Imagine my surprise when I awoke to see a door standing in the middle of my bedroom. I don't know if I heard it or dreamt it, but I heard, "If you open it, you'll go anywhere and time you wish."

I got out of bed and approached the door. I slowly opened it enough to see myself peaking at me from the other side. Truth be told, "he" probably saw "himself" peaking in from the other side.

Where did I want to go? Where did "he" want to go?

I realized I was in a very good place at this point in my life. I was raising two happy children, had earned the love of a good woman, and peace and contentment were ours.

"How 'bout you?" I asked "him."

"Yeah," he agreed, "I'm good, too."

"We" closed the door and we each went back to bed.

When I awoke, the door was gone. It never returned.

The Spanish Moss is a drape that I almost have to push aside. It hangs low and it hangs far, but I duck down just enough to avoid touching the stuff. Redbugs live in the hairy clumps, and tourists usually don't find out about that little treat until they're reaching for calamine lotion or Benadryl.

From where I stand in the thick, mossy woods, I can see a river. It reminds me of sweet tea under the sunshine, slipping towards the sea. On the opposite bank, I watch a boy climb up onto steel stairs. He scrambles, straightens, and steps over to the floating wooden dock. Above him, perched on the stairs, is an older woman smoking a cigarette. She looks out into the quiet woods, her eyes hidden behind glaring glasses. The afternoon is brutally hot, but she doesn't mind. Ashes flicked into the current flow downstream while smoke curls upward.

The boy perches, toes over the edge, hands up above his head. He dives, arching high enough to avoid hitting the green johnboat moored along the dock. He surfaces, wiping water from his face as his knees plant on the sandy river bottom.

The boy crawls along until the water grows ever more shallow, leading to a sandbar. There, the river gives him everything he needs to build a sandcastle. It isn't elegant, it doesn't hold together well, but he scoops and stacks anyway.

"Let's get ready for supper," the woman says, stubbing out her More on the steel steps. She stands, the butt between fingers to toss into an ashtray on the porch.

"Okay!" The boy yells, abandoning his construction project and running back into the water. He takes his time in the deeper part of the river, savoring the cool, flowing water for another minute before finishing his journey up the stairs.

I watch them both walk towards a large porch attached to a small singlewide mobile home. Doors open, slam shut, and close for good.

The trailer is smaller than I remember, and the large porch really isn't.

The boy isn't as big as I remember him being, but he's plenty portly.

His grandmother doesn't look sick yet.

Spanish moss isn't the only thing clouding my vision, and it isn't sweat running into my eyes.

I turn away, and reopen the door to anywhere.

When I pop back into the bedroom I know as the "now," a voice greets me.

"That's what you choose? In all of human history, any time, any place, you pick a place nowhere special in a year no one remembers?"

The voice isn't mocking, it's incredulous.

I wipe the tears from my eyes and laugh. Sobs follow, and I have a hard time breathing.

When I can speak, my voice is a hoarse shell of normal. "I don't know who you are, where you're from, or why you're here, but thank you."

"You don't believe you've squandered this gift?" Again, the tone strikes me not as insulting, but mellow, curious, with a hint of awe.

"If you're here, then there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in philosophy."

"I don't understand humans."

"What if Heaven is what we make it, and that door of yours showed me mine?"

"You were a peeping tom in your own timeline. Peering through a forested riverbank, stealing glances of you and your grandmother. I give you an opportunity people only dream of, and your choice is...unique."

"Is it? I'm not special. I'm not unique. I'm just a boy who wants to swim in the river with his grandmother again."

With an audible snap that is felt more than heard, the djinn is gone, but memories still remain.

A door,

Calling upon me at half past two.

I rise from my bed, notice the stillness of the night;

The eeriness of the silence, cut by a voice.

A voice so quiet, a whisper barely heard from just on the other side.

"Open this door and I will take you back."

There are no walls to connect this door and yet it stands.

The space behind the door appears empty, yet a call crept from the other side.

The floor feels like ice as I emerge from the comfort of feathers and cotton.

Curios, I step to the door and place a palm to the wood, feeling a light vibration.

The voice comes back at last, feeling almost as if the door itself is what is speaking.

Impossible.

"Be certain of the time you wish to revisit before opening.

Enter, and change your fate.

