A story about a chance encounter becoming a lifelong obsession, and the dangers that can follow it…
SPOILER FREE
It’s always on a night like this that you remember the important details. A night where you can see your breath in the air, when it’s so cloudy that your eyes play tricks on you, and when the scent of earth is so thick in the air that you know it’s going to rain, yet it refuses to. The air is so thick with potential that it feels like everything is holding its breath before releasing it in that same wave you see when your own breath mists before you.
It’s also a night where everything catches up to you and goes so wrong that you’re currently leaning against the wall and bleeding through your favourite coat. Like the blood is seeping through the damage you’ve made of your life, like…
I stop, looking down at the arm I had been keeping pressed against my side, and the thought leaves me. Even the blood on my arm is steaming in this cold, which can’t be good.
I push off from the wall, not bothering to look back at the trail I am probably leaving for that thing to follow. I can’t afford to look back.
I look ahead instead, forgetting where I was going with my thoughts. Never particularly good at metaphors at the best of times, let alone while I’m bleeding.
There, a door.
I stumble towards it and yank it open.
Nothing.
But it’s a path forward.
I step through into a long corridor and press on. Can’t afford to stop.
This building is some sort of office space, its floors and walls a clinical, tiled off-white, and I try every identical door I pass by, occasionally trying them twice, because the blood on my hand slips. The first three are definitely locked, no good. The next one is another hall with more doors, which I file away for later, but leave alone for now.
I yank open the next door to find a closet full of cleaning supplies and storage equipment. I take a couple of useful items and continue searching.
The next door I open leads to a kitchen space, a public break room of some sort. I pause in the opening, sagging against the frame. It’s not what I’m looking for, but right now I can’t be picky.
I stumble into the kitchenette and start throwing open cupboard doors one-handed, rummaging through plates and useless containers and half-eaten boxes of food until I find what I’m looking for in the cupboard under the sink.
I take my prize and slink back to one of the tables, dropping painfully into one of the sterile plastic chairs.
I put the medkit onto the table next to me, and it’s as I’m placing things down and sorting through them into piles that I remember where I was going with my thoughts.
It was a night very much like this one when I accidentally stumbled through the wrong door.
🚪
It’s been raining for three days.
The sound of my footsteps on the wet concrete is my only company as I trudge through the city. My umbrella lies broken at home, ruined, waiting to be replaced.
Just like everything else in my life.
I pull my coat tighter around me, turning my collar up, hoping it will do something to protect me from this rain. But a cough wracks my chest, a reminder of the first thing that went.
My health.
It started as a sickness several months ago, and it lingered, long past the time it should have. I blame my work, a dead-end labour job that I can’t afford to leave. It doesn’t pay well enough for me to afford to stop… or even take enough leave to heal.
I stumble a step as I nearly trip over a puddle. With a sigh, I walk around the rest of it and continue on my way.
My work may not be much of a problem for much longer, though. With my poor health, I haven’t been working as consistently as I should, and people are starting to notice, to complain.
A workaholic. That’s what my ex-wife ironically called me when she left.
Not that I can blame her.
With everything else going wrong, I have not exactly been a nice person to be around.
In a word?
Miserable.
Like this weather.
As I hear a car approaching, I step further to the side of the path, yet it still hits a puddle deep enough that it splashes over me. I sigh, shaking my foot off, my socks now soaked through.
To make matters worse, I look up to see the shuttle I was going to catch the rest of the way home already at the stop up the road, its lights blinking in the gloom.
I break into a hobbled run, my shoes squelching with every step. I don’t know if the driver can see me at this distance in this miserable weather, but I wave anyway, trying to run while getting his attention.
I don’t know how long he was already at the stop, but the lights shift, and then he’s pulling away.
I slow to a stop, still a few metres from the pick-up point, and I can’t even bring myself to be mad at the driver. He’s just doing his job, following his own schedule.
I start coughing, my exerted breathing catching up with my weakened lungs.
I need to get out of this rain, get somewhere at least dry.
Once the coughing stops, I leave the shuttle stop behind and continue walking. I know roughly where home is. Maybe I can find somewhere dry on the way.
I duck down an alleyway, the angle of the walls giving me some sort of respite, and I press on. I’ve never really been this way, but I’m pretty sure it leads out of the block of buildings on the other side somewhere. I stumble over some trash littering the street but manage to catch myself before falling.
