The Door Between

This is a story from a painting prompt by Original Worlds (Ira Robinson) and a photo prompt by Labyrinthia Mythweaver …. and a tag from Mr. HVR - James …please enjoy the shout outs to some of my Substack friends…..Lynne and Marie are not on Substack…

Alice, Lynne, and Marie were walking along the forest path, the kind that felt safe simply because it existed. Sunlight filtered through the trees in soft gold ribbons, and everything felt ordinary enough lighthearted even.

They wandered off the path without really deciding to. One moment they were on it, the next they were stepping over roots, laughing, chasing a squirrel that clearly thought very little of them.

“Look at this one,” Alice said, crouching to inspect a cluster of nuts. “These are perfect.”

“Everything’s perfect when you don’t have to eat it,” Lynne replied.

Marie laughed, brushing her hands along the bark of a tree as she walked. “You two would not survive five minutes in the wild.”

They were still smiling when they saw it.

A door.

Standing between two trees.

Not attached to anything. Not leading anywhere. Just there.

Or almost there.

It shimmered faintly, like it hadn’t fully decided to exist yet.

“…Do you see that?” Marie asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Lynne said. “That’s new.”

Alice tilted her head, studying it. “Maybe someone built a fort?”

“In the middle of nowhere? With a front door?” Lynne raised an eyebrow. “Bold choice.”

They stepped closer.

They hadn’t noticed the light changing the way the shadows stretched longer, the way the forest grew quieter. But as the world dimmed, the small window at the top of the door began to glow.

Soft at first.

Then warmer.

Brighter.

The door sharpened, solidifying, as if the darkness was giving it permission to be real.

“…Okay,” Lynne muttered. “That’s not normal.”

Before anyone could answer, something fell from above.

A book.

It landed softly at Alice’s feet.

All three of them stared at it.

“…Did that just—” Marie began.

“—fall out of the sky?” Lynne finished. “Yes. Yes it did.”

Alice bent down and picked it up.

The cover read:
Dragonfruit Stories

“Well,” she said, already opening it, “that’s either very charming or deeply concerning.”

They leaned in, reading over her shoulder.

Page after page of strange, fantastical places worlds that didn’t quite obey the rules they were used to.

Marie pointed. “Look ‘The Inn Between.’”

Alice read aloud. “A place where travelers rest between what they were and what they are about to become tended by bird-folk who see more than they say.”

Lynne snorted. “Somebody has a great imagination.”

They laughed.

And then

click.

The three of them froze.

The light above the door had grown brighter.

Not just glowing now, watching.

They exchanged a look.

Lynne crossed her arms. “So, are we feeling adventurous tonight?”

Alice’s eyes were already shining. “Yes.”

Marie hesitated, her fingers curling slightly at her sides. “I don’t know…”

But the closer they stepped, the harder it became to stop.

It wasn’t pressure exactly.

More like a pull.

Like the door had been waiting, and now that they’d noticed it, it refused to be ignored.

By the time they reached it, Marie’s hand was already lifting.

“I’ll just—” she whispered.

The door opened on its own.

Just a crack.

Enough.

Marie swallowed, then pushed it wider.

They stepped inside.

The door shut behind them.

They turned.

There was no door anymore.

Just a wall.

“…I don’t like that,” Lynne said immediately.

The room was small, dimly lit, and oddly still.

A table sat in the center.

Three chairs.

Waiting.

A voice, soft and unsteady, drifted from the shadows.

“Please sit. Make yourselves comfortable.”

For the first time, Alice’s excitement faltered.

Lynne’s confidence slipped.

Marie felt goosebumps race up her arms.

From the darkness, something moved.

And then she stepped into the light.

A woman.

A bird.

Both.

Feathers brushed her shoulders, her eyes sharp behind round lenses, her movements delicate and deliberate. In her hands, she carried three plates.

“I thought you might be hungry,” she said gently, placing them down one by one.

Alice, Lynne, and Marie looked.

Then looked again.

Worms.

Carefully arranged.

Very intentional.

Lynne blinked. “Oh.”

Alice swallowed. “Oh no.”

Marie leaned back slightly in her chair.

Lynne managed a polite smile that deserved an award.

“This is so kind of you,” she said carefully. “Really. But we’re actually not—”

“—hungry,” Alice finished quickly.

The womanbird tilted her head.

Studying them.

Not offended.

Just curious.

“Ah,” she said softly. “You’re still thinking like where you came from.”

And somehow

that was worse.

“Oh, children you look so scared,” she cooed gently. “Do not worry. I take very good care of my children. All of them.”

There was something in the way she said all that made Marie’s fingers tighten in her lap.

“Permit me to introduce myself,” she continued, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her dress. “My name is Perfectly Marvelous though you may call me PM.” Her eyes glimmered faintly. “It suits me. I am only ever present in the evening and the night.”

Lynne forced a small laugh. “That’s convenient.”

“Now, dears,” PM said, gesturing delicately toward the plates, “eat. I know you’re hungry. I see you eat worms all the time.”

Lynne blinked. “I’m sorry what? I’ve eaten snails before, but never worms.”

PM turned her gaze to her slowly.

“I have seen you,” she said simply. “Buying them at the store.”

Alice leaned toward the others, whispering, “She means gummy worms…”

PM’s smile sharpened just slightly.

“Eat.”

The word cracked through the room.

All three of them jumped.

Without another word, each girl picked up a worm.

Alice went first, taking the smallest bite possible.

She froze.

“…It’s sweet.”

Lynne and Marie exchanged a look, then followed.

Soft. Sugary. Familiar.

Not worms.

Not quite.

They ate.

PM watched them the entire time, pleased in a quiet, unsettling way.

“Good,” she said at last. “Much better.”

She led them down a narrow hall that hadn’t been there before.

“Your rooms,” she said, opening a door.

Inside was a massive nest woven branches and soft materials, lined with something like cotton that shifted and breathed slightly under their weight.

“All my children rest well here,” PM said.

None of them had planned to stay.

None of them argued.

They climbed in together, instinctively pressing close.

PM lingered at the doorway, her silhouette stretching long in the dim light.

“Sleep now,” she whispered.

The lights dimmed.

Then vanished.

A thin, translucent covering slid down over the nest, like a veil like a cage.

Marie grabbed Alice’s hand. “Okay, we need a plan. How do we—”

“Hush,” PM’s voice floated through the darkness.

“Sleep.”

And just like that

their thoughts softened.

Their limbs grew heavy.

The fear didn’t disappear.

It just drifted.

Like something being gently set aside.

And then

they were falling.

Not waking.

Falling.

Out of the nest.

Out of something deeper.

Through darkness that felt like it knew them.

They hit the ground with a gasp.

Morning light.

Cool air.

The forest.

The same trees.

The same place.

Alice sat up first. “What—”

Lynne looked around wildly. “Where’s the door?”

Marie was already on her feet, turning in a slow circle. “What happened?”

There was no door.

No light.

No path.

Just woods.

Quiet, ordinary woods.

Alice looked down.

Still clutched in her hand

the book.

Dragonfruit Stories.

It hadn’t gone with the door.

It had come back with them.

The three of them stared at it.

No one laughed this time.