Written By: N.Z.Thorne PRELUDE: CHANGE A nine year old girl, sat on a large tree stump in a lush, green meadow. She wore a blue sundress, and her long, wavy black hair was held back by a single snap clip that kept her bangs out of her eyes. She sat there, seemingly upset and crying.
Written By: N.Z.Thorne
PRELUDE: CHANGE
A nine year old girl, sat on a large tree stump in a lush, green meadow. She wore a blue sundress, and her long, wavy black hair was held back by a single snap clip that kept her bangs out of her eyes. She sat there, seemingly upset and crying.
“That’s very rude of you, Rebecca, to keep us all waiting here for you.”
Through the blur of her tears, she saw only a pair of tan slacks and a crisp white dress shirt.
When the face came into focus, she saw a man with black hair that was buzzed short, with a rugged jawline that didn't quite match the weary sympathy in his eyes. He said something low and steady, but the words couldn't cut through her grief. Rebecca instead turned away, her shoulders shaking, making it clear that his kindness was a bridge she was not ready to cross.
“Rebecca I’m talking to you… your mom and brothers are all ready to go back home.”
She lowered her head; tears streamed from her eyes and soaked into the grass below. The man gazed at her with a look of concern on his face.
“Why…?”
Rebecca said, as she clenched her fists tight, “Dad… why do we have to do this? Why do we have to move away?” Her dad looked at her, heartbroken about her sadness.
“Hun, I told you why—it’s because I got promoted to a new position at my job… And that new position is in New York. Tha—”
BASH!!
She cascaded her fist down against the tree stump. While more tears fell onto the grass in greater volume.
“IT’S NOT FAIR! All my friends are here! My school is here… Grandma and Grandpa are here!... It’s not fair…” Her father walked up and took a seat next to her on the tree stump.
“I know that this happened all so suddenly. And that change can be scary. This is, after all, a big change…” He placed his hand on her back to comfort her as she wept.
“Listen, Squeaker, change hurts. It makes people feel insecure, confused, angry even. People want things to be the same as they've always been, because that makes life easier. But life is not easy. Change means moving forward; you can’t cling to the past, it will only keep you chained down.”
Rebecca listened closely as her father spoke, the tears eased as they came to a slow flow. In that moment, it wasn’t clear to her whether she felt better because she understood what her father was saying or simply because of the comforting tone of his voice.
“Change is hard because people overestimate the value of what they have and underestimate the value of what they may gain by giving that up. One day you’ll understand the meaning behind these words.”
She looked up at her father, who then embraced her tightly. The safe, warm feeling of her father calmed her in that moment.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Rebecca said as her tears fell onto his dress shirt.
“You won’t be alone on this journey; I’ll be right there with you, always.”
He stood up, and she followed suit. Rebecca grabbed her father’s hand, and held it firmly as they walked off into the field, toward the buildings in the distance.
AT DEATH’S DOOR'S
The sound of footsteps on a tiled surface echoed through a room, “It’s time to wake up, Rebecca.”
A voice hit like a shovel against gravel; it was low, abrasive, and heavy with authority. On the black-and-white expanse of checkered tile, her deep forest green dress looked like a patch of moss against the earth. She didn't move until the command came. When it did, her eyelids fluttered, her silver-waved hair fanned out across the cold marble floor as she finally opened her eyes. She attempted to push herself off the floor and into a sitting position but struggled to do so.
Her entire body felt like jelly; she lacked the strength to rise. After a short while, however, She managed it.
Her vision sharpened, and the fog in her mind cleared, making her increasingly aware of her surroundings. The sight before her eyes shocked her; she couldn't. Recall how she'd arrived in the room, that she now found her self in.
“Ah, I see you’ve finally come to,” an elderly man’s voice said, emanating from her left side.
AAAAEHHHHH!!
As quickly as a bullet, she shot toward the direction of the sound; a man to her left loomed over her. Appearing almost as a white-haired giant, dressed in a tie the color of fresh crimson blood wrapped around a funeral-black suit that made his skin look unnervingly translucent, like parchment stretched over bone. He couldn’t have been older than sixty-five, yet he radiated a terrifying, predatory aura. He leaned into her space, peering into her soul almost as if he were searching for something, with his bright, glassy amber eyes that caught the light like the glint of a wolf’s in headlights on a dark night.
His weight was supported by a cane as he leaned forward; it was topped with a golden skull that seemed to grin along with him. He didn't just stand over her; he eclipsed her. She tried to speak, but her voice had died out in her throat, leaving her paralyzed under his iridescent, unblinking stare.
“Well, come on then. Get on your feet. I don’t have all day; I’ve got a quota to meet.”
He said, as he tapped the top of his golden skull with his fingertips. The old man’s impatience resonated with her, accompanied by an aura of despair and malice. As she rose to her feet, she experienced a sensation of weightlessness.