I take a deep breath and sigh. This probably wasn’t the night to try and take this particular shortcut in the dark and wet.
I adjust my coat and continue walking. When I get to the corner of the alley, I pause.
Warmth hits my senses.
No, not warmth…
A smell.
A hearty, warm scent of cooking, possibly a stew or something. The kind of food that makes you think of a hearty home-cooked meal.
Instead of turning right at the end of the alley to continue my way home, I turn left, as though the smell is pulling me forward like one of those comic book characters being physically lifted by the scent.
I take another corner, and I swear I can hear music; the soft swell of bass, the higher-pitched notes of some kind of stringed instrument, and then I see it.
A door at the end of the alley, all four of its edges illuminated by light spilling through the cracks.
That’s strange. This is an office block, or an industrial area. There shouldn’t be anything like this here. No music, no food. Everyone should be home by now.
Yet…
Here it is.
Before I know what’s happening, I’m right before it, reaching for the door handle. It opens smoothly and swings open to reveal a tavern.
An impossible, beautiful tavern.
🚪
My mind comes back to me, and I jerk awake, the wound in my side painfully reminding me it’s there.
I must have dozed off.
I check the patch and bandages I had applied to myself. They’re still bloodied, but holding.
I can’t stay here.
I drag myself to my feet with more of a grunt of effort than usual, sway unsteadily for a moment, then stand.
Okay, progress, good.
I grab my things, throwing anything else useful into my jacket pockets, then, adjusting my hat, I leave the kitchenette.
I backtrack to that hallway I catalogued earlier and start checking doors. More locked doors, more office spaces, and I’m halfway through checking them when a sound echoes from the street outside and makes me freeze.
My hand hovers over another door handle, but I’m dead still, my ears straining for another sound.
There it is again.
Something moving outside. Not particularly loud, but it is just enough to be dismissed as a cat or something.
But that is how it catches you.
It isn’t loud, it isn’t fast or clumsy. It’s just steady, relentless, and quiet.
I check the door, then the next two, faster, my heart thrumming in my chest, and I’m almost at the other end of the hall when there is another sound. A door opening somewhere in the building, in the direction I had come from.
I curse.
It’s found me again.
Already.
I skip the next few doors and go straight to the end of the corridor, yanking open the door at the end and hurrying through.
Great, a staircase.
I start climbing the stairs, two at a time, the wound in my side screaming at me, and even as I slip on a step and nearly fall, I consider myself lucky it hadn’t found me when I was passed out in the kitchen.
I climb past two floors, then pick an exit at random.
I need to hurry, find another exit and…
Warmth hits me, and I stop.
On my left, another unassuming door. I hesitantly reach for the handle.
It’s definitely warmer. I open it and am hit with a rush of warm air, and for a moment my heart leaps.
My eyes adjust, and it’s a dark room, some kind of storage area and boiler room.
I sigh, leaving the room behind.
For years, that was all it took.
Warmth from under a door.
Music from somewhere random.
The smell of cooking.
Then the search.
The obsession.
I became so obsessed with looking for the impossible door. I opened hundreds, thousands of doors, looking for that same place.
The tavern that should not have existed.
🚪
I stand in the warmth, in a small room that leads into the main tavern beyond, all wood and stone and a colourful assortment of people. I look down at myself and at the floor, realising I’m dripping water all over the nice polished wood. I make a poor attempt at trying to get some of the excess water off.
Then, once I’m just soaked and no longer dripping everywhere, I head further inside.
There’s a tall person guarding the door, and I blink at them. It’s hard to tell if they are male or female, but not because of the clothes. They give me a nod as I pass, with the head of a dark-coloured dragon, their eyes glowing blue.
Have I stumbled into a dress-up party?
The costumes are pretty good.
I ignore the squelching of my socks as I cross the threshold, and cough while passing a table near the door where a dwarf and an elf are having an animated conversation.
The elf’s ears are absurdly long, an interesting choice for a costume, but they are exactly the right kind of tall and thin when sitting opposite the dwarf, who actually looks dwarfish, short and stocky. Their impressive beard makes it hard to tell and sells the costume perfectly.
I chuckle to myself as I continue into the large tavern, because that is what this place must be. It’s dominated by a large, decorated bar on one side and full of tables, chairs and booths. There is a staircase tucked behind the bar that, from the sounds of it, leads to even more seating upstairs and a stage where the music must be coming from.
