Sandman

The door made no sense. It was hiding directly behind the open door to my newly assigned bedroom. A door behind a door.

Shorter than the ceiling by about a third of the way down, it was askew on its frame, as though it had been popped into place as an afterthought, then tried to settle in but never quite completed the journey. A misfit for sure, as far as doors went. To me, it just seemed uncomfortable—and that made me uncomfortable.

Since my dad had died, my mom had tried to “keep things normal” by renting a cottage for my sister and me every summer. We never stayed in the same one, I think because Mom was looking for a change of scenery. New memories. Somewhere that didn’t remind her of the past.

So, here we were at cottage number four in the heart of the Quebec countryside, picking out our bedrooms for the week. This wasn’t as glamorous as some of the previous choices. Creaky floors that dipped and stuck in places. A shower that never quite made it past tepid. And a creepy-ass stairwell to a cluttered mishmash of a basement that none of us talked about.

I liked the lake, and the Wi-Fi. And I didn’t have to share a room with anyone. That was good enough. But as I lay on the bed the first night, staring at the Odd Door, I had the strange sensation of both really wanting to know what was behind it, and most definitely not wanting to know at all. And so I stuffed my vague curiosity into the musty-smelling comforter, turned so my back was to the Odd Door, and promptly fell asleep.

The next morning I woke thinking about breakfast and the lake as I heard my sister’s laughter down in the kitchen. When I got there, she ruffled my hair and made farting noises at me to get my reaction while Mom chuckled from the rocking chair.

“How did you sleep?” she asked. “There are those mini cereal boxes you said you wanted. All yours!”

Later I paddled around the lake in a rain-filled kayak, feeling like the only boy in the universe, and returned famished and sunburnt. Mom let me “man the burgers” on the barbeque, since I’m the man of the house. And we all traded stories of dad when he’d been alive, since barbequing always reminded us of him.

By the time I flopped into bed again, I’d forgotten about the Odd Door. And, to be honest, I wasn’t really prepared or willing to deal with it. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. So I turned my back to it again and fell asleep.

When I woke this time, it was still pitch dark, but a dull thumping, like someone running, had me sitting up in bed. Eyes open, I strained in the dark to hear or see anything. A quick check on my phone showed the time to be just after 3 a.m. Then the footsteps sounded again, causing my heart to do the same.

“Ellie?” I called.

No answer.

Was she still awake? It wasn’t unusual for my sister to stay up late, acting like it was still daylight. At the lack of response, I sighed, sliding out of bed onto the hardwood floor to test my phone flashlight. The dark instantly retreated into the shadows, so I followed the light into the hallway, which was loft-style and overlooked the main floor.

“Ellie!” I hissed in a loud whisper, shining the light across the living room couch and the dining room table. No signs of life.

I went to her room, a kernel of fear in my chest, and shone the light across her bed, only to find her fast asleep. Okay, maybe it was Mom. But a discreet sweep of light through her room revealed the same: Mom asleep in bed.

Back in my room, I was wide awake. Switching off the flashlight on my phone, I opened YouTube, hoping to distract myself enough to shake off the jitters. But within moments of a video, I heard the footsteps again, this time loud and clear.

No.

Again, the sound thundered into my ears.

Not running. Knocking.

Someone was knocking on the Odd Door—from the inside.

My heart caught in my chest. I stared at the Odd Door, holding my breath, now pointing my phone flashlight at it like a spotlight waiting for the first act to start. My eyes fixated on the doorknob, waiting, waiting, waiting for it to inevitably turn and the horror of horrors to burst forth. I’d seen the movies. I’d read the books. It never ended well. I’d always said if I was the main character in a horror movie, I’d choose life. I’d choose to run, not open the door.

But as moments stretched into silence, my breath returned and I started to feel stupid. Maybe I was imagining things. It was probably an animal, like a squirrel or raccoon. Probably just trapped or something. If I just open the door and look, it’ll prove it’s nothing.

A sharp flash of terror surged through me as I envisioned the door opening to an unseen horror.

Nope. Decision made. I choose life.

I sucked in my breath and, with a fearful glance at the Odd Door, dashed to the couch down on the main floor—where my sister found me the next morning. After my quick excuse about having fallen asleep watching YouTube, Ellie shrugged and we all ate breakfast peacefully. But this time I didn’t forget about the Odd Door. And, as afternoon waned and the evening loomed, I started to realize that I would have to open the door during the day or I would never sleep again.

Should I have told Ellie? Or my mom? Possibly. Likely. But in the moment, standing in front of the Odd Door, I told myself I was just getting rid of the fear. Never could I have guessed what I would find once I finally turned the cool brass knob—or how it would change everything I thought I knew.

Of course it stuck when I turned the knob, so at first I thought it was locked. For a fleeting moment I was relieved. But then I remembered the terror of the night before and, in the courage of the daylight-filled room, reminded myself I needed to do this before I lost the nerve. So, I yanked a bit more and the Odd Door gave way with a sticky crack. As it opened, I jerked back at the immediate sight of a figure standing inside.

It took me a moment to really understand what I was seeing. Because what I was looking at was myself.

A tall mirror stood just inside the doorway—and that was all. Just me, looking like a frightened animal, holding a kitchen knife in one hand and my phone in the other. A hardened warrior ready for battle.

Confused, I stepped toward the mirror, toward my reflection. This couldn’t be it. What about the knocking? With growing disappointment, I stepped past the threshold, gripping the frame of the mirror with the intent to peer behind it. But as my hand grasped the glass, the weirdest feeling went through me. It felt like my fingers had been plunged into ice water. And I heard music, like those churchy Christmas carols. I yanked my hand back, holding it to my chest protectively. The music stopped.

