Ever After

“Up the hill, go left around the pond, through the clearing, and hang a right at the big stump,” John navigated himself through the wistful woods. Twenty-one years since he last explored the area, but he trusted faithfully in the directions of his eight-years-old self. It was strange to him how little the forest seemed to have changed in such a long span. The birds sang their same ethereal tune, the breeze still rustled the branches in the familiar rhythm, and the autumn leaves maintained their satisfying crunch with every step.

The woods were home to him, but nothing around the area was recognizable anymore. John initially drove in expecting to park at his old childhood house, only to find a highway running through what was once his lawn. It was impossible to tell anyone ever lived nearby. The gas station on the outskirts of town had been bought out by some national chain, the school had painted the outside a more modern color and upgraded to a digital board, and the hand painted sign for Coleman’s grocery was usurped by the relentless yellow glow of the Dollar General logo.

And of course, he had done his fair share of changing himself. Last time he was in these woods, his bowl-cut was golden blonde, baby teeth were just starting to fall out, and his eyes still shone with the joy of life. His hair had darkened, teeth grew in as they should with the help of braces, and his eyes now carried bags from long days at the office. Where he once bounded carefree through the forest, he now took careful steps to not trip on roots.

But through it all, the woods seemed exempt from the passage of time. The pond was the same shade of murky green. The small clearing still led right down the hill through the mossy patch. The big stump lay idle and firm, dents and divots still there from the various rocks he had thrown at it in his youth. John knew he was almost there. A bit more of a trek, and he returned to the site; a small, sunlit grove. In the midst of the rays piercing through the canopy rested a circle of stones and an unremarkable door. John’s eyes began to well up, throat tightening, heart pounding as the memories rushed over him. He sat down on a nearby rock and sipped his water to compose himself.

The day he first found the door played again in his mind: He’d been turned around, separated from his playmates, and had not the faintest idea of which way led home. The childhood curiosity got the best of him; entranced by the idea of a door to nowhere, in a place where doors did not belong. He approached the door and failed to notice the stone’s faint blue glow when he entered their radius. Solid wood with a faded gold handle, it beckoned him with its impossibility. What child could resist such a thing? His small hand grasped the handle, turned it, and pushed open.

The young John could see around the door; could see that the woods continued beyond the grove. And yet, as doors do, it provided an entrance. A field of ethereal flowers in cosmic hues and a sky of unimaginable colors stood waiting beyond the frame. The wind blew through the field with a scent of honey and a gentle melody. John could see creatures he didn’t recognize flying in the distance. Hypnotized by the magic unfolding before him, he stepped through the door.

The full experience had been almost too much to handle at once. Dragonflies the size of cats darted around the fields, their wings stirring up a sparkling pollen in the flowers. Deer-like creatures with prismatic horns sipped from a lavender stream. He swore he saw trees walking around on their roots while something close to a crab chased after their radiant fruit. The unique color of the sky was revealed to be from three individual moons, blending in the night, battling for illuminate dominance of the domain. Lost in wonder and awe, a gentle voice shook him out of his stupor.

“Greetings traveler. Perhaps a friend can answer some questions for you?” John turned around to see a tall man, gray hair braided down his back, in blue robes that bore markings he didn’t recognize from his world.

Voice quivering in uncertainty, the boy replied, “Where- where am I? What is this place? Am I- Am I dreaming?” The man kneeled down to meet his eye level.

“My name is Ward. I seek to greet travelers to the land of Gykrus. It is no dream, for the wildest dreams of your land still fall short of our wonders.” He extended his hand for John to take. “Would you like to see?” John sheepishly stepped to him and grasped his hand. The runes on his cloak began to glow, and the two of them began floating in the air. John clenched his hand tight, paranoid that letting go would end the spell. The ascent continued, with more of the mystical Gykrus coming into view: The trees were in fact moving, as an entire colony of them danced in the distance. Rivers of separate colors all streamed down from the same mountaintop. A pack of dogs as big as his house frolicked in a prairie of silver grass, chasing after an ephemeral butterfly. Serpentine creatures rested on the clouds. Glacial islands and volcanic hills alike float suspended in the air. A distant cliff seemed to hold a village of some sort living on its side.

“To the pure of heart, Gykrus’s treasures are boundless. A land of adventure and intrigue. If you will vow to be a force of good, I will show you the ways of our magic.”

