The Crayon Door

Ellie knew something was off the moment the mirror blinked at her.

She had just finished brushing her teeth, the usual bedtime routine humming along with the quiet of a late school night. The hallway light glowed dimly behind her. The faucet was still dripping even though she had just turned it off. But the real problem was the mirror. Her reflection hadn’t moved in sync.

It was subtle. A blink delayed by a heartbeat. A twitch in the cheek that hadn’t happened in her own face.She leaned in. Her breath fogged up the glass. She wiped it with her sleeve. Stared harder. The reflection smiled. She didn’t. The bathroom light flickered. When it turned back on, she wasn’t in the bathroom anymore.

A forest stretched around her in every direction. Towering pine trees loomed overhead, their needles casting long, sharp shadows. The air was heavy and damp, the ground beneath her bare feet soft and mossy.

"What the..." she breathed.

Still wearing her pajama pants and t-shirt, Ellie turned in place. Her house was gone. Her neighborhood was gone. Even the stars above didn’t look right. Too many. Too bright. Some of them moved, like they were watching her.

Then she heard it.

Thump.

Not a footstep, not quite. More like the beating of a giant drum somewhere deep in the woods. It echoed through the trees and into her ribs.

Thump.

She ran.

Branches whipped at her arms as she sprinted through the underbrush. The thudding grew louder, faster, until it was like a second heartbeat, pounding in her ears. She didn’t dare look behind her. Whatever it was, it wasn’t meant to be seen.

Just when her legs were giving out and her lungs were begging her to stop, she saw it.

A door.

Standing in the middle of a clearing, glowing faintly blue, with no frame, no walls, just—a door. Ordinary wood, brass knob, glowing like moonlight. Ellie didn’t hesitate. She lunged for it, yanked it open, and the ground dropped out beneath her.

She fell.

Not down, not in the way gravity usually worked. She fell through colors. Swirls of green and silver and violet. Through memories that weren’t hers. A child’s drawing of a three-eyed cat. A classroom she’d never been in. A hand reaching out of a well. And then, stillness.

She opened her eyes. Her bed. Her ceiling fan. The morning sun spilling onto her blanket. She sat up, heart thundering.

"It was all just a dream," she whispered. She slid out of bed and placed her feet on the floor.

Squish.

She looked down. Moss. Soft, dark green moss under her feet. She scrambled back onto the bed, heart racing. Her bedroom floor, from the foot of the bed to the door, was covered in moss. And next to it—muddy footprints.

Her own.

She could still feel the chill from the forest air.

"No. No, no, no..."

She jumped off the bed and ran to her door. The moss ended at the threshold. Her hallway looked perfectly normal. She backed up, eyes wide, not wanting to step in it again. Something caught her eye.

On the far wall of her bedroom, drawn in crayon, was a door. Small. Maybe three feet tall. Blue outline. Perfectly shaded, like something out of a cartoon. She walked slowly toward it. It shimmered slightly. When she reached out and touched the knob, her finger passed through it. The crayon changed. The outline solidified. A real knob formed beneath her hand. Cold metal. The hair on her arms stood up.

A low whisper came from the other side.

"You left before we could finish."

Ellie screamed and yanked her hand back. The door melted back into crayon. But now, there was a keyhole.

The next few days passed in a haze.

At school, she couldn’t focus. Every time she blinked, she thought she saw the forest. Her reflection in the bathroom mirrors at school seemed normal, but she avoided looking too long. She started carrying a flashlight with her at all times.

She didn’t tell anyone. Not her mom. Not her friends. Who would believe her?

Every night, she checked the blue crayon door. Sometimes it glowed. Sometimes it didn’t. The keyhole was always there. Waiting.

On the fourth night, she found a small silver key on her pillow. She didn’t sleep.

By the seventh night, she gave in.

The dreams hadn’t stopped. Always the forest. Always the pounding. Always that door, standing in the clearing, glowing, waiting.

She held the key tightly and stood before the crayon door. Her room was quiet. Her mom was asleep. Ellie took a deep breath and slid the key into the hole.

Click.

The door creaked open. She crouched and crawled inside. The forest was exactly the same. Cold air. Blue mist. The smell of pine and something else—something ancient. The door behind her shut quietly. When she turned, it was gone.

This time, she didn’t run. She walked. She followed the sound. Thump. Thump. Louder with each step, but slower than before. Less threatening. Like it was guiding her.

She passed trees with faces in the bark. Saw foxes with antlers darting through the shadows. A river flowed uphill next to her, whispering riddles in a language she almost understood. Eventually, she reached the clearing. And the door.

Not blue this time. Red. Glowing brighter than before. On it, carved deep into the wood, was her name.

ELLIE.

She touched it. It opened. She stood in a massive hall. Stone walls rose high above her, lit by lanterns that floated in the air. Paintings hung everywhere—and they were moving. Living pictures of dreams, memories, places she’d never seen.

In the center of the hall stood a figure. Tall. Stern. Its face was a smooth mirror.

Ellie approached slowly.

"Are you the one who’s been chasing me?" she asked.

"Not chasing," the mirror-figure said. Its voice sounded like wind through leaves. "Calling."

"Why? What do you want from me?"

The mirror shifted. Her own reflection appeared, then changed to show the blue crayon door. Her bedroom. Her face, sleeping peacefully.

"You dream deeply, Ellie. Deeper than most."

"So this is a dream?"

The figure tilted its head. "It is your dream. But it is also real."

"I don’t understand."

"Few do. Fewer return."

Ellie frowned. "Return?"

The mirror showed her footprints in the moss. The key. The crayon door. "You opened the way. You walked between waking and wonder. You can walk it again. But not without cost."

Ellie took a step back. "Cost?"

"The deeper you go, the harder it is to leave. Dreams have roots. The question is: Do you want to stay?"

She looked around at the hall. The paintings. The magic. The freedom. And she thought of her mom. Her bed. Her school. Her life.

"No," she said finally. "Not yet."

The figure nodded.

"Then wake up."

Ellie gasped and sat up. Morning light. Her room. Her clock. She turned to the wall. The crayon door was gone. But the moss wasn’t.

And under her pillow, the silver key waited.