When you are satisfied, return to me.

All of the choices you make on this trip will be final.

Reversing what has already been reversed is not a possibility.

Everything that you lost, though, can be regained."

I close my eyes, imagining holding my love in my arms

That fateful night before everything changed.

Everyone expects the pain to have subsided,

But I know that it hasn't and

Deep down

I've been praying to whoever will listen for a do-over.

I clutch the knob, and open the door

Where I am greeted by her again.

"Took you long enough," she teases

And I let the tears fall.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"I've never been better," I reply.

We talk, like no time has passed.

We laugh at the stories we recount of the past.

We hold each other close for awhile, and then she says

"I should really get going. I have a train to catch."

My bones stiffen, my head spins.

"No!"

She looks at me, confused, chuckling.

The pale color of my face startles her.

"Talk to me."

"You can't go. Please, I got a horrible vision."

"I go on this trip every year. What's the problem?"

"Trust me. Wait one more day."

To my surprise and my relief,

She listens.

She is unsettled, but she re-schedules the trip.

I've done it and I bask in the glory of keeping her.

I see the door I came through out of the corner of my eye;

I decide to wait until morning.

In the middle of the night,

There is a disturbance.

From beside me, my lover convulses.

Inconsolable shrieking, her breathing rapid.

Her eyes are closed like she's sleeping,

And I desperately attempt to wake her.

Nothing; I shake her more.

Nothing; I cry out as the screams intensify.

Nothing; something is seen rising out from inside of her chest.

Nothing; blood as black as night envelopes her.

Nothing; silence comes, only interrupted by my own sickness.

Nothing; I sob into the phone as the ambulance arrives.

"Are you satisfied?"

No one can determine what happened.

"Are you satisfied?"

I cannot explain what happened.

"Are you satisfied?"

They found my prints on the murder weapon.

"Are you satisfied?"

I beg for them to listen, but they just think I'm ill.

"Are you satisfied?"

Take me back.

Please take me back.

This was a mistake.

I wanted to save her.

I needed to save her

To save myself.

"Are you satisfied?"

Why did I agree to go?

The question taunts me with each uncertain step I take through waist-high weeds in a sprawling field. Thick woods lie ahead. The foreboding sea of conifers and evergreens stretches to the horizon. Gone is the azure firmament and noonday sun, replaced by dark skies and ominous black clouds.

I am alone somewhere in Michigan’s eastern Upper Peninsula.

My cellphone is dead.

And I am lost.

Why did I agree to go? Why did I let my friend convince me, a certified urban adult, into taking part in an orienteering meet for his Cub Scouts? I had never heard of orienteering. Mark, the troop leader, told me, “You’ll have fun. It’s a scavenger hunt, only you’re looking for topographical clues like depressions, elevations, that kind of thing.”

“Of course,” I lied to Mark when he asked if I knew how to read a topographical map and a compass.

At this moment, I’m sure those two things are sneering at me from inside the pocket of my cargo shorts, along with the list of topographical clues I was supposed to hunt for.

Now, I am tired and hungry and desperately hunting for a way out.

It seems like hours since I last saw one of Mark’s Cub Scouts. We all began the meet together, but one by one they vanished into the woods, each searching for different clues.

I trip over an old log. The bark skins my shins, but I arise, limping through the weeds and into the darkness of the woods.

Why did I agree to go? I had a chance to speak up when Mark told the kids and me at the outset: “If you get lost, follow your compass west and wait by the railroad tracks; someone will come by in a pickup.” But which way is west? Is north the black half of the compass needle or the silver half?

I break off twigs to get past dense trees and cut my hands on the sharp ends. I am bleeding as I finally leave the woods and enter another field of deep weeds. A green valley lies between two large hills.

The wind is picking up. A thunderclap jolts me. I hear creaking.

There is something in the left side of that gap amid the weeds and trees. It is not moving, but I approach with caution. I see it clearly now. An old screen door with torn metallic webbing is standing upright, flapping in the wind. A crash startles. The screen slams into a thick, moss-covered wooden door.

I reach out and touch the screen door. I stop it from flapping.

But I cannot bring myself to touch the dirty doorknob on the other door.

I peek behind and see a wall of dense trees and weeds. I let the screen slip out of my hand, leaving a bloody palm print.

