The Door Within (5 page)
He looked down at the scrolls, the account of the Great Betrayal. He had seen it in his dreams, and it was horrible. Aidan tried to shake the vivid images from his mind, but they held on.
He’d done it. The, the
—Aidan could not find a word severe enough to describe Paragor. He had taken the love of his King and kingdom, and their trust as well, and he had paid them back with treachery. Paragor’s face, once noble and proud, had become twisted with rage and hate. That face . . .
Aidan realized with horror that it was not the first time he had seen that face. The warrior from the recurring dream.
It’s him! It’s Paragor!
Aidan felt a sharp pain in his chest, and he doubled over.
Aidan staggered to the hall bathroom and splashed icy water on his face. His heart pounded.
But how did Paragor get into my dreams before I ever read the scrolls?
Aidan dried his face with a towel, looked up into the mirror, and reeled backward. In the reflection he saw himself surrounded by the desperate, haunted faces of the children from the fountain. They were so . . . so sad.
Deep in a doubt-shrouded corner of Aidan’s mind, an impossible thought stirred. But it was impossible, wasn’t it? Aidan looked back at the mirror, and the faces were gone.
Aidan stood at his bedroom door and stared at the third scroll bundle. It lay, still secured with its leather lace, waiting.
No, as much as he wanted to find out what became of the Elder Guard and the Kingdom of Alleble, Aidan needed a break. Aidan went down to the kitchen. Grampin was there, still asleep in his chair.
All he does is sleep
, Aidan thought disdainfully. Aidan slipped around him and opened the pantry door.
Mannnnn, the brownies are all gone!
Aidan cast an accusative eye on his grandfather. Sure enough, there were brownie crumbs in his lap.
Sleep—and eat
, Aidan corrected himself.
Settling for option number two, he poured a bowl of dry cereal, grabbed a spoon, and turned around. For a split second, Aidan thought that Grampin’s eyes had been open. Aidan studied his grandfather suspiciously. His head was bent forward, chin resting on his chest. His hands were folded in his brownie-crumb lap, and his upper body inflated slowly with each sleepy breath. He sure looked like he was asleep. Aidan wondered.
Aidan set the empty bowl on his bedside table. Now he felt ready to open the third scroll. Aidan untied the lace, spread open the scroll, and stared.
He went back to the last few pages of the second scroll. He reread the horribly tragic balcony scene above Guard’s Keep, and then looked back at the first page of the third scroll.
It didn’t make sense. On the first page of the third scroll, there was what looked like a poem.
Aidan scowled.
But what happened to the Elder Guard and the children
? A cold feeling in the pit of Aidan’s stomach suggested that whatever happened in Alleble after Paragal murdered King Eliam, it was not good.
He looked down at the poem. The words, written in black ink, shimmered blue as Aidan turned the page at angles in the light. Aidan ran his fingers over several verses and discovered that the text was slightly raised and had its own texture.
This text was meant to stand out
, Aidan thought. And he began to read.
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.
Though he had no idea what the poem meant, Aidan read it again and again. It was some sort of riddle—that much was clear. And Aidan had an odd suspicion that the riddle was meant for him to solve.
Eager for an explanation, Aidan moved aside the poem parchment. The next page, however, was blank.
Aidan scrunched up his eyebrows. The following page was blank as well. He hurriedly turned over each of the last five pages of the scroll, but they were all void of writing.
“AArrggh!” he growled, looking around his room for someone to explain this great injustice. It couldn’t just end there— with no mention of what became of the Elder Guard and no explanation of the mysterious poem. But there they were: seven blank pages.
Confused and more than a little annoyed, Aidan turned back to the page with the poem. Perhaps there were answers there. He read it through again, but froze on the last two lines.
The Door Within must open,
For one to truly see.
Do you see?
Aidan blinked. Gooseflesh rippled up his arms. There was a new line at the end of the poem! He was absolutely sure it hadn’t been there before!
A car door slammed, followed by another, and Aidan looked out his window. Both his parents were home.
Dad’s early
, Aidan thought. He looked back at the poem and swallowed, for there was another line.
Believe and enter.
W
hat’s goin’ on?” Aidan asked. No one answered, but he heard the front door open downstairs. Adrenaline surging in his veins, Aidan bounded down the stairs and nearly steamrolled his parents.
“Mom, Dad, guess what I foun—”
“Please—Whoa, Aidan . . son,” Mr. Thomas exclaimed, catching Aidan by the shoulders. “Ever heard of walking down the stairs?”
“Sorry, Dad,” Aidan said, his heart still galloping. “But I just wanted to tell you something. See, I was exploring the basement this afternoon and––”
The shrill chirp of a cell phone cut Aidan off.
“That’s mine,” Mr. Thomas said. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a tiny silver phone. “Oh, hi, Doug. What’s up?”
Aidan felt like he was about to burst.
Mr. Thomas frowned and turned slightly. “Are you serious?” he said into the phone. “Right now?” He glanced at his wife guiltily and at Aidan.
“Of course, I know this account is important,” he continued. “Okay, let me go into my office.” Aidan’s dad put a hand over the phone. “It’s Riddick and Dunn. I have to take a conference call. Sorry, Aidan, we’ll have to talk at dinner.”
“But,” Aidan stammered. His father walked into his home office and closed the French doors. Aidan turned to his mom.
“So, Mom, I was in the basement––” Aidan began, but he was cut off a third time.