I can feel the chill in my clothes being chased away by the heat of a large fireplace on the other side of the room, and I spot several people huddled around it, something too big and fuzzy to be just one person, and someone with an elaborate pair of wings. There is another person with a pointed hat and animal ears poking out, which is a strange combination for a costume, but I find myself smiling, thinking about how much my ex-wife would have loved this place.
I remove my jacket as I approach the bar, behind which, serving drinks, is a huge man polishing a glass like the typical bartender, only from here it looks like he has bull horns.
A Minotaur costume?
That’s different.
I almost stop when I spot the other person behind the bar. She’s bent over the stew that I could smell from outside, and she waves towards me without turning.
“I’ll be with you in a moment, love,” she says in a singsong voice. “Just grab a seat.”
For a moment, I forget to answer, too busy noticing that her plush hips are almost twice the width of my shoulders. “Err… Thanks,” I say awkwardly as I grab a seat at the bar nearby.
The woman stands fully, two full bowls of stew balanced on her arm, and I notice a couple of other big differences in her proportions. She has legs that seem to have an extra joint, and beneath her apron she is covered in dark, almost black fur.
She smiles at me sweetly, then pauses. “Oh, hun, you are soaked.” She leans behind the bar and retrieves a towel before tossing it at me. “Dry yourself off. I’ll be right back.”
I catch the towel and start absentmindedly drying myself while I watch her go.
She weaves effortlessly through the crowds, heading towards a table at the far side of the tavern, and I notice that not only is she good at balancing with those leg extensions, but she is walking on hooves. As she turns and heads back towards me, I take in the other details of her costume. Short ears and horns top her head, a small tail, a gold ring through her nose.
She’s some kind of goat.
But with the… very generous proportions of a woman.
I shake my head, staring at the bar while I dry my hair. There’s something about it that just doesn’t seem right, something uncanny I can’t quite put my finger on.
Without a word, the bartender puts a drink in front of me and strides away. I pick it up and sip it thoughtfully.
I almost spit it out again when the goat woman stops beside me.
“Here,” she says simply as she places a bowl of stew on the table. “You look like you need a warm meal.”
I look up to thank her, but my voice catches at the overwhelming sight of her. Not only is she a large woman, but she looks down at me with a bemused expression on her face that looks too real.
She raises an eyebrow and I realise I’m staring, but it’s when she shifts that gets me.
She shifts from one foot to the other, and her whole body moves in a way that is too real, her weight shifting in a way that can’t be faked by a costume.
Her expression changes as she laughs. “Either you are looking to buy me a drink, or this is your first visit.”
Her ears suddenly shift at the sound of clinking glass nearby, and it clicks.
She’s real.
This is real.
All these people are real.
And I’m staring.
I feel my face burn. “I’m sorry… I just… It’s just…”
She laughs heartily, her hands on her hips, shifting her stance with another sway. “So you’re new, then.”
Reaching forward she pinches my cheek, both as an expression of amusement and to let me know I’m not dreaming. “I take it you don’t get many Demi-humans where you’re from.”
I blink at her, then look around the bar with fresh eyes.
The elf and the dwarf by the door, those subtle details showing that they aren’t quite human. The creature by the fireplace shifts unnaturally, the wings on the creature next to it shift in a way that no machinery could replicate, and by the door…
The Dragon standing guard tilts their scaled head and snorts out a puff of icy mist from their nostrils before giving the goat woman a nod.
“I… guess I don’t…” I say with wonder.
🚪
That night didn’t immediately change everything.
But it was the beginning.
I skip the next few doors as I head towards what I know is the back of the building and check the doors along that side. The third door in and I see it, an emergency exit.
Bingo.
I stride towards it, pulling a small rectangular device from my jacket pocket as I cross the room. I check my corners, make sure I’m clear, then place the device over the lock. I hear the soft whirring of it activating, and then the door clicks open, quietly and with no alarms.
I remove the device and step out onto a fire escape, just in time to hear another door open somewhere in the building, quiet enough that I could almost dismiss it, but I know better.
I close the door as quietly as I can, then climb down the fire escape before dropping to street level again and heading for another alleyway across the street.
I jog a bit further in, then slow to a walk. I run my fingers over the camera on my belt, checking the leather clasp out of habit to make sure it is still there, feeling the warmth of certainty run through me.
No, the tavern didn’t immediately change everything, but it did open my eyes.
I remember trying to explain it to people, my co-workers, my doctor, even my ex.
