His spirits were buoyed when they turned off the forest trail and saw the familiar outline of the cliffside. Senta-eh’s young archers were practicing without her, but abandoned that and ran to them shouting her name as soon as they saw her.
To most in the tribe, Lanta-eh and Alex were heroes. The young archers only had eyes for Senta-eh.
Sekun-ak met them at the base of the cliffs. Alex did not wait for him to ask, but simply said, “No. There was nothing to help.”
Alex remembered the knife and book he had carried back and handed them both to Sekun-ak.
Sekun-ak held the diary briefly and handed it back to Alex, completely uninterested. He spent more time on the knife. He ran his finger along the still-sharp edge of the blade, held it up so it glinted in the afternoon sun, weighed it in his hand.
“Is it stama?” Alex asked.
“No,” Sekun-ak said. “But maybe I am getting soft-headed in my old age.” He handed the knife back to Alex.
Alex turned the horses over to a young boy who was dancing with eagerness to help Manta-ak.
He retreated to the cool comfort of their little cabin and sat at their table while Senta-eh reclined on the bed.
“What is that?” she asked.
“It’s a story. It’s just like what we do when we tell our stories around the fire, but it is put in this form so that the same story will be told exactly the same way tomorrow and the day after.”
“I think I like our way better. A hunter’s kill grows every time he tells the tale.”
Alex laughed. “That is true. Do you want me to read it to you?”
She considered. “No. I did not like what I felt in that cave. I do not think I want to know any more of that story.”
“You are a smart woman,” Alex said, then opened the book.
My name is Zachary Moorcock. This is how we came to be in this strange land.
Alex riffled through the pages and saw that most of them were blank.
I have come to regret the moment I found the black door in the forest. I regret even more that I ever stepped through it. I have killed us all.
It was a hard winter, food was scarce, and I was in the forest hunting for anything to add to our pot. That was when I first saw it. It looked so out of place that I first fled from it. Something pulled me back, as though I was Johnny spying a train set in a shop window.
No matter what direction I turned, my own feet betrayed me and brought me back to it again and again. It was freezing cold that day and maybe that’s why I stepped through the door. Hoping, perhaps, to just find a spot of warmth.
I don’t know who, if anyone, will ever find these words. If they were from the time we left behind, they would never believe it. They would think me mad or trying to write a story as has never before been written.
If there is anyone in this new place, I have not discovered them. If I did, I doubt they would be able to read these scratchings I leave behind. Still, it is what we all desire. To be heard, to be remembered.
When I stepped through the door, I was rewarded with sunshine and warmth like I had not known in many months. I turned in panic, for fear that my entrance to this incredible bounty might have disappeared as I passed through it. I needn’t have feared, though. It remained, as out of place here as it was in the woods behind our house.
I admit I stood there and warmed myself for a time before I felt guilty and stepped back through. Just like that, I was back in the harsh Oregon winter. It was as though I had dreamed what was on the other side of the door.
In fact, that’s exactly what I thought.
I hurried back to the house and made Annie and the kids dress up warm and follow me into the woods. They thought I had gone crazy. I could tell. But they came with me.
When we all walked through the door, it was like Christmas had come again. Johnny and Alice threw their winter coats off and spun ‘round and ‘round. Annie took off her winter hat and turned her face up to the warm sunshine like it was a gift.
I got a bad feeling, though, and made us all bundle up and go back home. It was a harsh reality to step from that warmth to the snowy cold again. We walked back home, but all of us kept looking over our shoulders at that dark door.
The rest of that day, it felt like I couldn’t make our little house warm, no matter how much wood I put in the stove. I knew right then I’d made a mistake. I never should have stepped through the door, and I damned sure shouldn’t have brought my family through.
I apologize for my language. There is no call for that.
The next morning, it felt like we were each other’s warden. We kept a keen eye on each other to make sure none of us slipped off to warm ourselves in that sunshine.
As much as I hate to say, it was me that first said, “Maybe we should just go through and spend a day there. Just a little break from the cold. That’s all we need.”
I regret those words more than anything else because that’s exactly what we did. We packed ourselves what little food we had in the cupboard and walked through the door. We spent the day in the sunshine. While Annie and I watched the kids playing, we hatched the plan that would kill us all.
Before we found the door, we could pretend like we were doing