“Honey, tell us all about it at dinner,” his mom said. “I’ve got to run a quick errand.”
“But, Mom.”
“You can tell us everything at dinner.”
Dinner?! Wait until dinner?! The greatest discovery of my life and they tell me to wait until dinner?!!
But Aidan waited until dinner.
At dinner, Aidan’s mother, father, and grandfather ate as Aidan told them the story about the basement, the sparkles, and the scrolls. He told them everything that he could remember from the scrolls, especially about the poem and the words that had “magically” appeared on the last page.
“. . . and it said that if I believed, I could enter.”
When Aidan had finished, he looked around the table. His parents wore raised eyebrows and crooked smiles. Mrs. Thomas put her hand on her husband’s hand. They glanced at each other knowingly, then turned to Aidan.
“Isn’t our son cute?” Aidan’s mom gushed.
“What an imagination!” Aidan’s dad agreed.
Grampin was silent.
“Cute! Imagination?!” Aidan exploded, widening eyes all around the kitchen table. “I’m NOT making this up!”
Aidan rushed out of the kitchen, nearly stepping on Marbles, his grandfather’s cat, who had a terrible habit of walking leisurely in front of people. Grabbing the three bundles of scrolls off the bed, he ran back downstairs to show his family the proof.
As he unrolled for them the ancient pages of parchment, Aidan’s mother and father gawked open-mouthed. But Grampin just nodded and smiled.
“Guess it wasn’t jest the young feller’s eemagination, huh?” he said.
“Yeah!” Aidan agreed, liking Grampin a small bit.
Mr. Thomas took a few of the pages and looked at them closely.
“Hmmm,” he said. “Show me where you found these, son.”
Grampin, confined to his wheelchair, remained in the kitchen, but everyone else descended into the basement.
Aidan knew why they wanted to go check the basement. Proof. They wanted proof. That was it.
He wondered why his parents wouldn’t trust him. Sure, he had an admittedly wild imagination—not to mention a voracious appetite for fantastic tales. But the strange nightmares, the thing lurking in the pine tree outside the bedroom window, and the scrolls . . . well, those things all really happened.
Or maybe they didn’t.
Aidan felt doubt creep into his mind like an early fall frost, premature in its coming and dangerous to new growth. As Aidan thumped down the basement steps, he began to wonder.
Aidan bumped into the box with the one-eyed doll and awkwardly shuffled over to the workbench to flick on the light. Aidan and his parents stared at the dark alcove beneath the stairs. Even in the light of the small work lamp, there could be no mistake. There was nothing there.
There wasn’t even a trace of the three broken clay pots that had contained the scrolls. Nothing. A numbing cold skittered over Aidan’s body.
“I can’t believe I let you drag me all the way down here.” Aidan’s dad shrugged. “Clay pots! That’s a good one, Aidan.”
“But, Dad! They were right here! I saw them . . . they just appeared!” Aidan pleaded.
“The only thing that appeared, son, was your imagination.”
“But what about the scrolls? I didn’t make those up!” Aidan argued, his own belief fading. “Would you at least look at the scrolls?”
“Aidan, I don’t know. They’re prob—”
“Please, Dad. Just look . . .”
“Son, look, I don’t have time for this kind of . . .” Mr. Thomas hesitated, shifted uneasily, and then changed course. “Okay, okay! I’ll look through them, a little—after we finish dinner. But listen, no more of this stuff about clay pots. It was cute, but enough is enough.”
Later, Aidan’s mom and dad took the scrolls and went upstairs. Aidan vaulted after them, only to see their bedroom door shut. Deciding that his parents would most likely need a good bit of time to examine the scrolls, Aidan flopped down on his bed to draw.
He had just begun sketching the outline of a haunted house when his parents came out of their bedroom. Aidan’s father sat down on the corner of Aidan’s bed. He held two of the scrolls in his arms. Aidan’s mom stood behind him. She had the other scroll.
“Well, I looked at your scrolls, son, and—”
“But you’ve been gone for just ten minutes!”
“Aidan, please don’t interrupt. The reason that I didn’t keep reading is that I think I’ve read this story before.”
“You . . . you have?!” Aidan gasped.
“When you described it to us at the table, it sounded familiar, but it’s been fifteen, maybe twenty years since I’ve read it.” Mr. Thomas glanced away. A look of irritation flickered on his face for a moment. “It’s called
The Story
. It was very popular, for a time.”
“But on scrolls?” Aidan blurted out.
“I’ve never seen it written on scrolls before. I’m wondering if these might be some of the original handwritten drafts.”
“Who wrote it?”
“Uh, that I can’t remember. But if these are originals, they could be worth a bundle—even more than your baseball cards! We should check on it. I heard that an original manuscript of
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow
went for a half-million dollars at an auction!”
“But, Dad, I don’t think this is just a story,” Aidan said. “It seemed so re—”
“What? Real? You’ve got to be kidding me!” Aidan’s father snorted and looked at his wife, who had put her hand over her lips to stifle a laugh.
“It’s not funny, Mom.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. But it just made me giggle.”
Aidan’s father handed the two scrolls to Aidan. His mom gave Aidan the last one. “Be very careful with these,” she said. “If they are collector’s items, you should keep them in a safe place.”
Aidan looked down at the scrolls and shook his head. They didn’t seem very magical anymore. “It could be real,” he offered weakly.