Mom, I’m home!

As I set foot in the foyer, I could almost see my mom standing there to greet me. I could picture her in her cute platypus apron, the same one my grandma used to wear. She’d have a big smile on her face, everything from the twinkle in her emerald eyes to the dimples on her cheeks telling me just how happy she was to see me.

Hurry and head to the kitchen before the cookies get cold!

I took a deep breath, half-expecting the sweet aroma of buttery chocolate chips to fill my nose. Instead, my nostrils were met with the earthy smell of musty carpet and neglected wooden furniture.

The curtains in the house had all been pulled tightly closed, and the windows were boarded up. Only thin, dusty blades of sunlight slipped through the cracks.

My eyes were already starting to itch, and I tried to suppress a sneeze. I could feel a single tear trickling down my cheek.

“First of many, I bet,” I quietly chuckled, wiping it away with the back of my hand.

Even in the near-darkness, I recognized many of the framed photos and mementos sitting atop the fireplace, or hanging on the wall above the grand piano. I imagined my mom at the keys, her fingers dancing lithely back and forth, playing me an overcomplicated rendition of my favorite childhood song—the Pokemon theme—with far more skill than necessary.

Though I knew the memories rushing through my mind all belonged to me, many as fresh as if they’d just been made yesterday, they were also as distant as if they’d been plucked from someone else’s life. Like I was watching a movie about me where I was played by someone else.

I made my way into the kitchen. As I passed by the refrigerator, I spotted the last thing I’d ever sent my parents, hanging among the sea of magnets. It was a postcard from my vacation more than two whole years ago. Even though I’d been too careless to even handwrite the text, my mom had crocheted a protective frame for it, with “love” stitched along the bottom.

A pang of regret rang through my chest, even as I failed to hold back a laugh at my mom’s corny caption. Why had I been so damn focused on things that didn’t matter in the end? Why hadn’t I ever come back to see my parents?

The memories were now overflowing, and I could feel them stinging at the corners of my eyes. I grabbed a seat at the dinner table and cupped my face in my palms.

Were this ten years ago, only moments would’ve passed before my dad would come up to me, rest a hand on my shoulder, and say “I’m here if you want to talk”—or my mom would scoop me into a big embrace without so much as a word.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Over the past year, the door had closed on multiple chapters of my life. When I heard that both my parents had died in a freak accident, the door closed on my family, on my childhood. And when I struggled to process what had happened and began slipping into self-destructive habits, the door closed on my career, too.

It felt as if I had nothing left. Nothing but this house, and the money I’d managed to save before I was fired from my job. Where was I even supposed to go from here?

I recalled one of my dad’s favorite sayings.

Where one door closes, a new one opens. Never give up hope, no matter what happens.

“I hope I find that new door soon, pops.”

I sighed and shook my head to clear it. Even if I hadn’t found it yet, and even if I didn’t find it anytime in the near future... I’d come back here for a reason. To try and get my life back together. To take care of this house, and do the best I could to honor my parents’ memory.

I hastily smeared my face across my sleeves and headed for the staircase. I wanted to check on my old room.

Would everything be the same? My twin bed with the springy mattress that I would often jump on, much to my dad’s amusement and mom’s annoyance. The old Ikea desk that our little family had had to work together to assemble. My bookcase, filled with the stories that had taken me on so many adventures.

The thought of revisiting some of the books from my childhood put a smile on my face.

When I’d made my way upstairs, however, I stopped in my tracks.

The door to my room, on the other end of the hallway, was absolutely not the way I remembered it. To make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me in the dark, I pulled out my phone and turned on the flashlight.

Sure enough, what had once been a plain pine wood door was now more like a gate. It was made from dark, richly-patterned wood, and it stretched the entire way from the floor to the ceiling. Strange, intricate designs were carved into its frame. Brass studs lined its edges, and its black hinges stretched across its width like thick, metal ribs.

I slowly walked up to it, and gingerly reached out my hand to touch it.

I blinked. It was just a door, wasn’t it? Why was I filled with so much hesitation? It was true that I had no idea why my parents had replaced my door like this, and I had no idea what was behind it. But there was no way it posed any danger to me, right? Perhaps the old man had been serious about repurposing my room into a study, and he had gone a bit too far with the theming.

With a nervous chuckle, I placed my hand on the dull brass handle. The metal was cold to the touch, and it had a surprising heft to it. Even more surprising, however, was how smoothly it turned.

As the door swung open, I raised my phone and took a step forward.

The floor disappeared from beneath me.

The moment I’d walked through the door, the silent, musty hallway of my parents’ home had been replaced with—

I could barely process what was happening. Somehow, I’d found myself hovering in midair. Storm clouds were gathered above me, and violent waves roared below. In every direction, as far as I could see, was nothing but water.

Before I even realized I was falling, my clothes were already drenched by the rain and the salty sea spray, whipped up by the howling wind.

I hit the water with enough force to knock the air from my lungs.

And as I struggled to make sense of it all, I was swallowed up by the waves.