"Curiosity Killed the Cat, but She Had a Good Run"

BY RAE STACHOWSKI

There was a door in the kitchen. Well, there always was a door, two, actually, but today there was a new door. New to her, at least, and to her kitchen, because upon inspection, the door looked fairly old. Old enough to see several layers of paint beneath the cracked and peeling surface. The door was where the demilune had been quietly storing a row of dusty porcelain figures, with her mother’s wedding sampler hanging neatly overtop. She was more irritated by the disappearance of the sampler than she was by the materialization of the door. Doors are a dime a dozen, but her mother had only been married once. 

She shuffled over to the stove and began to fill the kettle for tea. As the water heated, she absently scratched Pyewacket behind the ears and took her time adding herbs and buds to the strainer, because she wasn’t yet ready to think about the door. She carried the steeping cup to the table and sat slowly blowing and sipping as if she didn’t have a big decision to make. When the last of the tea was gone, the leaves that swirled and clung to the bottom were nothing but gibberish. Scrying told her about as much as the tea leaves, and she didn’t even bother with the cards.

Well then. There was no putting it off any longer. She stood up and faced the door, which, to its credit, had remained waiting patiently. Ignoring the ache of the hardwood on her knees, she carefully crouched down. Bending her face fully to the ground, she closed one eye and tried to peer under the crack. She hadn’t really expected to see anything, but she was disappointed nonetheless. Contemplating the door once more, she wondered vaguely if she should knock. Then again, the door had been presumptuous enough to appear in her kitchen unannounced; they were obviously beyond courtesy. Besides, she had a feeling she was expected. Her gaunt, gnarled fingers extended and grasped the knob, hesitantly at first, then more decidedly gave a turn and pushed the door open. 

It was her kitchen. Of all of the places in the multiverse that could have been behind the door, she couldn’t help feeling more than a little dismayed at the mundanity within. An exact replica of the room she currently stood in, down to identical patches of sunlight streaming through the lace-covered windows. She stepped out of her own path and moved towards the other room. Pyewacket growled and flattened his ears, but she had already decided. Three steps covered the distance, carried her over the threshold, and put her firmly on the other side. She waited, unsure of how to proceed. An air of expectancy hung as dense as the dust that swirled in the sunlight. Then, from behind her, she heard too late the door swing shut and the hollow click of a lock slide into place. 

“Ah, hell.”