Dungeons and Doorknobs

It was spring forward, and I went ahead and set my clock forward before bed. I crawled into bed and laid down, waiting for sleep to come to me. After several hours of tossing and turning, I finally gave up on sleep. I pulled a book out of the large bookshelf next to my bed and started to read.

* * * * *

I woke up to a loud banging outside my bedroom. 

BANG! BANG! BANG! 

It sounded like a horse was kicking my door over and over again. I sat up, slowly realizing that my 13-year-old self was in a room that most definitely wasn’t mine.

“What...where...how?” I said, looking at the mint green walls around me and odd gray tile below my feet. My beautiful mahogany bed frame was now vine-wrapped and lightly stained pine. I took a deep breath and realized my room smelled like fresh flowers and fir trees.

I looked where my calendar used to be and saw that it was March 20, 3041. How was I 121 years in the future? Where was I 1021 years in the future?

Cautiously standing up, I walked over to my door. I realized that the loud banging had stopped as I reached for the doorknob and tentatively turned it. I opened the door a crack, trying to prepare myself, but I still jumped when I saw what was beyond the doorway.

Standing outside my door was a tall, armed guard with his back turned to me. Something was off though. I scanned what I could see of this guard and realized that his legs had hooves instead of feet, and his ankles were covered in curly goat-like hair. He had on a security guard hat along with a full uniform that was navy blue. Over his shoulder he had a bow and quiver, and a small pistol was in his hand. 

I felt my jaw drop as I closed the door as quietly as I could and retreated into not-my-room. I walked back to the bed that wasn’t mine and sunk down onto it. That guard was a satyr!!! Now I was genuinely concerned about where I was and what was happening to my family. I was especially worried about my little brother Conrad. He was only 8 and did NOT deserve this level of mental trauma. I put my face in my hands. 

Suddenly, the door creaked open and the satyr guard walked in. I looked up, startled by the noise. He glanced behind him on either side, then walked into the room and closed the door. He squatted to get down to my level.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice quiet. He had a strong British-esq accent and a clear, low voice that was kind of intimidating. “My name is Melven Burrows. I’m here to take you home.” His voice was still a whisper, but that didn’t make him any less frightening. How did he even know that I was from somewhere else? 

“What do you mean?” I said, trying to decide if I trusted him.

“Your brother is in mortal danger. I can show you, but not here. I know how to take you home, but I imagine you’ll want to take your brother with you. Your parents are safe. They are still asleep. Come on, we have to-”

Suddenly a voice outside the door shouted, “Hey! There are hoofprints over here!” followed by another shout of, “In here!”

I heard a door open and slam violently.

“We must use the window. And then find you a more fitting outfit for the situation,” Mr. Burrows stammered as he began to turn red, using his hand to wipe sweat off his neck. I looked at my clothes and realized I was still in my short nightgown. 

How was I supposed to climb out the widow in THIS!?! There was no way it could get any worse. 

Mr. Burrows opened the window silently and helped me get out without tearing my dress or embarrassing myself. I stood against the wall outside the window, doing my best to hide in the shadow of the building and waited for Mr. Burrows to climb out. 

“Hold my hand. This is going to be...you’ll see,” I grabbed his hand and closed my eyes, waiting for something to happen. I felt a rush of wind.

“We’re here. You can open your eyes now.” 

I opened my eyes to a cozy cottage with a fire in the hearth and a brown armchair, as well as a couch with a blue cover on it. I sat on the couch, mouth gaping open. Mr. Burrows grabbed a small rectangular device and sat down in the armchair. He fiddled with the odd gadget until there was a faint click. A blue holographic picture that looked like something from Star Wars glowed in front of it. It showed a projection of my brother in what looked like a prison cell, asleep. 

Well, at least he’s still asleep. I thought. 

“Now that you have seen your brother, I need to show you what we are up against,” He pulled out another device similar to the last one, but this time it clicked and whirred, then projected a picture of the front of Conrad’s cell. I shuddered at the sight of the guards. They looked like some sort of grotesque goblin thing with hands the size of basketballs. Their skin was an old, decaying green with lots of black lumps and bumps. Their shirt sleeves were torn and their pant legs cut. And there were at least a dozen! 

“Oh...my...gosh. What are those things?” I asked, praying that I didn’t have to use a sword and shield against those monsters. 

“Those are trolls. They are guarding your brother’s cell. If you are afraid of those, I would hate to see your reaction to their master,” said Mr. Burrows, “Come on. There are some more... appropriate clothes in that closet.” He gestured towards a door in the back of the room, looking at his feet.

“Thanks. I’ll be right back,” I walked into the small closet and picked out a brown tunic and high-waisted green shorts. I tucked in my shirt and pulled on some combat boots, then walked out of the closet. Mr. Burrows had pulled out a longbow and a quiver full of spear-like feathered arrows. 

“Oooookay…. One problem. I don’t know how to use that,” I said, waving my hand at the bow and arrows. 

“That’s why I’m here. Follow me.” 

We walked out the back door and into a small, lush yard with a garden on one side and a set of targets on the other. “Now listen very closely,” Mr. Burrows began. “Hold the bow in your dominant hand.” 

I picked up the bow with my left hand and tried, unsuccessfully, to line up the arrow to the notch in my bow. Mr. Burrows came up behind me and showed me where my hands went. I carefully shot the arrow and missed the middle of the target by several feet. I sighed. This was a lot harder than they made it look in movies. I tried again, remembering how my hands were on the bow. I hooked my fingers on the bowstring and shot another arrow. This one landed on the very edge of the target, but still missed the center.

“All that would have done is injure an enemy. Focus. I believe in you. You can do this,” I looked at the target and aimed. I released the arrow and hit the target dead center. I did a mental happy dance. Yes!!! I thought. 

“Alright. Now you just have to do that every time,” Mr. Burrows said. I groaned. I barely made the last one! 

I continued to aim and shoot until my fingers blistered. 

“Can I be done now?” I whined, my fingers burning like someone had poured acid on them. 

“Yes, but only until we heal those blisters.” 

Oh good. I thought, That will take days. 

“Come back inside and I’ll put a remedy on the blisters that will heal them.” 

Oh no. More practice!? Ugh...here we go. I thought.

He smeared a balm that looked like blue coconut oil onto my wounds. I winced as the balm touched the blisters. Mr. Burrows took a warm cloth and wiped the ointment off. I stared in awe. My blisters were completely gone!

“Here. Put these on,” said Mr. Burrows, handing me a pair of black leather finger gloves. I put them on then picked up my bow again, getting a feel for my new gloves. 

“Oh, this is so much better!” I said. We walked back outside and I pulled an arrow out of my quiver and shot it at the target, nailing the middle the first time. “Ok, please tell me I get to keep these,” Mr. Burrows nodded. I pumped my fist. Yes! No more blisters for me! 

“Alright. Let’s go save your brother,” Mr. Burrows said, pulling out a small, diamond-shaped mechanism. Next thing I knew, I was standing in the same dungeon as my brother.