The Door That Wasn’t There

The Door That Wasn’t There

In a rambling, but creaky, old Victorian house that had more rooms than any sensible person could ever possibly need, lived a girl called Willow Strong. She was eleven years old, and had a mop of crazy red hair that refused to stay tamed, and a mind that was always halfway between reality and somewhere a lot more interesting. She was being looked after and raised by her eccentric grandmother, a sprightly old woman with a passion for knitting and an even bigger passion for bulk buying her groceries that she called her bargains.

The house was on the edge of London, tucked between a row of stately townhouses and a curious little bookshop that never seemed to be open. Inside the house, it was a jumbled mismatch of antique furniture that had likely been there since the house was first lived in, ancestral portraits that winked, or at least that was what Willow swore they had done to her, and doors that sometimes led nowhere, and sometimes to places you hadn’t intended to go.

Willow was not exactly popular at school. Children can be cruel, and Mandy Penfold, with her polished shoes and pinched nose, was the cruellest of all of them. She never missed an opportunity to whisper something horrid about Willow’s dad being in prison or speculate out aloud as to where her mother had gone off to, making it so perplexing it had to be solved, or so trivial that it was more akin to a glove.

They would both be starting secondary school after summer, and the thought made Willow’s stomach tighten uncomfortably.

One bright July Monday morning, Grandmother Strong set off to visit her ill best friend, reluctantly leaving Willow alone with the run of the house. Her grandmother had asked if she wanted to come, but after last time, she declined. The thought of spending another boring day while two old people talked about nothing that interested her did not appeal to her. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her grandmother, it was she could think of much more interesting things that she could be doing. She had plans, breakfast and a quiet day watching television as she had promised not to leave the house.

She had gone into the pantry to fetch her favourite cereal—"Crunchy Nut Claws" (which contained no nuts, no claws, and very little crunch)—when she saw the door. She had half seen it in the past, but her curiosity had never enticed her to investigate it before. It had always been just a shadow within a shadow. She was used to doors leading nowhere, so didn’t spare it a second thought. But now it beckoned her.

It was not a cupboard door, nor a hatch, it was not a painted shape that could be mistaken for a door. But a door on the back wall of the pantry that called her name. Though it was as clear and sharp as the crunch in Crunchy Nut Claws pretended to be. It was drawing her forward. It blinked. The handle shimmered like it was made of liquid silver. Her brain pulsed with curiosity as she reached out for it, but her fingers just passed straight through the handle as if it wasn’t there.

“What?” Willow found herself saying out loud. She was very good at saying the right things in the moments.

Leaning forward, determined to shove it open, intending to push hard against the door, as hard as her small body could muster. Except it wasn’t made of wood, or any hard surface, it was made of nothing, it wasn’t really there; an illusion, she realised as she fell. Right through.

The fall wasn’t long or painful, nor had it been scary. It was like sliding down a buttery banister, as if the banister were made of marshmallow that giggled. She landed softly on her feet in a meadow of so many beautiful greens; it was as if it was humming a lullaby. It took her breath away.

Overhead, the sky was a vivid lavender-blue with fluffy white clouds shaped like animals playing leapfrog. A signpost stood before her. It read:

"To the Left: somewhere you would not be interested in. To the Right: Not Quite anywhere, yet. Straight Ahead: Yes, that’s right. This Way."

Naturally, she was going to take the one ahead. Willow started walking with a little bit of trepidation in her stride.

She had travelled only a short distance when she stumbled upon a large colour changing toadstool, yellow, pink, baby blue, soft green, all pleasant pastel colours, she noted. Atop the toadstool sat a scarlet and yellow badger sucking a blue lollypop, reading a book of children's nursery rhymes. That happened to be upside-down.

“Ah, at last!” he said, not looking up. “You’re exactly three minutes too early, which just happens to be on time by local standards.”

“Am I?” said Willow.

“Oh yes,” said the Badger. “My name is Bartholomew J. Bumbletail, Esq. Would you like a cup of nectar?”

He offered her a thimble full of something that fizzed and that tasted like cinnamon with a surprise.

Bartholomew squinted through his specks at her. “You look like someone who’s forgotten how big she is.”

