The Door Within tdw-1 Page 4

  Aidan deleted the postscript and hit SEND. His stomach did another flip-flop.

  Hoping to cure his churning belly, Aidan wandered downstairs in search of breakfast. As he poured a large bowl of cereal, his thoughts began to drift. There was a small part of him that wasn’t convinced that the events of the previous day had been figments of his wild imagination. A timid but determined voice spoke up in his mind.

  The clay pots were there, and I know it!

  Well, where are they now, then? answered a blustery, skeptical second voice.

  Maybe they dissolve after a few minutes.

  Yeah, right! That’s way out there, Aidan. So the pots just went “Poof!” and vanished without a clue? Good one.

  But I saw them. I touched one even. It must’ve ju- “Aidan, that you?” Grampin asked, snapping Aidan out of his dueling thoughts. He immediately realized that he had overflowed his bowl with cereal, spilling it all over the counter.

  “Yeah, Grampin, what do you want? You need something to drink or something?”

  “No, I need you to come here for a minute!” Grampin’s voice snapped like a whip.

  Aidan stomped into the living room, expecting Grampin to scold him for spilling the cereal. If the old guy dares to lecture me, Aidan thought, he’ll get an earful back, and then some. Aidan didn’t get what he expected.

  Grampin was sitting in his chair, but his posture was different. He sat, shoulders back, chest out, chin up-far from his normal slouch-slump. Blue eyes, though faded with age, gleamed from under his wiry white brows, and his stubbly jaw was set firmly. All together, he looked like an aging but still-proud army general. The serious look on his face softened as Aidan drew near.

  “I’m sorry that your daddy was so hard on ye last night,” he said. “Didn’t believe ye about the scrolls, did he?”

  “No,” Aidan whispered. He felt stunned. After festering all morning, he had tromped into the living room, walls up-poised for battle.

  Grampin’s question smashed down the walls, and disarmed Aidan’s heart.

  “Dad said I made it all up.”

  “So I heard, Aidan, and again, I’m sorry. He was wrong to say those things.”

  “No, Grampin, it’s okay. He wasn’t being that mean.”

  “You’re missin’ my point, boy. Now listen. What I mean is that your daddy, smart as he is, was wrong to doubt you.”

  Aidan stared.

  Grampin smiled.

  “I wanted to say something last night, but ye ran up to yer room ’fore I could make a peep. Then, I heard ye in the kitchen, so now here it is: Aidan, I believe you.”

  Aidan gasped. “You do?”

  Was Grampin serious or… senile? Aidan wasn’t sure, but having any adult agree with him felt pretty good.

  “Heh, heh, heh… yes, sir, I do,” Grampin replied. His volume climbed excitedly as he spoke. “The clay pots, the scrolls, the new words on the pages, and most important, the story in the scrolls- I believe it all!”

  Aidan thumped down into an easy chair near Grampin. His thoughts and feelings were so conflicted it was like having a battle going on in his head. He had been dying for someone to believe him about the scrolls, but he never expected his ally to be Grampin. This is the guy who ruined my life! Aidan thought. Why should I trust him?

  And maybe time had finally caught up with him. Grampin’s face was so stretched and weathered, his arms and legs so thin and frail- maybe the years that had withered him physically had finally begun to diminish him mentally as well. Aidan stared hard at his grandfather for several silent moments.

  “But, Grampin, Dad says it’s not true,” Aidan said finally. “And Mom doesn’t believe it either.”

  “Yes, I know they didn’t-or maybe wouldn’t is a better word. For your parents, things just don’t appear out of thin air. You, on the other hand, you were open. In fact, I bet you were just waitin’ for something amazing to happen.”

  “I was, Grampin. Lots of weird things have been happening to me-I was kinda expecting it.”

  “See!”

  “But, how come when we went back down there, the pots were gone?”

  “I’m not sure, Aidan. Maybe your mom and dad talked you outta trusting yer heart. A little doubt can be poisonous to new faith.”

  Aidan nodded. His father had made a pretty convincing case against the scrolls’ magically appearing. He was right, wasn’t he? Aidan wondered. Things really don’t appear out of thin air, do they?

