Journal entry of Curtis Greene, 25 October 1923 

- We have arrived. As I looked through the small porthole in my cabin, something about this location felt unsettling to me. Leaving the room I approached the deck and cautiously stepped down along the gangway. In my mind I began to question our coming to this place. 

What had started as a rambunctious discussion and, ultimately, a decision to investigate the curiosity of this place now occurred to me as what may be described as an unconsidered mistake. I, Curtis Greene, and my companion of great intellect, Professor Sidney Clarke, have come here on an expedition of exploration and discovery. Now, as I sit here putting pen to paper in this well-worn public house, I reflect back on what brought us here.

It was in Boston at the Massachusetts Historical Society where we learned of this place and . . . The Door. This Door was apparently a source of great angst to the locals of the nearby town. This township, which had been previously named Prolaz or gateway, had over time evidently been given the name Smrt, Serbian for the word “death.” We all found the change more than slightly intriguing and decided we must further research that place and find the location of The Door.

The Door. 

There were legends of those who went to the Door with little reason and, also according to legend, were never to return or be seen again. As we learned more of this lore in the pitiful few writings discovered in an old library at the heart of the city, our curiosity was piqued. Intrigue of the possibilities overcame our concerns for our own safety, even our own lives. After much effort to gain support, our expedition was finally approved for funding from the Society and two of the supporting universities. We set to making our plans to travel via a small steamship to a town by the name of Srebreno in newly formed Yugoslavia. Mr. Barnard, a fellow of the Society, was asked to find us someone who could assist us in our endeavors. We told him we needed someone who could understand locals and help us discover the location of The Door. After some days of his own efforts, he told us he had found us our guide. We were instructed to be on the lookout for a person by the name of Oskar Wulf, a man of Germanic descent. We all showed gratitude to Mr. Barnard and, without thinking about the challenges or the dangers of what we were about to face, left the comforts of home for an unknown future in a faraway land.

It took us eight days for a trip normally taking seven. The weather was of the utmost ferocity for the greatest measure of the trip. Along the entire route, both Professor Clarke and I learned the true meaning of the word “seasick,” far more than one would ever want to know. I lost a good amount of weight along the trip as I was neither in a condition to eat nor did I want to—so much so that I feel at this moment as if I do not want to return, fearful I might endure such a thing again. The little amount of the cuisine I did manage to eat was of neither quality nor taste. 

As we disembarked the paltry excuse of a ship, I had a pervasive feeling of unease for which I wasn’t prepared, to which I have already spoken. This town, to the naked eye, would seem as normal, however impoverished it may be. In retrospect, I could not overcome a feeling all about me . . . almost as if sensing our impending doom. Was it a great foreboding of what was to come? Of this I still cannot say and wish, at this present time, not to ponder. Yet, I still feel so at this very moment.

As we moved away from the steamship, trudging our moderate luggage along, there were simple folk distributed along the port area and streets. There were gulls soaring above and a strong breeze with the aroma of the sea upon it. There was a man, accompanied by his ruffian dog, who was selling various and sundry items at the most immediate edge of the closest road. A woman scurried along the muddy pathways ahead of us holding hands with her children of which there were three. Vagabonds sat, seemingly calling out for some form of monies. I was not sure as I didn’t speak the language. As our feet met the solid earth, there was a change in the odor of that place I do not wish to describe in these pages except to merely say it was most offensive.

The people of the town moved about their business. One thing I noticed, though, which I saw as not normal, was everybody, truly everybody, had their faces covered in some way or another, whether partially or completely, by hats, scarfs, hoods, even by high collars for some. As I looked about, I saw everyone looking at us with unsettling, staring eyes. Many of those who saw each of the departing passengers gave looks of . . . I am not certain of what. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was distaste. Were they afraid of us, of what we were to bring to their town? Or is it possible they feared of what might happen?

We were hailed by the third man of our party to this place, our German scout, Oskar. We shook hands and embraced as men. Oskar was clearly very adept in his skills, which we were to need greatly on our trip. His English, however, through no fault of his own, was atrocious. He seemed a good man, but as I said, atrocious. After our greetings and introductions, we strode down what I assumed was the main street. 

As we moved along, we discussed what we needed to do to prepare to travel to our destination. Oskar was to go find us shelter for the night and, hopefully, transportation so we might not have to travel on foot. Professor Clarke, after losing his focus admiring a building that seemed to have burned down recently, was to search for information about the past of The Door and the area about it. I was assigned to find us a public house where we may all eat. I, of course, having the money I had managed to convert into the local currency, would be the one to pay.

We then parted and went about our separate tasks. I unfortunately also had the task of carrying all of our luggage. Looking around, I discovered an old cart that seemed no longer in use. At least that is the excuse I used to confiscate it. I grasped its handles, brought it to the luggage, loaded it, and, doing my best to push the cart along, was off to find a public house. As I walked, I could still see the local people around me glaring and scrutinizing me as if I were a danger. I continued to ponder what those around me were thinking. Could it be they just didn’t want strangers about? This I could understand. But why the intensity? 

The ground was horrific, items of clothing in tussled messes, pieces of wood and stone lying about in random fashion, as well as other carts impeding my way. There were holes in the ground as far as the eye could see. I was sure I was to lose a wheel if this were to go on much longer. I finally found what I thought looked like a public house. Looking at the sign above its entrance I could not even begin to understand the language. I headed towards it, and as I arrived at its front, I could hear a good bit of discussion from inside, filling me with hope the day was to get better. I began to move the baggage in one at a time as I did not trust them to be left outside where they might get pilfered. I had already come to not trust those around me. I opened the entry door, and at the very moment they all saw me, everyone suddenly stopped speaking. Yet again, I saw those stares coming from every being within that establishment. It was more than slightly discomforting to feel as if they all felt I was a curse upon them, but I continued to bring in the rest of the luggage and sat at the closest table. When finally a barmaid approached me, cautiously so, and asked what I wanted, I was happy to hear she spoke in English. Very, very broken English, but understandable. I finally settled on Schnapps. Potato Schnapps. One gets what one can. 

And here I sit, finishing my writing as I sipped the last draught of my drink. Yet nowhere around me do I see either Professor Clarke or Mr. Wulf. –