Tears in his eyes from the beauty before him, John responded, “I- I can do magic?” Ward nodded, but John looked downtrodden. “I’m sorry, but- I can’t- I can’t leave my mom, she’s gonna be real worried if I don’t get back soon.” Ward began returning them to the ground, safely and slowly for John’s ease of mind.

“Rest easy young John, for you have found the doorway. The gifts of Gykrus are ready when you are.” John threw his arms around Ward in a hug, took one last look at the cosmic blend above, and stepped back through the door. Returning to the grove, the sun seemed to be in the same spot in the sky as when he’d left. If any time had passed, it was impossible to tell.

That was only the beginning; John reminisced on how the days at school seemed to drag on when all he wanted to do was rush home and run back to the door. Telling his mom of the stories, and her happily nodding along at his vivid imagination. Ward enjoyed having an arcane protege, and John eagerly soaked up every lesson. Sitting on the rock in present day, he found his arms performing the motions for the fire spell he learned first. That small spark generating in his palm, and the pure, ecstatic joy as he held the heat unharmed. He thought of the first creature he tamed and grew to love, flying through the air on its back. Remembered how it felt fighting side by side against the bandits, his magic commanding the tide of battle. The view from the peak of the mountain, so high it seemed he could stretch out his hand and grasp a star.

John looked at the door, longing for the days he couldn’t get back. Memories continued. The day he found out he would have to move states, unsure if he would ever find his way back to the door. The last evening he got to visit Gykrus; grappling with this grief at eight years old. A final visit with his animal companions, doing the best he could to convey across the communication divide. Taking in his last few moments in the field, watching the moons’ spectral dance for one last time. Ward approached, and took a seat beside him.

“Is- is anything ever gonna be this good again? How can- how can I just go be a normal kid, knowing all this magic is out here?”

Ward looked and spoke with compassion, “Perhaps it is your calling to share that magic with your world.” John furled his brow, frustrating that Ward wasn’t getting his point.

“Ward, my world, it-, it doesn’t have magic! We can’t fly, we can’t make fire from our hands, our trees don’t dance, we don’t even have more than one moon!”

Ward smiled at the youth, knowing in his arcane wisdom that he would one day come to understand. “And yet a while ago, you would have been so certain that this world couldn’t have even existed. Who knows what magic you will yet discover in your own?”

John rose from the rock he was resting on, and removed an old, well-used hatchet from his backpack. It took him all these years to realize it, but he’d seen Ward’s prophecy play out. Looking at the door now, the magic of the world became apparent to him: hearing a child’s contagious giggling spread to those around them. Taking a hot shower after mowing the lawn. Vanilla ice cream. Discovering a new Excel formula that does exactly what you’re looking for. Hitting only green lights when you need it most.

He approached the door, gripping the hatchet, still trying to convince himself this was what needed to be done. “I could go back. I could run away, and never be seen again, and nobody would even notice,” he rambled to himself, an anxious habit picked up in high school. “Somebody else would get the paperwork, the emails would get sent to the rest of the department, and even if they weren’t, it wouldn’t matter all that much.” One hand on the hatchet, the other slowly reaching, yearning, for that faded gold handle, finally back in his reach.

Icicles hanging from snow-dusted trees. Ants uniting by the thousands to build their labyrinthine hills. A saxophone solo in a classic rock song. Just the one moon, but what a beauty it is. A loud THWACK rang out in the grove as John planted the hatchet right through the center of the door. “I-I-I need to know, that I-I, I can’t go back,” he fought through the tears.

A chorus of voices singing in harmony. A campfire on a chilly fall night. Learning a card game that someone’s family grew up playing. Home-cooked meals from passed down recipes. THWACK! Another swing in the door, sending splinters and fragments through the grove.

Finding a new favorite coffee shop to read in. Singing your favorite songs as loud as you can on a long drive. A pretty girl laughing at your joke. A rapid-fire back-and-forth volley of pickleball. Soup. THWACK! The door was barely holding together.

The untold mysteries of the great ocean depths. Watching the sunrise from a rocking chair on a front porch. Doubling up on blankets on an extra cold night. The boundless frontier of space. Salmon defying the stream to migrate. THWACK!. . . Clink. The last holdouts of the door cracked apart, the handle falling to the ground with them.

John looked at the once-wonderous gateway, now sealed and scattered into the dirt. Where he had expected a flood of emotions, he found only two; a sense of relief at being unburdened by the magic that was lost, and a renewed sense of optimism at the magic that could yet be found.