No one believed me, not straight away. It was too fantastic.
Especially when I went to track it down again and found that very same door had led to some office back rooms.
I check another couple of doors down the alley before unlocking one that leads into a warehouse. I pull out an old torch and clip it to my jacket before weaving my way through the storage racks, following the organised walkways through the mess.
After a while, you start to recognise patterns, and that was the way my search went.
I started looking into things.
The strange and bizarre.
I walk up a flight of stairs to the upper floor of the open warehouse and start looking for another exit.
That was how the obsession continued for years. In between work, I would search.
I started researching missing persons, talking to survivors who claimed to have been lost, looking for a connection. Then I started looking into anything that even sounded slightly out of the ordinary.
Then it was folklore.
Unusual disappearances.
Impossible buildings.
Even urban legends.
Most of which were rubbish, the usual tall tales and excuses.
Only, some weren’t.
I stop by a window, looking down at the street to see a man standing by one of the street lamps.
He’s tall, wearing a long coat and a broad-brimmed hat. He would seem ordinary, were it not for the fact that he looks up at me like he knows exactly where I am, and his eyes aren’t human.
I duck away from the window, flicking off my torch.
I discovered I had a knack for finding things that weren’t mundane, and this thing that looks human is anything but.
🚪
“You should go introduce yourself,” the goat woman says with a grin. “Frisken doesn’t bite, unless they’re paid to,” she adds with a laugh. I turn to look at her, and she shoos me away. “Go on, there will be fresh stew still waiting for you.”
I stand from my seat and walk back towards the door, wondering just what you say to a dragon person who seems to guard the door to an impossible tavern.
The Dragon turns their head and lifts a scaled eyebrow as I approach.
“Hello,” I say nervously.
Their gaze studies me for a moment before they give another huff of cold air. “Hi,” they say simply, before relaxing slightly. “Did Lena send you over?”
“Lena?” I ask.
The dragon tilts their head towards the bar. “Her.”
I look over at where they gesture, then nod. “Yeah, she did. She said I should introduce myself.”
Frisken rolls their eyes and gives an exaggerated sigh. “Right.” They give a defeated laugh. “I take it this is your first time to the Bar?”
I chuckle awkwardly. “I still don’t know how I got here.”
“We get that a lot,” Frisken says with a laugh. They hold out a dark-scaled hand. “Name’s Frisken, and this is what most call the Bar With No Name.”
I shake their hand. “Drayven,” I say, introducing myself. “Elliott Drayven.”
There’s a beat of silence before I ask the first question that comes to mind. “Where am I?”
Frisken tilts their head again. “The Bar.”
That’s… maddeningly unhelpful.
“I got that. Where’s the Bar?”
Frisken shrugs. “Here.”
I take a deep breath. “Where’s here?”
They scratch at their scaled cheek. “Currently? Couldn’t tell you.”
I sigh. This isn’t helping. “I came in from the old industrial sector, through a random door down an alley. Somewhere in Cresthelm, I think.”
“Huh,” Frisken says thoughtfully. “I can’t say that sounds familiar.”
That seems to fit the idea I’m building of this place, but I need more. “Well, where did you enter?”
They smile, showing a row of fangs. “It’s been a long time since anyone asked me that. I’ve been here so long it’s hard to remember.” They hold their chin in their hand, eyes closed in thought. When they speak again, it’s slower. “I remember… tall buildings covered in bright neon lights… but I also remember the dark alleyways, overshadowed by the buildings during the day.”
The only city that sounds like it could fit that description is on the other side of the globe.
I whistle in awe.
“That’s nowhere near my entrance,” the dwarf from the nearby table pipes in suddenly. “Mine was underground, in one of the deep mountains of the Grey Furies.” He laughs as he says it, his cheeks are very red, clearly deep into his drinks.
The elf sitting across from him smiles and lifts their glass. “Mine was in my hometown, where the city meets with the forest.”
My thoughts reel, and I rock on my feet.
They weren’t just from different worlds…
They all travelled here from those worlds.
Frisken places a hand on my shoulder to ground me. “Perhaps I should explain how it sort of works.”
They gesture to the main door where I had entered. “The Bar doesn’t exactly exist in one place. People find doors that bring them here.” They shrug. “Sometimes, the Bar seems to find them. They come, get a meal, eat, drink, mingle. There are even rooms upstairs if you need to rest.” They gesture in the direction of the stairs where I can still hear the music playing.
