Uninvited Guests


His heart was pounding.  He was sure had seen the doorknob turn.  The three-foot door at the back of the cellar had been nothing but decoration, something his father had made for him as a child.

Could it have been a trick of the light?  Perhaps it was the shadows extending as he opened the cellar door?

The miniature door swung open, hitting the frame with a loud thud.  Mark jumped back, tripping up the last step.  His blood pressure must have been through the roof.  He put a hand to his chest, steadied himself and looked back to the open door.

Since he was five years old, there had only ever been a concrete wall, but a five year old could imagine whatever they wanted behind that door.  Leprechauns, elves, a world for the tiniest people, or, as he got older, a murderer’s hiding place for his victim’s head (which would roll out, leaving a bloody stain across the floor).

What he saw now was not a concrete wall.  Not even one of his childhood fantasies.  Instead, a wall of reflective water, disobeying the laws of physics.

Mark approached cautiously, his dumbfounded expression staring back at him.  He knelt down less than a meter from this phenomenal thing.  The light from the small rectangular window reflected off the ripples like a disco ball.  Mark raised a hand, held it in mid-air.

A skinny, long fingered hand came through.  Grabbed his wrist and pulled him in.


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