Night. The street empty, deserted.

I entered the old house from which I had been absent for so long, and guided by memory passed through the foyer, went up the stairs, down the hallway. Dingy, creaky, dark.

The door at the end of the corridor was the one I sought, had long sought. The other side had been home, once.

I was afraid. I approached the door, trembling.

The door gazed at me, then spoke. “What is your business here?”

I tried to laugh at my fear - afraid of a door? I, who had conquered rude tribes and vanquished monsters in savage, unmapped lands? In the face of those dangers I had never flinched. Now, afraid of a simple door?

I spoke. “Door, I think that I left part of my life here, on the other side of you, and am hoping that if I pass through, I might find it again.”

The door did not reply. Taking silence as consent, I grasped the knob and began to turn it.

Suddenly, the door shook and rattled. In the loudest voice imaginable, it shouted “THIEF! LEAVE THIS PLACE, OR I WILL STRIKE OUT AND SEND YOU TUMBLING!”

Covering my ears to mask the bellowing, I turned and fled the house.

Copyright © by John Remmers.