The Open Door

It was a quiet morning in our neighborhood. The sun smiled across our home and a light breeze was present. Nobody could have thought that, in the next few hours, the unthinkable could happen.

I walked out of my house to take a morning stroll. I walked across the town square, past the roads, past the mall, all the way to the old museum. About a decade ago, the museum used to be the town's tourist attraction. One day, on a stormy night, a girl broke into the museum. Nobody ever saw her again. Ever since, the museum has been closed to the public.

But today was different. As I gazed upon the rusty walls of the building, something caught my eye. The locked door was open. It was not possible. The door never opens. It's always been kept locked. Always.

My foremost instinct was to run to the first person I could find and tell them. I ran to the mall, went to a shopkeeper, and told them. He didn't believe me. I decided to go home and tell my parents. I was an honest kid, so my parents decided to see for themselves. But they were sorely disappointed; the door had closed. They told me that lying was not a good thing, and went back home.

I growled in frustration. I decided I would sneak out tonight and see if it was open. I was correct in my assumption. The door was open, and I felt like it was calling me. Slowly but steadily, I walked through the door and into the abandoned museum.