political affairs and act as an advisor. All of a sudden, the weight of it came crashing down on her. How was she ever going to achieve any of this, she didn’t even know how much time she had left. She then started to think about what happened to people when they left the door, how they either became a great success or a crazed lunatic and outcast. Fear sprung upon her as she asked herself if it was already too late for her, if she had wasted her time.

These thoughts dissipated at the sound of Prascillas book collapsing to the ground. Mabel had completely forgotten it had been in her lap. This whole experience had been rather overwhelming for her. Who would have thought that a little rectangle could be a doorway into other people’s lives. Though it promises connections it could easily become the sole source of disconnection from the world outside it. She got to her feet and began pacing around the room. Her steps brought clarity and resolve to her mind. She knew she couldn’t spend any more time obsessing over the details of other peoples lives and she wasn’t able to bear the endless weight of all the worlds problems. Putting all these thoughts aside, she stopped her pacing and took a deep breath. Then the answer came to her and she knew exactly which story to throw all of her attention towards. 

Turning her head back up to the speck of light in the air, she asked, “Show me where Mabel Somers’ story is, please.” 

She settled into the armchair once more, this time with a complete sense of comfort both inside and out as she dug into her own story. She didn’t rush or skip over any part for she wanted to recall it all. To her surprise, she started to remember memories that had once been lost to her. She remembered the late nights at home reading in her mothers arms as she scratched her head. She remembered her grandfathers funeral, the first time she was confronted with death and how finite life really was. She remembered the joy she had felt when she used to go to the edge of town with her dads guitar and would write songs to the setting sun. She remembered the time she had fallen in love and how worthwhile that feeling was, even despite the pain that had followed. She remembered who she was, who she really was, the woman she always had been even if she had forgotten. As she sat staring at the blank page, slowly being filled with details of the library and all the things she had learnt, she heard the freeing sound of the door behind her opening. She placed the book on the table and slowly rose to be reintroduced into the world she had left behind her. As the door creeped open, she could hear the familiar sounds of the chaotic world she had left behind. But she knew it wouldn’t be the same world that she would return to. How could it be, if she wasn’t the same.