Who the dickens is Alice?
She kept every door in her small flat wide open. To her, a closed door meant a secret and secrets were heavy. She hated locks, latches and wooden barriers. Yet, at the end of the long hallway, one white door remained firmly shut. It had no handle, only a smooth, painted surface.
The Mystery in the Hall
For ten years, Alice lived with the white door. She dusted the frame. She swept the floorboards near it. But she never touched the wood.
Her neighbours whispered about the room. Some said it was empty. Others thought it held old ghosts. Alice just let it be.
The Shift
One Tuesday morning, a soft breeze blew through the open windows. It carried the scent of rain and wild mint. Alice walked down the hall. She stopped at the white door. The wood felt warm. A tiny seam of golden light shone from beneath the base. There was no keyhole, but the door slowly creaked open on its own.
Behind the Door
Alice looked into the room. No dust covered the floor. No shadows hid in the corners. A large window faced a bright, green garden she had never seen before.
A small table held a note in her own handwriting. She picked up the paper. It read:
STOP LOOKING BACK
Alice smiled, stepped over the threshold and let the gentle autumn wind close the past behind her.
