Doors

They gave me a circular bone saw, the type with a blade perpendicular to the handle. It felt heavy in my hand, though somehow light as a feather. I was told to “give myself a haircut,” with it, though I had no idea what that meant. I assumed they meant a literal haircut, so I said, “I can’t without a mirror.”

And suddenly we were in a room. I don’t remember moving, or even closing my eyes, but suddenly a room was around us, walls that had no right to be there existing nonetheless. They showed me to a door, opening it and ushering me inside. My legs moved without feeling, my torso floating while these two anchors of muscle and bone dragged me along. I found myself in what appeared to be a bathroom, though this was only based on the sink and mirror I found in front of me. I couldn’t see anything else.

I stared at the mirror, and saw only myself inside. At least I remember it as myself, though I could not tell you what I looked like should you ask. I recognized whatever lay on the other side of that reflective glass as myself, however, and that self help the same saw. I switched my attention to the saw again, having forgotten it was even there. I must have clicked a switch, pressed a button, something, for the saw started whirring up. The blade must have been slightly off center, for I could feel vibrations through the handle. The blade spun faster and faster, until the only sign of changing speed came from the ever increasing shrill of the blade.

And then I stopped, the blade slowing down. It all seemed so silly to me. I didn’t know how to give myself a haircut, much less with a bone saw. Hell, I didn’t even have a style I wanted. The saw left my hand, I forget how. Maybe I dropped it, maybe I placed it on the counter next to the sink. Maybe there was no saw at all. Then I was facing the door, again no feeling of movement around me. It seemed as though one moment I was looking at the mirror, the next I was looking at the door. I walked into the door, and I could not remember if it opened or not.

Again, the scenery changed. I found myself on the front porch of a house. Another door in front of me. I heard a dog somewhere, and thought it was inside the house. Again, I walked into the door, although this time I remember it opening before me, if only because I heard it closing behind. I explored the house, the dog always seeming to be in the next room over. I couldn’t tell you what was in it. I don’t remember the furniture or the lighting, or even the layout. I did remember that door though.

It was red and dark, a shiny gold knob against the desolate frame. The dog sounded right on the other side, it’s barks somehow conveying fear, anger, excitement, happiness, and nothing all at the same time. I opened the door, and walked in.

And found myself outside the house again, although this time I was on the sidewalk, a stone pathway illuminated by lamps lighting the way to the porch. The dog was outside this time, still barking. It was chained, with large gold links, to short stone wall. I walked up to the door, and it opened for me this time, I remember it opening, though can’t remember hearing it shut. Once again I explored the house, half realizing I was tracing the same path as before, half not knowing or caring.

Eventually I reached the door again. It looked the same, yet seemed… different. The red of the wood seemed slightly darker, the gold of the handle slightly shinier. I heard nothing on the other side now, yet still grabbed the handle all the same. It seemed to twist under my grip, and pull me into the room as the door opened.

And I was outside again. Down the street this time. The other houses were dark, cast in shadow. The only light came from the porch of the house and the lights along the pathway. The dog was not outside the house, instead it seemed all around me. I would hear barking from the next block down, only to hear it right behind me the next instant. It would bounce from backyard to front yard, from the roofs to inside the houses. I ran, though not sure from what, to the house again.

The door opened before me, just like the time before, and I made a beeline for the door, not bothering to follow the same route as before. I came before the door again, the wood certainly darker, the knob certainly brighter, and reached for the knob.

I stopped.

My hand was perhaps a millimeter from the knob. I felt a pulsing in my palm, unsure if it came from the golden knob or simply my own heart. I felt the words more than I heard it “open the door and I will leave.” The words resonated throughout my body, ringing in harmony in every muscle, playing xylophone with every bone. I broke out in a cold sweat, and sprinted for the front door. My feet tripped and stumbled along the way yet somehow I never slowed my pace. I flew to the door and threw it open, desperate to escape and run.

Though something was already there.