I was walking on the side- walk briskly and excitedly. A wee bit anxious too, because I really, really did not want to miss this event and was really looking forward to it. As such what options I had now with me where limited. So I did not really want to loose what little available option I had. In spite of walking fast I was annoyingly trailing behind my family members as they all ran towards the the Royal York Crescent in the the fascinating city of Bristol. So it came really as a surprise to find that at one particular point my feet began to drag and started to become a little heavy. No, it was not fatigue, as we had driven down the road all over the Blackboy Hill, down to the Whiteladies road and finally parked the car in a residential area where we had found the parking with a bit of difficulty as it was jam packed almost every where. So there was no fatigue, yet my feet dragged as if they were pulled by some magnetic force.
Finally I paused, not by choice but almost forced to pause; and found myself standing in front of a small knob-less mahogany wooden door. It stood isolated and embedded in a slate colored stone wall. The door was small and old but exuded a lot of personality. It had a strange magnetic power and was inviting. Hesitatingly I took in the cow webs settled along the hinges and the missing doorknob. Apparently the door had not been opened for years, and I’m a curious cat. I put one foot forward and there was a rustle and a crackling sound as I stepped on the rubble of dry rust leaves and twigs embracing the entrance. I shivered with the sudden sound but notwithstanding edged closer. And then there was a heavy hand on my shoulder! Thud! With a strong jerk I shrugged my shoulders impulsively and almost screamed before looking into the amused and rather puzzled face of my husband. ” What do you think you’re doing? Trying to enter that door without permission would be called trespassing, don’t you know that? You should in fact be extra careful, considering that you are a tourist here”
I was still trying to regain my senses, when he slowly led me away from that door.”Darling if you walk at this speed you are sure going to miss that Balloon Festival you have have been looking forward to all this time. As such we are already late”. (continued)
“Hmm”, I murmured weakly and followed him meekly. Should I, should I not, my mind debated with my heart. One last glance, just once I thought and turned my head to look back at the door one last time and gauge what treasures (or horrors) it held. But I saw nothing, as we had left it far behind. For an instant I felt like going back to check on that door, but then I had second thoughts. I definitely was a tourist there and ought to behave properly.
The mystery haunts me even today, long after I have returned from my trip. Maybe I lost my chance of an entry into Alice’s Wonderland or a garden of enchantment or contrarily was saved from the mistake of opening a Pandora’s box (door in this case). The mystery continues…in my mind…
Have you ever felt anything similar. What do you think was behind that door?
Image Credits: Cover image (Mystery Door)- Clicked by author (Ritu Nanda)
Royal York Crescent image – Google images
Balloon festival – http://www.bristol.ac.uk/city/festivals.html
Balloons in flight – Clicked by author (Ritu Nanda)