“Then, when you leave, usually you go back where you came from.”
They pause. “Usually.”
I’m following their explanation, but that makes me hesitate. “Usually?”
Frisken gives an awkward chuckle. “Sometimes people end up somewhere else.”
“Somewhere else in the same city?” I say slowly.
Frisken gives me a serious look. “…Right.”
My thoughts whirl for a moment. “That seems… unreliable.”
Frisken pats my shoulder and chuckles. “That’s very rare though. Usually you just stumble back later.”
I open my mouth to question that, but stop myself.
I really have no concept of what is normal here. A cough stops me from saying more anyway.
“Oi, don’t forget the hallway underneath the Bar!” the dwarf interrupts. “The one with all the doors. Hundreds of them!”
Frisken’s eyes roll at the comment, their expression one of exasperation. “That’s just a rumour.”
The dwarf laughs, pointing his mug at the dragon accusingly. “You’ve seen it!”
“I’ve seen a hallway,” Frisken responds with another eye roll.
“Aye,” the dwarf says cheerfully, “the one with all the doors.”
“Most hallways have doors,” Frisken says sarcastically.
“Where do the doors lead?” I interrupt, genuinely curious.
The dwarf shrugs. “Anywhere.”
“Nowhere,” Frisken says with another sigh.
“Any when,” the elf adds.
I turn to ask Frisken another question when I hear Lena calling from across the Bar. “Hey, Newbie! Your stew is ready! I ain’t making you another if it goes cold.”
I leave the dragon, the elf and the dwarf to argue about the rumours as I walk back across the Bar, my head filled with thoughts of doors that can lead to any number of places imaginable, anwhere, any when…
🚪
I remain crouched in that spot below the window, holding my breath and counting the seconds.
One.
Two. It’s probably looked away by now.
Three.
Four. Move, don’t be in the same place.
Five. I half-crouch, half-crawl a few boxes over.
Six.
Seven. Maybe it didn’t see me this time.
Eight.
Nine. I freeze as a door opens somewhere in the warehouse.
Shit.
Ten. I inch forward to the railing, looking over the edge.
Footsteps below.
Patient, unhurried.
Eleven. I pull a small device from my pocket, priming it. It’s a toy, a glorified firework really, harmless by the standards of the things I usually deal with.
Like most of the things I found during my years of searching. It started with others who had strange experiences, who had actually been places. With them came impossible objects, things of strange origin or purpose that weren’t from my world.
I started to see strange places, unusual creatures.
Actual magic…
At twelve seconds, I freeze.
There, the man walks into the open, the same long coat, the same broad-brimmed hat.
It looks up at the space where I had been, then turns its head slowly until it’s looking towards me. Its skin flickers slightly, the camouflage easier to see through at this range as its glowing golden gaze sweeps over me.
The strange and otherworldly becomes easy to find when you know where to look.
I started documenting it, recording everything I could. I got so good at finding the strange that eventually people started coming to me…
And not all of them were friendly about it.
The man’s head tilts forward ever so slightly. “Thaumaturgic residue confirmed. Practitioner identified.” Its voice is quiet but grating in the otherwise silent room. Its voice lowers, smoothing itself into something almost warm. “Greetings, Detective Drayven.”
Shit.
I toss the device in my hand and immediately break into a run in the other direction. There’s a bright flash of blue and a whump as the stun crystal goes off, but I don’t stick around to find out if it worked. I sprint straight for the heavy door at the far end of this floor, fumbling for my unlocker. I slam it into place, fingers trembling as I struggle to activate it, just as something heavy lands on the same floor as me.
I turn to see the man standing slowly from a crouched position.
Did it just jump a full story?
Of course it did.
I’ve seen it shrug off bullets, seen it disappear after getting hit by a car. It wouldn’t let something like gravity get in its way.
It doesn’t run. It doesn’t even hurry as it strides towards me and lowers a mechanical length of segmented metal from its sleeve with a steady click-click-click.
The door clicks louder behind me, and I shove it open, falling through it as I hear the sound of a whip crack behind me.
Pain shoots up my side, and I hit the railing of another fire escape, my torch falling to the street below. Damn.
Grunting with effort, I kick the heavy door shut again, slamming it closed. It locks itself once more, the unlocker having done its job.
I haul myself up and start hurrying down the fire escape.
I drop to street level and feel a new wound across my back that wasn’t there before, feel the cold air through the hole in my favourite coat.