  “Look here, Aidan, I’ve been where your daddy’s at. There was a time, years ago, when I was as stubborn as an alley cat on a diving board.”

  Aidan smiled. Then, Grampin leaned forward in his wheelchair and grew more serious. “I was a bitter young man then, Aidan. Mad at the world about my parents.”

  “What happened to your parents?” Aidan asked.

  “When I was sixteen, my mother got sick. It was an awful thing to watch her go like that. Muscles seizing up. Always in pain. My father died a year later. They said it was his heart, but I knew better. That man died of grief.”

  “I’m sorry, Grampin.”

  “I was too, Aidan. But I didn’t let it get me like it did my father. No, I threw myself into my job. I worked hard, but I guess people could always tell there was something wrong. Someone at the factory where I worked-guy named Kaleb Shipley, I remember-tried to tell me a story from the scrolls. Said it would help me understand the world better, but I didn’t want to hear a word. A whole lot a’ hooey, I told him. I just wasn’t ready then. It took me fifty years to get ready.

  “But gettin’ old makes you look at things differently-bein’ closer to the end, I reckon. Your heart either gets so hard that you close up inside for good, or you start to wonderin’ if there’s more to life than what meets the eye. Well, it seemed to me that there just has to be more, so I started to wonder.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Aidan, aside from my parents dying when I was young, I’ve really had a good life-met and married the finest woman in the world, raised a good family, had decent jobs. I had few complaints. Still, eighty-some-odd-years a’ fun in the sun on this giant spinning mud ball can’t be all there is. I mean, what’s the point of it all? Is everybody jest goin’ through the motions a’ life until, one day, life runs out? And what really worried me was, what happens after?”

  Grampin was speaking to Aidan eye-to-eye, man-to-man about deep, meaningful things-it felt so good to be treated as valuable, even as an equal. Aidan leaned forward; he wanted to hear more. “What happened?”

  “Well,” Grampin continued, “it was about that time that some scrolls showed up in my library. And there they were, the answers to all of my questions. Best dang thing that ever happened to me!”

  Grampin leaned back in his wheelchair and a joyful grin widened on his stubbly face. He began to laugh, almost a cackle. “Heh, heh, heh.”

  “What’s so funny, Grampin?”

  “Well, you probably don’t remember, but when you were just a little squirt and came to visit with yer Grandma and me, I used to tell you bedtime stories. You sat on my bed in your blue footy pajamas and munched gingerbread cookies, and I used to act out the stories with different accents and voices, heh, heh.”

  “Sure, Grampin, I remember. So what’s so funny?”

  “Those stories, Aidan, every one of them, came right out of the scrolls! Drove yer daddy nuts, that I was fillin’ your head with such nonsense.”

  “Really?” Aidan laughed. Grampin’s mood was contagious, but Aidan was still skeptical. “I didn’t recognize the stories when I read my scrolls.”

  “That was ten or eleven years ago, Aidan. And I suspect that a person receives the scrolls they need. Besides, if the story is no more meaningful to you than bedtime entertainment, it fades from yer memory.”

  The clock’s ticking grew loud. Aidan was silent. But his mind was like a beehive that had just been hit with a stone. Jubilant thoughtsI was right! The scrolls are real! I knew it! Wait’ll I tell Robby! – careened arou
nd and crashed into demanding rebuttals and urgent questions. The latter were piling up and could not be ignored.

  “Grampin, Dad said that lots of people have the story from the scrolls, that it’s even in bookstores-is that true?”

  “Yes, that much is true. There are dozens of different versions. Shame of it is, there are millions of folk all over who have The Story collectin’ dust right on their shelves-and not the slightest guess that it’s all real.”

  “But, Grampin, how can it be real? I mean, castles and drag-”

  “Aidan, listen. Your father said that believing in something doesn’t make it real. But what he don’t understand is that there are things-incredible things!-that are real whether we want to believe in them or not. The Story is real, all right, but he won’t see it until he’s willing to believe.”

  Aidan squinted, wanting to understand but still questioning.

