Witch Door Novels & Stories

They let me know they were still tracking me with a couple of yipping giggles, once or twice coming close to take a swipe at my exposed legs. A couple of well-placed hits with my duffle only seemed to piss them off more, and I picked up the pace, heart hammering away. The cold was nipping at my limbs, my breath fogging, as I took turn after turn, hoping to lose them. I was twelve blocks away from my apartment but only five from the Cruz household. I'd hate to drag them into this, but they were the very few individuals who had a warded door. Made of solid wild Hawthorn blessed with salted holy water complete with a mixed silver and iron handle made in the shape of a pentagram.

Every breath we took sounded too loud. At the end of the corridor stood the final door. Thicker than the others, with multiple locks. I swiped the keycard again. This time it required a six-digit code. My hands shook as I entered my wedding date once more. The locks released with a series of mechanical clicks that echoed down the hall. The door swung open slowly, revealing the heart of Victor’s hidden empire.

This time, when I checked, there were strange signs. I turned the door. It didn't close. The top-right corner of the cabinet frame was split open. The crack had eaten deep into the wood, twisting the entire frame. The door brushed against one side and then popped out, leaving a clear gap. The hinges were still intact, but nothing held them in alignment anymore. "Shit!" I stopped immediately and called out, "David. I need you." David, who was checking something on his computer, stood up immediately. He walked straight over to me.

The windows were tall and narrow, adorned with thick velvet curtains in deep burgundy that swayed slightly in the gentle breeze, suggesting a world of mystery held just behind the glass. I paused for a moment, my breath hitching in my throat. This wasn’t merely a staff quarters; it felt like a home built for someone of significance, a place that hinted at a life of comfort and refinement. The wooden door, heavy and ornate, welcomed me with a sense of grandeur. I pushed it open, and the hinges creaked softly, announcing my arrival.

It crashes to the tile. I drag it to the bedroom door. I wedge the corner of the bathroom door into the crack. A lever. I brace my feet against the wall. I pull with everything I have. CRACK. The frame shatters. The deadbolt rips free of the dry rot. The bedroom door swings open. I sprint down the hallway. It’s empty. Ghostly. I fly down the stairs, skipping steps, my hand sliding down the railing. The clubhouse is silent. Eerily silent.

I move swiftly up the stairs, wanting the element of surprise when I reach the witches. I’m careful not to make a sound. Once at the top, I groan when I see the door is closed, ruining my chance for a silent entrance. I listen but don’t hear movement directly behind this door, so I slowly turn the handle and the door slides open silently. I open it only enough for me to peer out. Seeing nothing, I inch it open so I can stick my entire head through and look around. No one is in the room, so I push through the door, closing it behind me.

I tell her. Loosening the air weaves enough for her to sit, I also release the elements holding the door closed. As the wall of earth moves away, the door falls completely off. They must have busted it off of the hinges trying to get inside. With my wall of earth there it could not move so they still were unable to get in. There are five witches standing in the doorway as I look up at them. They all stare at me with eyes wide when they see that Morden has been crying and I am completely unharmed. Smiling, I turn to Morden to see what she is going to say.

As they wandered, absorbing the scenery, they successfully charted the entrances and exits on the main level of the house. As they ascended the stairs, they surveyed the rooms to gauge the situation. Encountering three locked doors, one witch attempted a spell to unlock them but was interrupted by a guard. She feigned confusion, claiming it was her first day and she was in search of the restroom. The guard, indifferent, directed her accordingly.

Like the entrance to a tomb. She reached the double doors, their dark, polished wood seeming to absorb the faint moonlight filtering in from the high windows. The brushed-steel keypad next to the handle glowed with a faint, malevolent green light. It was the only sign of life in the entire wing. Okay. The card. He said to slide it along the seam. Just like he showed me on the practice lock in the boathouse. Easy. You did it twenty times. Her hand shook as she pulled the thin black card from her pocket. It felt flimsy, a pathetic piece of plastic against the solid wood and steel.

Thea asked the maid, who seems to be hesitant. "There is an issue with one of the doors in the west wing your highness. I don't know if I should trouble you with this or not" the maid replied with respect. "It's ok, you can tell me anything. It's not a trouble at all. Don't worry, now tell me what is it?" Thea encouraged the maid. "As we always did, we were cleaning the mansion this morning. The door of one of the rooms in the west wing is locked. We tried to open it, but it's not opening" the maid hesitated again.