Eternity's Gate

Dear Z,

 There is no other way of saying this.

 There is a new door at the end of the hallway where the closet once was.

 I used to keep old books there. Mine, Mom’s, a little bit of Dad’s old notebooks even. Which was what I was looking for when I noticed that the wriggle of the handle felt different. When I looked at it again, I noticed that it wasn’t the vertical plastic handle anymore. What I had touched was a cool rounded metal doorknob with decorative floral designs engraved into it. It had a thin layer of dust that caused me to instinctively pull my hand back and reach for my jeans, leaving somewhat greasy white streaks against the textured blue denim.

 You know the pair that I’m talking about.

 Of course, this wasn’t the first time I encountered something like this, i.e. finding doorways when there weren’t any before, etc. But this was the first time that I find a doorway in my own house though. Which was odd, even for someone with my set of experiences.

 Like I’ve told you before, secret doorways can be found anywhere. They are mysteries, to be sure. But they are not uncommon. Usually when people encounter them, they would think that they’ve made a wrong turn somewhere. Because doorways never appear in places that are familiar to you (or as far as I can tell from my research). Always in foreign buildings. A hotel. Or school. The house of a distant relative. But never in a place that you ought to know like the back of your hand.

 People who encountered hidden doorways could also think that they might be dreaming. This is because these doorways emanate an air that could make you feel woozy, even if you decide not to open it. I’ll save telling you about the accounts of people who did open and enter these doorways for some other time, though I have the feeling that you’d be familiar with such stories. Anyway, these doorways don’t linger around for long. Often they won’t even be around by the time you go there for a second time.

 So here’s my problem.

 It’s still there. I thought that it would go away in a few days but after a week has passed, it’s still where I found it. I kept an eye on it constantly in the second week but I made sure not to go near it. In the third week, I tried to ignore it entirely. The fourth week, I tried to cover it up with something but the spare drapes I had kept slipping off of it and the bookcases were too heavy for me to move by myself. I retried my attempt at disregarding it, but it was like my eyes kept searching for it. Even when I was in the furthest room in the house. I felt like it would loom towards me if I hadn’t taken caution. That it would swallow me up whole and keep me inside forever. The idea of a dark and cramped space did not bode well with me that I had to leap out of my bed to find it again. Like a madman, I ran from my bedroom to the hallway to look for it. When I clapped eyes on it once again though, I found myself divided. I was glad that it was still in its place. Where it wouldn’t jump out to hurt me as long as I remained careful and calculated. But I also didn’t like the idea of a strange door being inside my house like a guest that’s overstaying their welcome.

 Especially since it was an uninvited guest and I had no means of removing it from where it stood. I marched towards it and against my better judgement, I started yelling at it. I know what you’re thinking Z. This is exactly the kind of reaction that stemmed from a prolonged period of bottling up feelings of frustration, confusion, and especially fear. And I won’t deny it. This door had been taunting me for weeks just by being there. I was scared for my life because of its existence. Its perpetual presence. It didn’t have to assault me in any physical way. It had already invaded more than my home. It had latched onto the back of my mind even when I turned away.

 But I can’t let it win.

 For the nights after that, I decided to camp out on the sofa in the living room while facing this door at the end of the hallway. I made sure to arm myself though it was more of a way of comforting me rather than defence against anything that might release itself from the door. I held onto the baseball bat that I found in the small room under the staircase. I was never good at baseball but I could rest easy knowing that I have it by my side when the lights are turned off.

 It’s been nearly 5 months since it first appeared. And there is no sign of it going away. I have attempted to open the door to see what’s inside. But the thought of what risks I could expose myself to made me second guess. What if the answers that I sought were actually endangering me and that this was the calm before the storm? I mean, isn’t the purpose of a door to lead us from one place to another? To get us to the other side of a barrier or a wall? And also, don’t doors work both ways? That taking us inside is as applicable as leading something out of it?

 I can’t continue to write any more because I’ve grown weary just by thinking about this predicament I’ve found myself in. I’m not even sure if this letter would reach you. I’m printing as many copies of this letter as possible and I’ll be distributing them to whatever means I could find. Every gap between the floors and windows. Every online forum and platform that I can find. I’ll keep trying until the ink of my printer runs out or for as long as my spirit continues to hold on and fight. Because I can’t leave anymore. No matter what I do. The doors. They’re everywhere.

Yours trul-