  “Believing in something or someone is a very special thing, my boy. It can be risky ’cause if you believe in something, you stand up for it. You fight for it sometimes. If what you believe turns out to be a lie, you could end up humiliated or… worse. My own son thinks I’m a kook for believin’ The Story, and he’s not the only one, heh, heh.”

  “So, Grampin, you’re serious-you believe it all, what the scrolls say?”

  “I do, Aidan. The big question is, do you believe?”

  “Well, I don’t know… Dad said-”

  “I know what yer father says, but ye need to decide for yerself. Now, you go to the scrolls, ye hear? The key is there. The Door Within is closer than you think.”

  “But-”

  “Son, you best git! It’s time for my nap!”

  Aidan had never seen Grampin so stirred up before. He certainly didn’t look ready for a nap. Aidan half expected the old guy to get up out of his wheelchair and boot him a good one in the rear if he didn’t get moving. So Aidan flew up the stairs, threw the covers off the bed, and scooped up the scrolls.

  A key? Aidan thought as he spread the first scroll. I don’t see a key in here.

  In turn, he examined every page of the scrolls, shook them, even waved them around like magic wands, but nothing fell out.

  Outside Aidan’s window, a catbird chirped angrily. The pines in the front yard were a playground for many wild creatures, but the birds took over around ten every morning. Squawking, twirping, and peeping, dozens of them hopped from branch to branch among the evergreens. Aidan liked to watch them at times, but today, he had other concerns.

  The key. Grampin had said The Door Within was close, but how was he supposed to unlock it without a key? He was about to call down the stairs to ask when his eyes locked onto the poem.

  There are passages and doors And realms that lie unseen. There are roads both wide and narrow And no avenue between. Doors remain closed for those Who in sad vanity yet hide. Yet when Belief is chosen, The key appears inside. What is lived now will soon pass, And what is not will come to be. The Door Within must open, For one to truly see. Do you see? Believe and enter.

  Like a connect-the-dots picture with a handful of lines drawn in, the meaning of the poem was slowly taking shape. It all seemed to hinge on believing, but believing what? The Story? Just believe it’s true? Aidan needed more dots connected.

  Maybe it’s like making a wish, Aidan thought. Perhaps he could just hope really hard, and a key would come forth from the scrolls. Aidan reasoned that if three clay pots could appear out of thin air, certainly a key could. Aidan put down the scroll. He was ready to believe.

  8

  THE DOOR WITHIN

  A idan sat on the edge of his bed. His knees were together and his back was as straight and stiff as a post. He squinted his eyes shut, as if letting in a crack of light might somehow spoil the moment. Then thinking I believe, I believe, I believe, over and over again, Aidan started to hold out his hands. Then he opened his eyes. What sort of key will I get? Should I cup my hands one under the other for a tiny key? Or hold out both hands shoulder’s width apart for a large key? Aidan wasn’t sure. Then he had a disturbing thought. What if the key is the size of a telephone pole?

  He risked it, cupped his hands, extended his arms, and again closed his eyes. “I believe, I believe, I believe, I believe,” he chanted, rocking slowly and trying to will a key to appear. At last, he opened his eyes again. There in his hands… was nothing.

  Aidan glanced sideways at the scrolls on his bed and then trudged downstairs to the living room. Grampin seemed to be asleep, but he opened one eye as Aidan approached.

  “Grampin,” Aidan said meekly, “how do I believe?”

  Grampin snickered. “Do you believe the sky is blue?”

  “Yeah,” said Aidan.

  “Okay, do you believe birds fly?”

  “Of course!” Feeling foolish now.

  “Well, son, it’s kinda like that!”

  “Okay, I believe like that, but… I didn’t get a key or find a door.”

  “There’s more to it, Aidan. It starts in your head, but it’s got to go beyond. Try this. Picture yerself standing on the edge of a cliff. It’s a chasm, really, and there’s an old narrow bridge you could cross to get to the other side. Now, you can look at the bridge and agree, it’s fine-that it’ll hold you-but believin’ it’s safe won’t get you to the other side, now will it? You got to step out, walk right on out there.”

  Aidan swallowed and nodded. Grampin’s fierce blue eyes held him there for a moment more.

