The Key To The Mystery Door (Dark Fiction)

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If you want a soundtrack, you know what to do ;)

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It was dark and cold. He needed to get a shelter for the night, but which door should he knock on? Every window was dark, no lights were coming out from anywhere. He kept walking. The chilly air kept piercing his skin, the first cold drops of rain started to fall. He needed a place to cover himself.

He kept walking faster. The strides he took would eventually get him to a place where he could spend the night and not freeze to death. Nothing, darkness everywhere and drops that kept getting heavier and heavier. He could feel them on his hair, sliding all the way down to his scalp, being absorbed by his skin and trasferring their cold energy inside his body. He would swear those drops felt like nails on his head. 

Shivering, he started shivering. A cobblestoned alley he was now walking on. A dead end. A dead end with another closed door. But! Was it a trick his eyes were playing? Wishful thinking that made him dillusional? Was it light coming under this door? Was there someone awake at this time of the cold, rainy night? 

He tried to focus and control his trembling hands, he didn't want to scare any possible savior off tonight, he certainly could not afford it. A deep breath, another one. His body was somehow trying to restrain the spasms and his right hand knocked on the door. 

Nothing.

He waited a minute or so until he knocked again. Nah, he leaned his head to the ground and was ready to surrender to his fate. And just then, the door opened and a short old woman was standing there in front of him, dressed in black, with a black headscarf around her head and an oil lamp on her hand.

- Step inside, stranger! What on Earth were you doing wandering around in such freezing weather? Come, come sit by the fire. Are your clothes wet? Let me fetch you a nice, warm blanket to get you all covered up.

He didn't manage to say anything, his lips were frozen. He just went to sit by the lit fireplace. The old woman passed the blanket around his shoulders and offered him something hot to drink. 

Just as his eyes were getting used to the room's light and he felt he could move his body at his will, he looked around. The woman was sitting opposite him, spinning wool on an old, wooden distaff. He watched her spin it fast. Watched her hands move the spinning wheel and pass the thread around the spindle.

- Do you have a name, stranger?

He shook his head surprised as if he had just been woken up from a deep sleep.

- Edmond, he said.

- What brought you in our little village, Edmond?

- I am a merchant. Muggers attacked me, they took my horse and my money and got away. It was three of them. They ambushed me. I couldn't fight them. I let them have what they wanted and they didn't hurt me. I started walking and walking and by the time night had come I reached this place. 

- You poor thing! You're lucky you found me awake in the middle of the night. A poor old lady that hardly sleeps. A gift or a curse of old age? Need for less sleep, but less energy to fill all these hours in a day. At least I found a pastime to keep me occupied, she smiled. Now that you're all warmed up and had your drink, do you want to get some sleep? I'll make you breakfast in the morning and go find you a carriage to get you back home.

- I could not thank you enough. 

- There is no need to thank me, my child. The good you spare others will get back to you one way or another.

The old woman laid the bedsheets next to the fireplace on the small couch Edmond was sitting. She covered him with her blankets and sat at her distaff again. 

- And if you wake up in the morning and I am not around, use the key that's on the table next to the door to get out. 

Edmond made himself comfortable in the old woman's covers. He was listening to the sound of her spinning the distaff. The old woman then started mumbling something that sounded like an old lullaby. A lullaby his mother used to sing. The sleep came quick. His eyelids were burning from the cold they had faced earlier, but he could soon not feel a thing. 

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He was dreaming. He was dreaming of him being a child again, running carefree and happy. He was running in a village that looked just like the one he was spending this night at. And as he was running and giggling he found himself in front of the old woman's door. He opened it and got inside. There he saw his mother and father and brothers, all of them long dead by the knights that conquered their village. But now they were all a family again, smiling and getting ready to sit at the Sunday table. He missed them and the joy he felt right now was indescribable. 

Edmond blinked and suddenly found himself in front of the same door, just before he got to sit at the table. He opened it again and now the room was fool of blood, the knights were here, their bloody swords in their hands and his family on the floor. Edmond felt all the rush of adrenaline and deadly fear flowing through his body. He ran quickly to check in the closed wardrobe where, back then, he was hiding while this hideous act was taking place.

The wardrobe's door was not the same though, it was the old woman's door. He opened it and saw his first love. Beautiful, young Erika was there smiling at him. He remembered all those warm feelings he had for her, their first kiss, their first night in bed. How he woke up the next morning and got out to bring her a rose from the garden.

When he tried to get in the house again the same door was there with the key hanging by it. Edmond opened it and Erika's father was now sitting in a big armchair announcing his daughter's wedding to another man. Edmond was poor, a nothing for her father. The rage and disappointment were all coming back at him. He left the room opening this very door once again and got inside the room where his beloved Erika was lying pale and still. She had left him a note he never got. It was right there, on her night table. "Dear Edmond, if I am to live my life with another man, then I shall not live it at all. Meet me on the other side when your time comes. Love, Erika"

Devastated, his tears were running down his cheeks and tried to leave this room. But he couldn't. Every time he tried to leave, he found himself in front of the same door. And every time the door took him to a happy memory of his life, it gave him two sad ones. But after a while the bad memories got more. For a moment of happiness he had to go through three moments of pain and then four and five and so on. But he never used that key. 

And the old woman kept spinning.

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*First photo on this post courtesy of @twiceuponatime
*Original photos and story by @ruth-girl - Steemit, 2018

If you were like Edmond, where would you stop? How much sadness and pain would you be willing to feel to get the excitement and pleasure of pure happiness again? How many bad memories would you be willing to live all over again to get a few seconds of joy in return?

Just like real life, happiness is not all around, real happiness is moments, our life is counted in moments (just like my mother says). After all in the end we will all be judged by the total time of true happiness we had before the verdict "did they live a happy life?" comes out.

And if this last thought got you intrigued, I suggest you read this wonderful and meaningful story by Jorge Bucay, The Seeker.

This was an entry to Lord Byron's Behind the Mystery Door Contest. And yes, you got a bonus, you heard me sing (or at least try to).

The lullaby was something quick I made up for this story. Translated lyrics go like this:
May your sleep be sweet - and your dreams like honey -
May I take all your pain - and all that's left of worries -
Sleep now my little angel - and I'll be watching over you -
no evil or enemy shall find you - as long as I am holding you -
And if bad dreams are to come - and if you feel you're scared -
just put the key into the lock - to free yourself from there.

I hope you liked it! :)

Thank you so much for your time!

Until my next post,
Steem on and keep smiling, people!