Wincing and cursing in annoyance, I hobble across the street.
🚪
My spoon sinks into the stew with a satisfying slurp.
It’s thick, smells amazing, and is full of real chunks of meat and vegetables. As I take a bite, I hum with satisfaction. It’s flavourful, and I feel its warmth settling into me as I swallow it down.
“That good, huh?” Lena says, leaning an elbow on the countertop.
I nod, already taking another spoonful. “Very good.”
It’s not that it’s the best thing I’ve ever had, but it’s hot, tasty, and seems to be warming me up from the inside.
“So, Drayven, was it? What brings you here, hun?” Lena asks after I’ve had a couple of bites.
I nod at my name, then look over at the impossible door I came in by. “An alleyway, apparently.”
“All right, smart-ass,” the dark-furred woman says with a laugh, flicking her tea towel at me. “I meant, what were you doing before?”
I hum thoughtfully. “Getting lost on the way home, actually.”
Lena laughs softly and gives me a nod and a look that says that is incredibly common. “That checks out,” she says as she distractingly wipes down the table with a cloth.
She looks me over with a raised eyebrow, taking in my appearance. “I take it you’ve had a rough trip? A rough night?”
I laugh at the absurdity of the statement, because of course it is an understatement. “You could say that,” I joke.
She leans back, folds her arms over her chest, and gives me a warm smile. “I take it it’s not just the weather, then.” It’s a statement, not a question.
I place my spoon in the bowl and sigh. “Yeah. Work has been… rough,” I admit. “My health hasn’t been great… My…”
I trail off, not wanting to get too personal.
“The weather just summed it all up for me,” I add sarcastically.
Lena studies me for a moment, then leans forward and pats the back of my hand with hers, holding it there. “Troubles come and go, hun. Eat up, rest here for a while.”
She smiles again and gives my hand a warm squeeze. “Let yourself rest.”
She smiles, then turns and heads away to continue her work.
“And chat with some of the locals,” she says over her shoulder. “You might not get another opportunity.”
She walks away as the bartender calls her name, leaving me to my thoughts.
I dig into the meal instead.
By the time I’m finished, I feel warm, inside and out, and satisfied in a way I haven’t felt in weeks.
So, I take Lena’s advice. I order a drink from the Minotaur, who I discover is named Bruno, we discuss payment, then I wander the Bar, introducing myself to people.
I have a very interesting conversation with what appears to be a Harpy, something about her issues with finding a mate when she is worried about flying. I learn an interesting new card game from a man in a black cloak with suspiciously coloured eyes and a tattoo on his chin. But he smiles pleasantly and even lets me win a hand or two. I watch a man with pointed ears and fangs openly trading with strange coins I’ve never seen before. He only buys things that seem interesting, but neither of us knows what they are.
I spend some time upstairs, watching a black-furred woman with the head of a wolf and an eye patch leading a band with some kind of stringed instrument. She sings a song in a language I don’t know, but the vocals resonate in my chest anyway.
I speak with the dwarf and the elf about where they come from, sharing a drink with them, and I laugh.
A lot.
🚪
This is getting serious now.
I duck behind a dumpster in an alley, leaning up against the wall and hiding in as much shadow as I can. I’m just catching my breath when I hear the locked door across the street break open with a metallic groan. Not a sudden bang, or anything like that, but the consistent application of force that bends the frame and pops the lock.
Consistent, just like the thing itself.
But consistent can also be predictable.
I open my coat and take out the last thing I have in my pocket. It’s a small, pale-coloured orb with a seam across its circumference. Again, it’s mostly harmless, just a light source really, functional and simple.
Only, the place I got it from was anything but.
I twist the two halves of the sphere, and it hums to life. I point it down the alleyway, then let it go. It floats away, bobbing slightly like it’s hung by some invisible thread. I have no idea what powers it, but that is what I am counting on.
I lean right against the wall, holding my breath.
There.
Footsteps. The rustle of fabric.
A moment later, the thing stalks by, pursuing the orb as it floats down the alley.
I don’t wait to see what happens. I stand and silently extricate myself, back onto the main road and away from the thing.
I head up the street, then take a left turn.
Away from the thing.
Always away from it.
I turn down another alley and stumble, leaning against the wall for a moment.
I can feel my wounds catching up to me again now that the adrenaline has worn off. I can feel fresh blood down my back. Not a lot, which means the wound isn’t particularly deep. But it stings, which will slow me down, which, now that I think about it, is probably what it was intending to do.