  “Now, Aidan,” Grampin said. He coughed and cleared his throat. “It’s up to you.”

  Aidan gritted his teeth and turned. He began to climb the stairs to his room, but glanced one last time at his grandfather. He was slouched again, spent from their conversation. Aidan noticed too that Grampin’s right hand was lightly pressing into his chest as if he were kneading dough. Aidan took a tentative step back, but Grampin looked up and smiled. “Go on,” he whispered.

  Aidan grinned back and flung himself up the stairs.

  The scroll with the poem was waiting on his bed. Aidan sat down and brushed his fingers across the script. They felt vibrant, textured with electricity. Aidan closed his eyes. No more chanting. No more wishing.

  He cleared his mind. Then, rapidly, an image began to develop. There before Aidan was the cliff. And secured to the edge of it, just a few feet away, was the narrow bridge. It spanned a great gap, but Aidan could not see the other side, for it was whited out by distance and haze.

  In his mind, Aidan stepped closer and peered over the edge. The depth of the ravine could not be guessed, but it had a peculiar, powerful gravity that entranced and pulled. Aidan shrank back. Were he to fall, he might never stop falling.

  He heard the birds chirping, and he almost opened his eyes for the safety of his bedroom. But that would be giving up, surrendering. No, he could not surrender this time. And Robby wasn’t there to bail him out. Aidan himself had to go forward.

  First, however, he decided to inspect the bridge.

  It was made of ropes and wooden planks. The ropes seemed tightly wound and knotted and were not frayed. The planks were cut from solid wood and were not cracked or rotted. The bridge looked sturdy. The bridge looked strong.

  I can do this.

  Aidan took a step toward the bridge, but at that moment a stiff wind came forth and caused the bridge to sway. The terror of death awoke and whispered icy thoughts into Aidan’s mind. The bridge seemed at the mercy of the wind. Aidan began to shake. It was one thing to venture out upon such a bridge when it was still. That was enough. But to risk his life on rope and wood in motion?

  The rope might not hold. A board could crack. I could slip.

  Fear groped about for Aidan’s throat, and again Aidan was tempted to open his eyes. But then words from the poem sprang into his mind:

  Yet when Belief is chosen, The key appears inside.

  In that moment, he had it-the key to the riddle: Belief must be chosen.

  Aidan looked out at the swaying bridge and made
his decision. Without looking back, he stepped forward onto the bridge and kept walking. He held on to the rope railings and watched to make sure each foot landed squarely on a plank. Aidan felt a gooseflesh chain reaction up his spine as he walked. They were not the bumps of creeping cold or of tingling fear-they were of pure joy and exhilaration.

  Each step brought increased confidence. And though the wind picked up again, Aidan pushed forward. He swayed as the bridge swayed, and for once in his life he was not afraid.

  He still could not see the other side, but he had come to the end of the bridge’s down slope and began the slight incline that told him he was halfway.

  Aidan was too intent on getting to the other side of the bridge to notice, but the cries and chirps of the birds in the pines outside grew faint as he walked. He pressed on, pulling himself by the rope railings and quickening his pace. At last, there was something visible. It’s only a darker patch of mist in a sea of clouds, he told himself. But as Aidan moved forward, it took shape. It was a door.

  Aidan reached the end of the bridge and stood before the door. It was as tall as a door from any home, but that is where the similarity ended. This door was gray stone. Designs were carved meticulously into its surface. And many were inlaid with silver. Knights on horseback carried shields and banners and followed a winding trail to two mountains. A sun rose between the mountains and seemed to light the way for the travelers on the road. And about halfway up from the bottom of the door, just waiting to be pulled, was a large, thick silver ring.

  Aidan was certain that before him stood The Door Within, and it was time to open it. Hands slightly trembling, he grasped the silver ring and tugged it to open the door. It was difficult to budge, at first. But Aidan looked up at the graven image of the sun rising between the twin mountains. The image seemed to inject hope into Aidan heart. It’s all true! he thought. And in that moment, the door came free and began to swing open. Brilliant golden light streamed out as if millions of stars were hiding behind it. Aidan released the ring, and the door opened the rest of the way on its own.