John Peters, you know, the farmer? He reports finding an old oak door standing unsupported by any other structure out in the scrub lands. He says he’s sure it wasn’t there yesterday, or pretty sure, anyway. As sure as he can be since the accident. Apparently there is knocking from the door, as if there were someone from some other side that does not exist in our narrow, fragile reality trying to get in.
He has added several deadbolts and chains to the door on both sides, unsure as to which direction the door opens, which is, by the way, a huge design flaw. One should always know which way a door opens merely by looking at it, if the designer has done their job, and this holds true whether it’s a bank of glass doors at the mall, or an unspeakably old wooden door leading to other worlds than these.
John, meanwhile, says he will keep a sleepless vigil upon the door, as any sleep merely leads to dreams of blurry shapes in the dim distance, advancing, hissing, upon this vulnerable planet. He also says the imaginary corn is coming in real good, and we should have a nice crop to choose from soon, especially now that it will be available for sale at the Green Market.