I catch my breath, shove off the wall and press on.
I start checking doors as I head down the alleyway and chuckle to myself as I imagine my assistant and good friend, Shirley, berating me for it.
Mostly because it’s a habit, and I realise bitterly that opening random doors is what got me into this mess in the first place.
After years of searching, of chasing leads and listening to stories, I never did find my way back to the Bar With No Name, but that never stopped me from trying.
Every case, every story, every rumour.
At each one, I tried the doors, but the more I learned of our universe, the more I found, the more I realised just how big it is.
Eventually, I realised that if I was going to find it again, I would have to get creative.
So I put what I had learned to use, and I opened my own door.
I opened a portal.
I knew it wouldn’t take me to the same place. I wasn’t that naive. That wasn’t why I did it.
But the world it took me to was different. Different buildings, neon lights, a beautiful city.
But then that thing saw me.
It said those same words, identifying me, and I knew I had overstayed my welcome.
I ran home.
But it followed.
I stop to look up the alleyway, wondering just how far away it is from me now, if it had already caught the light orb or not.
I check more doors in a hurry, then limp into the next alleyway.
I don’t know how it followed me originally. But I began to see it places. Down side streets, in windows, always watching, observing.
You don’t study the strange and weird for years and not notice patterns.
It was always there, like it was following, studying.
Always blending in just enough that…
There is a crash from the end of the alleyway behind me, and I see it.
That broad-brimmed hat and that long cloak fluttering in the breeze.
I run.
🚪
At some point in the night, I end up sitting back at the bar, having a longer conversation with Lena. She’s genuinely charming and funny, and she doesn’t pry or shy away from questions. Eventually, we end up talking about my life, just little things like my work or my ex.
She doesn’t judge or offer advice.
She just…
Listens.
And it’s nice.
“So what are you going to do next, hun?” she asks, leaning against the bar and sipping her own drink.
I sip my own drink, then tap my fingers on the glass as I set it down. “You know, I genuinely don’t know.” I say it plainly, no sarcasm, but just a hint of amusement.
Lena chuckles. “There’s nothing wrong with not knowing everything, Drayven. You don’t have to know every step before taking the next one.”
I smile at her. “Did you just give me advice?” I tease.
She laughs, a full laugh that colours her cheeks. “I suppose I did.” She downs the rest of her drink and places the glass back on the counter.
“Suppose you will take it?”
I smirk, unable to help the sarcastic reply. “Me? Nah. Never.”
We both laugh, and for a moment I just enjoy it.
Finally, Lena straightens and gives me a genuine smile. “You know we have rooms upstairs if you need a place to rest for the night?” She chuckles. “They aren’t too expensive either.”
I consider her suggestion, but decline politely. “No, thank you,” I say before I finish my own drink. “I appreciate the offer, but I should get home. I have things to do tomorrow.”
I finish my drink before standing and putting on my coat.
Lena smiles and nods in understanding as she gathers our glasses. “Well, in that case, hun, I wish you luck. And if you’re ever in our neck of the woods again, you’re welcome to stop by.”
“Thank you, Lena,” I say genuinely. “This night has been…” I pause, trying to think of the right words. It has been eye-opening, sure, but it has also just been… nice.
“It’s been fun.”
She nods again. “It has. Good night, hun.”
“Good night, Lena.”
She heads off to continue her duties, and I turn and head towards the front door.
I wave to the dwarf and the elf as I pass, and Frisken gives me a nod as I approach.
“Heading home?” the dragon asks simply.
“Yes, finally. As much as I would like to stay, I have to return home at some point.”
Frisken nods thoughtfully. “Fair enough. You take care of yourself.”
I turn and look around at the Bar one last time.
I look over the people I’ve met. I look over at the bar, and over to the staircase that leads downward, possibly to that mysterious hallway, and think about the things I’ve experienced.
Remarkably, I realise that I’m warm, inside and out, and that my cough hasn’t bothered me in hours.
I’m full of warm food, a few drinks, and that warm buzz that comes from feeling full from the experience.
I smile at the dragon. “I will take care.”
And I mean it.
They smile as they open the door for me, and I walk back into the alleyway I had entered from.
As the door clicks shut behind me, I take a moment to just take a deep breath.
It’s still raining, but it doesn’t feel as cold as it once did, and I turn and run my fingers over the door.
