Everybody
encounters one at some point. Yours may be a rotting door at the bottom
of an unmarked staircase lit by a single flickering bulb, or a metal
hatch set into a concrete slab behind the community college. It could
even be a dusty, gated elevator nobody ever seems to use at the end of a
long hallway.
Mine is a fully-finished little door, half the size of a person and hidden inside a closet in the old Victorian house I purchased in Nowhere, Ohio.
Other people do notice your hideaway, as my realtor did, but none of them think twice about it. Once it catches your attention, it digs into your mind. I hear soft piano music drifting out of mine on a wind that smells like fresh-baked bread. Sometimes I pick up a distant rustling like spring wind through a row of blooming trees.
Of course, this is just a trick. None of those things are actually behind my door or beneath your elevator. These pathways open only from our side and only for a willing hand. Never approach your hatch alone, lest it sway you with a summer song or lull you with a heavenly chorus.
Because your hatch is not the entrance to a fairytale kingdom of manifest good and evil.
It is only an exit.
Mine is a fully-finished little door, half the size of a person and hidden inside a closet in the old Victorian house I purchased in Nowhere, Ohio.
Other people do notice your hideaway, as my realtor did, but none of them think twice about it. Once it catches your attention, it digs into your mind. I hear soft piano music drifting out of mine on a wind that smells like fresh-baked bread. Sometimes I pick up a distant rustling like spring wind through a row of blooming trees.
Of course, this is just a trick. None of those things are actually behind my door or beneath your elevator. These pathways open only from our side and only for a willing hand. Never approach your hatch alone, lest it sway you with a summer song or lull you with a heavenly chorus.
Because your hatch is not the entrance to a fairytale kingdom of manifest good and evil.
It is only an exit.
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