Willow tilted her head. “I’m eleven."

“Exactly!” he said, leaping to the ground beside her. “The perfect age for forgetfulness of size and importance. Come on, come along with me.”

He led her through fields that smelled like stories and over hills made of stacked books sitting on top of ginger biscuits until they reached a peculiar garden where the flowers argued in whispers about who was more fragrant.

The garden was patrolled by a Tangerine Goose, who demanded a password from her. When Willow hesitated, Bartholomew just whispered, “Try saying something no one’s ever said before.”

Willow thought about it, then declared, “Bubble-wrap packaging makes a terrible umbrella unless you’re hiding from raindrops made of strawberry jam!”

“EXCELLENT!” honked the Goose. “Never heard that one before. In you go.”

Inside the garden, the flowers gave her riddles instead of petals.

“What’s louder than silence but quieter than a voice?” asked a bellflower.

“A whisper,” Willow answered.

The flower beamed. “Yes, a whisper of courage! You’ll need that. Put it in your head for later.”

Further on, she met the Safire Blue Cat, who huffed when he walked and puffed when he sat down.

“You’re afraid of being small, are you not?” he said, not unkindly.

Willow frowned. “I’m not afraid. I just don’t like being laughed at for something I have no control over or when I am being picked on.”

“Same difference,” said the Cat. “I will tell you what: if you race me to the top of the Daring Tree and you win, I’ll show you the way to the Hall of Monitors.”

Willow had no idea what the hall of monitors was, but she wanted to find out if they could help her.

She hadn’t climbed a tree in years, but she knew she could do it. She always liked climbing trees; this was going to be easy. Up the bark that peeled off like paper behind her, over branches that whispered encouragement to her, until she reached the top and touched the star-shaped white leaf, just ahead of the cat.

The Cat purred as it sat down beside her. “Well done. You remember how brave you are, as he pointed at the ground hundreds of feet beneath them. Put this leaf in your pocket so that you remember how brave you really are.”

The Hall of Monitors was filled with reflections that argued with her and themselves.

“You’re not smart enough,” said one.

“You’ll never stand up to Mandy,” said another.

But then a tall monitor in the corner showed her a version of herself standing tall, chin up, not afraid, with a smile on her lips.

“Who are you in there?” Willow asked.

“I’m you,” said the monitor. “But without all the doubt you carry around with you.”

Willow stared at it, then took a deep breath and walked closer, but suddenly it was gone as she stepped back into the pantry. She blinked. The cereal box was still in her hand. She walked lighter than she had in ages, as she entered through the pantry door into the kitchen. She poured out the cereal into a bowl and smiled as she picked up the milk bottle and watched as the milk swirled into the bowl. She glanced at the clock. 9:15. Not a minute in time had passed, yet it felt like she had been away for the whole day.

Something inside her had changed. Something important. She felt it growing.

September came around far too fast. The first day of her new secondary school had arrived, as all dreadful things eventually do.

Willow stood in her new uniform that her grandmother had bought for her, her shoulders now squared, ready for whatever came her way. And there she was, that smug Mandy, sharp-tongued as ever, swanning over like she owned the place with her pack of giggling shadows.

“Still don’t know where your mum is, Strong?” Mandy sneered.

Willow blinked slowly, then said, loud enough for half the hallway to hear.

“And yet here you are, obsessing over me like it’s your full-time job. Should I be flattered you pay me that much attention? It must be exhausting, waking up every day and choosing to be that irrelevant. Tell me, did you rehearse that in the mirror? You did, didn’t you?” she chuckled. “I’ll tell you what, in future if I want to hear from someone with nothing useful to say, I’ll ask Siri, with the Wi-Fi turned off.”

The giggles from her shadows stopped. Mandy turned bright red and stormed off.

Someone behind Willow laughed.

And just like that, something inside her had dropped into place. She neither felt big nor small. She was just Willow, determined to live up to her name.

That evening, she went to the pantry, not surprised to see the door was gone.

But Willow knew it had been there. And that was enough. She also suspected if she ever needed it again, it would return. But in her heart of hearts, she knew she was strong enough to never need it again.

The End.