Thousand-year Door Troubles Novels & Stories

He asked, "Remember this? At Harrowell Library, you were reading by the window. The sun was shining on you, and I thought there wouldn't be anyone in the world as beautiful as you." I snapped the box shut. "The past is the past." "I can't let it go. I just can't," he said, all serious. Rain poured down in Hudson City that night. I figured he would leave, but then security called me way past midnight. "Ms. Douglas, Mr. Carter's still downstairs." I peeked out the window, and there he was—standing in the rain, stubborn as ever. "Let him in." I sighed. He was soaked through when he stood at my door, looking like a total mess.

"Because none of them knew. Because nobody knew. Because the person who knew what the door was and how it worked was imprisoned for three centuries." "And is now here," Claire said. She looked at Mara-Lena. "You can build the door." "I already built it," Mara-Lena said. "I built it three hundred years ago and I built the lock that was supposed to go around it. I built it wrong because I misunderstood what it was for." She held Claire's gaze. "What I need to build now is a door that opens outward. Not a barrier. An exit." "And seal it closed after," Julian said.

it looked exactly like one. At the center of the chamber stood a massive black door. At least fifteen feet tall. Covered in carvings. Ancient symbols twisted across its surface. The same circle symbol appeared again and again. The symbol from the journal. The symbol from the map. The symbol connected to everything. Elyra stared. The door looked impossibly old. Like it had existed longer than the monastery itself. Longer than the guardians. Longer than history. Father Benedict whispered, "The Gate."

His fingers tightened around the pages. He turned another leaf. The same ending. Another. Again. Always the same. His throat suddenly felt dry. "There weren't any survivors." The Guardian lowered his eyes. "No." Lucien stepped closer and leaned over Cassian's shoulder, studying the faded pages. "Hold on." He pointed toward one entry halfway through the journal. "This one says the Door remained closed for twenty-three years." The Guardian nodded. "It did." Cassian looked up sharply. "How?" "He resisted." The answer was simple.

That thought disturbed her more than the thought of something killing in here. They got to the end of the corridor. “What is it with doors? You’d think by now some of these would have fallen apart. Whoever made them would make a mint in our realm. Doors that don’t decay, fall apart, age, warp, and stay balanced on their hinges. Geez.” Tom said. He grumbled and then looked apologetic. “Sorry, in our pack I swear I’m fixing at least one door a week because someone’s forgotten to open or decided they didn’t need to open a door before going through it. I’m not sure which we’ve lost more doors or brain cells with some of our Pack.”

A low tone vibrated through the chamber, as if something beyond the door had just awakened and was listening. Mark lifted his gun. “No one goes near it.” But the compass warmed in Lena’s palm until it burned. The door responded its seam widening by a hair. A breath escaped from inside. Cold. Metallic. Old. Lena whispered, “It’s waiting…” The seam widened again. Harris took a slow step back. “This is wrong. This is wrong. Whatever that first room was, whatever this place is this is deeper. This is… a core.” Mark didn’t look away from the door. “This place was shut down forty years ago.”

There was a stone wall before them. Simon pointed at the stone wall and said, “This is the entrance of the Snow Cavern. A thousand years ago, the Prince of Orchid gathered the world’s best craftsmen and constructed this door. There are security measures installed on this door. No matter how powerful you are, you can never destroy this wall if you don’t know the correct way to unlock it.” Wearing a delighted look on his face, Thomas said, “What are you standing there for? Open it.”

Rolape answered. Then she said again with a loud voice. "This is your wardrobe, keep your things here" pointing to a big green door which Rolape would have confused with the entrance door way. Now that she was looking at those doors, there was three of them, the one that was still opened because they came in through it, the one beside it that seemed to be her cupboard now and a last one at the last part of the room beside the windows at the back of the room. Mrs. Gbenro gave her two copies of keys, one for the room and another for her cupboard each. And she left.

It disappeared and the gates open. “She, does he means Ana or the girl in black?” Van thought. Van and Cara are the first to enter the gates. Kirsten and the rest hesitated, yet no one wants to be left out here with the metal face so they follow with their eyes closed. Van and the rest then emerge into a vast chamber or a void perhaps for there is no floors, walls or ceilings here. There are only doors here, lots and lots of doors floating around like hooded ghosts. Van approaches the nearest one. The door must be more than eight feet tall for it towers above Van’s head. Carved around the decorated knocker is an inscription:

I got out of my room, told the housekeepers to leave, and walked down a dim corridor that looked like it had been abandoned for a long time. There was a wooden door at the end of the dim hallway, but I could tell it was more durable than metal. Unquestionably, the door was constructed from a tree that was 10,000–1,000 years old. The door made a loud creaking noise as I unlocked it and pushed it open. The door was closed as I entered. The atmosphere was nauseatingly foul and it was pitch black. Wise flicked his hands, and fireballs appeared in the air. They gradually increased in number, illuminating the entire space.