“Is anyone here?” I summon a yell.

The only response is the creaking screen door flapping again in the wind.

Heavy rain begins to fall and a dazzling lightning bolt strikes the door with a monstrous crash.

When I come to, the screen door and its wooden companion are still there. But there is a deep black streak and smoke is rising. The wooden door seems to be ajar; brightness emanates from the crack. I approach cautiously, pull back the screen, and try to peer into the fissure. I cannot see a thing, other than light. So, I push the wooden door open.

I step inside and find myself in an open field under calm, blue skies. I can see the sun and feel the warmth on my skin. And directly ahead I see a thick yellow arrow resting on the weeds. A hallucination? I take a few steps in the direction the arrow is pointing in. I am no longer limping. My hands are not bleeding.

I see railroad tracks and break into a run. I fall on my knees on gravel and kiss the rail.

“Hey!”

It’s Mark’s voice! I look up and see a pickup truck heading toward me. It stops and Mark jumps out.

He grasps my right hand with both of his and says, “My buddy, we thought you were lost!”

I laugh and reply, “Me? Lost? You’re kidding, right?”

I was heavily frustrated, after working for hours I got a pounding headache and went to bed. When I was half to fall a sleep I heard a sound. I looked at my smart watch and found it's 3:35am. I was shocked to hear a noise in such a time. I took my mobile and walked down the stairs. As I was in the middle of the living room I saw a door in between. I remembered the childhood Japanese cartoon series in which a cat robot emerges through such doors. Thinking it was dream I rubbed my eyes and closed them. As I still felt unreal I opened my eyes and saw the door again, Thinking it would disappear if I laid down I went to the couch to avoid climbing back. But again I was disturbed by the sounds. Then I picked my phone and used it's flashlight on the door. It was written, "door of hope". Then suddenly I heard a voice from behind it saying me to open the door, to go to anywhere in time. I opened the door and was shocked. There were passages showing different time of my life. In one I was crawling, the other showed me kicking my first goal at school, thr next was when I married my beautiful woman, one me getting success in work, one me holding my little daughter and there were also some which showed an older form of me sitting on a bench in a park with an old woman who resembled my wife. There were many other passages without me, some had, some people who looked like me but they were wearing ancient/non used type of clothes as if they lived centuries back and all others in those passage were similar. I saw passages with mud roads, forests, fields, etc., there were also passages which had no roads but just airstations and skyscrapers. There were passages that showed just constellations, galaxies, nebulas, planets, etc., there were cave men, hunters, mammoths, dinosaur, etc., in some passages. Some were like no trace of humans, no trace of living things, only greens, poisonous clouds, etc., there were passages which were like bigbang. I thought of moment and asked the door to show me the passage where men were nonworkaholic. The door said,"its in your mind, any livingthing can live a happy life if it understands the concept of fulfilment". Hearing the door I asked it to give the passage to return home. A passage opened and I came out Thinking about it. Then i went to my room and lied down thinking of those words. Suddenly someone jerked me. I opened my eyes to see my angry wife yelling at me. We have nor been in good terms recently. But then I remembered the events I saw in door. A smile came on my face by itself and I hugged her. She was froze at it as we were fighting for weeks but then recovered and bent back and smiled at me asking what. I shook my head and walked down the stairs taking her hand in mine. I told her that I am quitting my job and we can go to our ranch and live the peaceful life she wanted. She was shocked but she smiled and as we went near the couch I saw my smart watch on the floor. I was shocked to see it near the same place where I came in the dream.

Insomnia plays tricks on your mind. The lack of sleep, the dead silence, and, if you unlucky, hallucinations. Some feel deeply real. Others are drenched in uncertainty. Tonight, I could have sworn there was a door in my room.

Pitch black, I didn't know how it could be visible. I don't even remember waking up. It whispered. The door beckoned. Something about "time." My mind was still in a daze when it opened.

Already awake, a familiar pace took over me. Back and forth. As Morpheus hypnotize me back to sleep. But slumber alluded. I had to go through the door.

"...any time you wish..."

I wish I were asleep. I wish I were dreaming. I wish... I wish... I wish...

Fear washed over as I spiraled out of the darkness. A light emerged. The sun. No a reflection. Golden light from the top of something. A pyramid.

