Many have entered the door on her left. But rumor has it, that only she has returned.
Day in, day out, she sits with her back pack, as if ready for travel. Yet, she never leaves. She speaks only to those who ask her questions.
To the casual eye she seems like regular townsfolk. But, some say she is the last Oracle of Delphi. Her chair—those stone steps, are said to have been hewn from philosopher’s stone, before time began.
No one knows her age, or her name. The town’s ancient elders say she predates them by eons.
Passersby cannot describe the aroma emanating from the door. Some claim they smell lilacs and peonies. Others insist that the scent of a field of morning glory and lavender drift from the door in a soft constant breeze.
Stories abound as to the fate of the missing who have travelled through the door. Some say, that the door is an entrance to realms so wonderous that those who enter, chose to remain.
Others tell Hitchcock-esque tales about the imagined fate of the poor travelers who, unwisely ventured through the door.
Mysteriously, whenever the door opens, the entire town shifts into an eerie dream-like darkness, a thick impenetrable dark fog. However, only a few, like myself notice this shift. Some see or sense nothing unusual. And a few, chock up their momentary “strange” feeling when the door opens, to a case of déjà vu.
One day, on my way home from work, I gathered up the nerve to stop at the steps to the door. I asked the woman about the other realms and about the door.
She looked at me and smiled. She replied. “No no, my dear you misunderstand. You and I, and the rest of us here, are already in all the other realms.”
Suddenly, the door shook and rattled on its rusty hinges.
“Do not be alarmed,” she said, “To those who ask, the door grants entry into REALITY.”