Oh; this is not what you expected to see on the other side of the door.

You thought maybe a bedroom tucked under the eaves, or a bathroom with a claw foot tub—you thought, even, a closet, its shelves full of disused linens.

You did not think attic, crossbeams barring your way, a sea of insulation spread out before you.

Your aunt’s attic comes to you then, its worn wood floors, boxes lining the walls as you walked, arms out, fingers trailing through the dust there.

Or was it your aunt—it could have been grandmother, or cousin, or friend of a friend.

There are so many parts of your life as it was that have blurred together, and you do not know how long you have been here, in this world of doorways and owls and talking cats.

But you know that there was a before, even if its edges have grown hazy, a low-grade fog sulking in your mind.

From behind the door at your back, you hear the low call of an owl, before talons scrabble against the knob.

Can an owl’s talons turn a doorknob?

You don’t stop to find out.

You wade through the insulation, the door growing smaller at your back.

Thank you for spending time inside The Reverie. If you’re feeling brave, and don’t mind ghosts following you through the halls, you’re invited to dive further into the dream. You can also enter your email below to ensure new hauntings find their way to your inbox.

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