It’s still there. Still warm. Definitely not a figment of my imagination.
I pull my coat around me to keep in some of the warmth, and I walk home.
The next day, I walk back to that same alleyway and check the door once again.
I run my fingers over its surface, and I chuckle to myself. It’s no longer warm, and it opens to a random storage space that seems like it has always been there.
But the warmth of that night remains.
I close the door and leave the alleyway behind.
I will find that place again, but first, I have a doctor’s appointment to get to.
🚪
I bounce off the wall, jarring my shoulder in the process as I try to run around the corner.
I stumble but manage to keep upright as I half-run, half-stumble up the joining alleyway.
I hear the thing in humanoid form calling after me, a voice that is far too human.
I ignore it and keep trying to run, taking another corner a little too fast.
I fall, landing in a heap against the wall, and I hear a crunch that was probably my camera. Shirley will kill me for breaking it again, but there is a more pressing concern right now.
I grunt, then push myself back up.
I can’t afford to be caught here.
I don’t know what that thing will do if it catches me, if it will take me somewhere or just end my time right here, but every instinct screams at me that it will be bad.
In the end, it doesn’t matter.
I still have three cases I want to chase up, ones that really have promise. I have that dinner with my ex, that friendly catch-up over coffee we finally got around to scheduling, and it’s Shirley’s birthday next week…
I turn another corner, and another alleyway opens up, filled once again with doors.
I laugh pitifully at myself. It’s been weeks since I actively searched for the Bar With No Name, but the habit of checking doors never left me.
Ironically, now I’m only checking them for a way out.
I hear movement behind me.
Slow. Deliberate.
I run past most of the doors, looking for one that will give me an exit, a light, a sign of people maybe. Anything that will help me get away from this thing, help me keep going.
A sharp crack, and I fall again, an instant pain in my leg.
Shit.
I turn onto my back, crawling away, and there it is, silhouetted against the light, its crackling mechanical whip trailing behind it.
Its glowing eyes fix on me, and the human facade completely drops.
A smooth robotic face stares emotionlessly at me.
It doesn’t speak.
It doesn’t hurry.
It doesn’t have to, and it knows it.
But I don’t.
I refuse.
My hand lands on something solid, and without hesitation I throw it.
The machine cuts it down without breaking stride, but I’m gone, already scrambling down the alley again, my adrenaline keeping me half-running and half-limping forward.
I reach the door at the end of the alley, and as I yank it open, I’m hit with a sudden shift.
A rush of warm air washes over me.
Followed by the familiar scent of stew, the voices of people, and the familiar atmosphere.
I laugh as I begin to collapse.
That’s it. I’m done. This must be a hallucination.
Someone strong catches me as I fall…
I look up to see Frisken holding me upright, concern in their glowing blue eyes. I try to warn them about the thing behind me, but the words don’t come.
Frisken notices anyway. “Absolutely not,” they growl before kicking the door shut.
Just like that, the thing is gone, probably opening a door to an ordinary storeroom.
Someone loops an arm under my shoulder, and I recognise Bruno, his bull horns unmistakable as he all but carries me towards the bar.
Lena is there, looking me over, a worried expression crinkling her ring-pierced nose. She schools it into her familiar self almost immediately. “Well, Drayven, you certainly know how to make an entrance,” she jokes, but I know there’s concern underneath. “I’ll get someone to patch you up.”
I nod, still catching my breath. I remove my hat and place it on the table, running my hands through my hair, shakily. “It’s good to see you, Lena.”
She laughs. “Good to see you too, hun. Can I get you anything? You look like you need a drink… or three.”
I laugh, wincing at the sharp pain in my shoulder. I smile anyway. “Just stew, thanks.”
Lena smiles back at me, already fetching a bowl and putting it on the counter before me. “Of course.”
Someone behind me, Frisken, I think, is tending my wounds, their breath cold on my shoulders.
“Well, look at you,” a familiar voice says from next to me. It’s the dwarf I met last time I was here. “What are you doing with yourself these days?”
I laugh. It feels mundane after what I just survived. “I’m a detective, actually.”
The dwarf laughs, then leans in closer. “Think you’ll look into the hallway with all the doors this time?”
I look over towards the stairway that supposedly leads towards the mysterious hall with all the impossible doors.
Anywhere.
Any when.
“Maybe tomorrow,” I say with a smile, before digging into my stew.
Written and Archived by: Daryl J. Jenkinson