Sweltering heat. Dry. Awake. And then a sting of the whip. I wished for sleep. I wished to escape. No door returned.

It seemed like months before it came back. I slaved for pomegranates. Picking them one by one. Persephone cried as I saw her in the mirror. One day this warm winter will end. And I will wake to flowers.

But that's to assume the door will take me back. And this dream was real. Or was my sleep addled mind playing more devious tricks?

"Any time I wish?" I say back to the door. There was no answer, not that I could hear it over the drowning sound of my own heartbeat filling my head. I stared at the faint blue light emanating from under the door as I scrunched the bed sheets in my fist, sweat starting to bead on my forehead.

What time would I even visit? A prehistoric realm clamoring with dinosaurs and primordial beasts? Ancient civilizations laying the foundation for modern humanity? The recent past, a society reinventing itself upon the introduction of the Internet? So many possibilities, so many outcomes, but where to? Should I even go at all?

I carefully slide out of bed and approach the door. My legs shakily stand before it, threatening to give out if I don't calm down. I steady my breathing, but the door stood over me ominously as if to consume me entirely in its inky blackness. A silver handle glinted in faded light, a crooked promise to a distant world. I could hear a faint heartbeat from the door, my own intertwining with it to create a demonic symphony, one that startled me to my core.

"I want-" I choked the words out, but my voice shriveled before I could finish. The door waited.

"I want September 8, 2001".

The door did nothing.

"I said-"

The door began to creak open, unveiling a soft blue portal behind its frame. It shone brilliantly, illuminating the whole room as if painting a portrait of the sky. I drew closer, mesmerized by the sight until it was no longer there. Instead, I was in my room again. But it was not my room. My desk was no longer there, instead replaced by a soccer ball and a pile of dirty laundry strewn across the floor. The clock was replaced by posters of my favorite bands, or at least ones I would rock out to when I was younger. The morning sun shone through the window, its rays revealing my childhood bedroom. I could barely move a muscle. It worked. It had actually worked. I got one more shot. I could still save her.

And that's when the door disappeared.

As soon as my eyes open, the dream fades away, which I'm glad for. It was more of a nightmare anyway, and it plays on repeat, night after night.

The gladness of waking up from a nightmare quickly turns to vigilance because I can hear someone. The fact that I live alone, not by choice but by the choices I've made, makes it creepy to hear another human voice in the house. In broad daylight, it would've been a delight but at this bewitching hour it's, well, bewitching!

As my eyes adjust to the gloom, I begin to notice a rectangular outline. It's a door and it's almost at the base of my bed. Well, better than the head of a horse, I surmise.

"If you open the door," the voice permeates the darkness, "it will take you to any time you wish..."

Then, it fades away into eerie silence again and I pinch myself until I wince just to confirm that I'm awake. The door is still there and appears to be crimson in colour. Then, in a classic dolly-zoom style, it looms towards me.

***

That was the first of July, three years ago; the day after my performance review at work. I'd broken the good news, as I had seen it, to my wife. She was quiet for a while even as she smiled broadly.

"Honey, you don't need the added stress," She stroked my hair, "I believe we can manage without you accepting this promotion!"

I knew she was right and always had my back. However, the thrill of moving up the corporate ladder and the power that comes with it was too much to be calmed by simple ruffling of my hair.

"Remi--" I chose my words carefully, "Just imagine! We can move to a bigger house, a better neighbourhood and... and you can buy the stuff you've always wanted. I can buy you the stuff you've always wanted. More money never hurt anyone, baby."

"I know, I know..." Remi's smile turned to a frown, "But the kids look forward to the weekends--to spend time with you--with us! Can't we be content with the happiness we already have?"

As it turned out, I wasn't content. I wanted more, a lot more. I'd seen the look on my kids' faces when we couldn't afford the things they coveted and also remembered how I had grown up with longings myself.

So, I took that promotion, and the next. It led me so far up the ladder that everyone I loved could not keep up. My incessant travel slowly separated us until there was no going back for me. And when I did, there was nobody waiting for me at home.

All I have now is the empty house and my bagful of empty ambitions.

***

I hold the doorknob of the crimson door and turn it. Thirtieth of June, Twenty Twenty One, I muttered, and push it open.