I looked back in the mirror. It was rippling, like a lake in the breeze. I stood there, transfixed, trying to make sense of it. Stepping closer, I reached out again when a loud knocking made me jump backwards and tumble to the floor. I looked up just in time to see a hand stick out from the mirror, milk chocolate-colored fingers not much smaller than my own, scooping forward as though trying to grab something. I sat frozen in place as it retreated back into the mirror.

When nothing more happened, I rose, wincing at the pain in my butt from the fall. This door is a pain in my butt. I found myself standing back in front of the mirror, one hand reaching forward, the other holding the knife—and my phone at the ready in my shorts pocket. If I was going to do this, there better be good Wi-Fi.

My fingers plunged into the mirror as though it was a still waterfall. The cold wasn’t as much like ice as it was cool like summer rain. And the music sounded more like the sound my mom’s hybrid car makes when it backs up.

I took one step and the next thing I knew my mind was filled with the music until it was blinding me and my entire body was rippling with cool refreshment. Then just as suddenly I was on the other side, dry but in a damp tunnel like a concrete underpass that smelled like fish.

Staring at me with cool appraisal was a short brown boy, half my size, wearing a yellow lifejacket over blue shorts that went down to his knees. He looked to be about eight or nine years old, but his gaze held more intelligence than that. I got the thought that he was timeless, like a water gnome.

“Who are you?” he asked in a high voice, like a small child. “And why aren’t you wearing a lifejacket?”

I blinked a few times. “Uhh…why are you wearing one?”

It was a fair question given that he was standing inside a sewer-like place in front of a magical mirror.

The water gnome gave my knife a side eye before walking over to the mirror, giving me a wide berth.

“I’m looking for my oar. I lost it. Fell in the water while I was kayaking.”

He peered behind the mirror, giving the area behind it a thorough glance.

“You been out? Water’s a bit choppy but still doable, if you know what you’re doin’.”

He gave me a pointed look and I realized that a) I’d been staring and b) he was waiting for my answer.

“What? Ya, I mean, ya, I paddle. We just got here… What—what is this? A tunnel or something? Where even is your kayak?”

The gnome blinked at me. “You’re new then?”

“Ya, you could say that.”

“Ah, ok. Our cottage is by the beach. You been there? You should come out. A bunch of us are meeting later to play sandman. It’s like tag, except whoever is sandman has to count from the shore while everyone else jumps in.”

“Sandman?”

I was still trying to reconcile how the water gnome had a cottage and played sandman on a beach.

“So, there’s a play structure?”

“Nah, we play in the water. Sandman is on the beach.”

Made sense. Maybe it was the only thing that did.

I looked at this strange, small, old soul while he searched the other corners of the tunnel. Now that I was calmer, I was able to really “see” him. He was muttering to himself, wearing green crocs. A green and blue rainbow loom bracelet was on his wrist and his dark hair was freshly cut. It seemed as if he was just a regular boy. Maybe not even a gnome at all.

He faced me, pointing at the mirror.

“That go to your house?”

“Cottage? Ya.”

My mind whirled with the effort of trying to act normal. Nothing about this was normal. This was messed up. Wasn’t this crazy messed up?

“So, no oars? You didn’t suddenly get any on your end?”

My head was starting to feel dizzy now. “No. No oars.”

He sighed. “Alright. Guess I’ll just have to get back the old-fashioned way.”

“Wait – what’s the old fashioned way?” I tried not to scream this. I tried to match his tone, but I could feel my grip on “normal” start to slip.

“What do you even mean, bro?” he said, cocking his head. “I’ll just float up and swim.”

As I was trying to understand, the water gnome shot me a look then stepped through the mirror saying, “See you at the beach! You’re the sandman!”

I stared after him before my mind kicked in and I remembered I could just follow after him. Heart thudding in my chest, I plunged into the mirror, absorbing the coolness and the music like a pro, fully expecting to see him on the other side. But when I emerged back into my cottage bedroom, I was alone.

Breath quickening, I turned and went back through the mirror again, emerging in the same murky tunnel. Still no gnome. Two more times I tried, but each time he wasn’t there. With rising frustration, I tore through the cottage, poking at every mirror and opening every door I could find. But none had the same watery portal as the Odd Door.

My mom, sensing something was bothering me, tried to get me to eat. Grilled cheese and tomato soup. I could only stare at it.

“What’s going on bud? Something the matter?”

I stared at the soup, liquidy and still in the bowl. I plunged my index finger into it, watching the molten red surround it fruitlessly.

“Not hungry,” I said. “Gonna go to the beach.”

“Wait—there’s a beach here?” Ellie said from the couch.

I bolted past her and out the door.

When I made it to the beach, jittery and out of breath, there were a handful of kids there. Most were wearing their pajamas. Water gnome marched up to me, lifejacket replaced by a blue Spider-Man hoodie.

“There he is,” he said. “I told you guys! Hey, what took you so long?”

At the sight of him, real as rain before me, I felt my anxiety disappear.

“Had to go the old-fashioned way,” I grinned.

He watched me for a heartbeat. “Well, you’re the last to get here. And you know what that means…”

“I’m the sandman!” I shouted.

And, with squeals of delight, everyone—water gnome included—jumped into the water as I started counting down. For the first time all week, the Odd Door didn’t feel like something waiting behind me. It felt like a way in.