“Where am I? A—And who are you? How did I get here!?”
Questions flooded her mind as her thoughts cleared. Followed by panic and fear that began to grip her, fueled by the anticipation of what the old man might have said. It was the dread of facing the reality of her fate that gripped her soul tightly, like a blanket of pins and needles.
“Where are you? You don’t know? Where do you think you are? A small room with two doors and an old man in black.”
He said this, sweeping his right arm over the room to showcase their environment, while his other hand resumed its rhythm on the golden skull of his cane. Rebecca’s gaze ascended the walls after being prompted by the man in black. Discovering a room that defied all logic, it was claustrophobic in size but somehow dizzying in its height. The ceiling extended and vanished into a darkness far beyond the reach of pale light. Only the glinting eyes of a massive dragon head sculpted from marble adorned the center of the ceiling.
The black-and-white checkered floor underneath her felt like a cold spider's web that had ensnared her. The marble walls were alive with scenes of violence and worship, carvings deep-set and ancient that depicted angels locked in a savage, eternal war with shadows; a leviathan rising from a stone sea to guard a threshold; and men kneeling before a figure crowned in a blinding sun-halo.
Then her sight was drawn to the center of the room, where, between massive marble pillars, two doors stood like the gates of a forgotten empire; their heavy timber was etched with symbols that felt far too large for human hands to have carved. It was unlike anything she had ever witnessed in her whole life. And for whatever reason, her gaze kept being drawn to the left door, unable to settle on the right.
“Why would I know where I am? I just woke up here. What even is this place?.. The last thing I remember is that I was in—”
CLINK!
The old man lifted his cane and brought it down with little force; an intrusive, all-encompassing chime followed, causing Rebecca to pause in her recall.
“Ah yes, you were in where?” The old man asked, as a slight grin appeared across his face.
“I was in the street…”
Droplets of sweat formed on her forehead, as sharp quick snippets of images flashed before her eyes, memories of something that once was, but were now no more.
“Go on,” The old man said while staring at her intensely.
“I was crossing the street; the bus stop was on the other side...” The hairs on the back of her neck and arms began to rise as she continued, “I had to make it there before the next one arrived; otherwise, I would have been late for my meeting.”
The old man clutched the golden skull of his cane tightly, “Yes… That’s it.”
Her throat began to dry up, feeling like the cracked ground of a dry desert, “ It was on a busy New York afternoon, numerous buses, cars, and bike couriers cluttered the street. It was raining that day, making it more difficult to navigate than usual…”
The old man's grin grew more intense, “And then th..th…” She lacked the will to continue her dialogue; it was as if her body were trying to protect her from herself.
“The what?”
His smile was now as wide as can be, to the point where it become uncannily frightening.
“The bus...” Her heart began to beat uncontrollably, as if it were to burst out of her chest, “As I was crossing the street, a bus on a different route approached. I couldn't see it... The heavy rain obscured everything in sight. And...”
Her eyes widened as she come to the horrifying realization of what had happened to her that day, “The bus hit me… dead on…” Rebecca fell to her knees, “I…I’m dead…” Tears stream down her face as she stared blankly into the void of her mind.
“Yes. Very good! If you don’t remember Death, then Death reminds you to do so,” The old man’s words resonated with Rebecca, for death itself reminded her of the harsh reality of her current circumstances. The uncanny smile on the old man’s face dissolved into a stern expression.
CLINK!
He once again drove the end of his cane against the black-and-white checkered tile floor, prompting her to pay attention.
“Now then, back to business. As you can see, there are two doors before you. It is my responsibility to ensure that you choose one. Are you with me so far, lady?”
Rebecca looked up at the old man in black. His reflective amber eyes bored into her soul as he stared back at her studiously. The intensity was almost enough to deter her from challenging his authority, and yet she had never been one to comply with such a thing.
“Why?”
The old man tilted his head to the side, like an animal when trying to understand something.
“Why what?” He retorted.
“Why do I have to choose? Why does it matter? Why does anything matter anymore? I’m already dead; what’s the point in these asinine games?”
Haha! Hahaha!!
The old man erupted in laughter, leaving her with a crippling sense of unease.
CLINK!
The laughter disappeared as quickly as it came. The old man’s face, was now serious as his gaze fixed on her.
“It doesn’t matter to me whether or not you understand; this is just my job. I only need to make sure that you pick a door and go through it, and that’s all,” he said without breaking eye contact, his expression unyielding.
Rebecca, taken aback by the old man’s constant abrupt changes in demeanor, hesitated to speak and felt compelled to obey him. However, being true to herself, she knew she couldn’t comply. It would be a betrayal of her own self. She was sixty-five at the time of her death and had not built a career as a successful businesswoman by being obedient and compliant.
The feelings she'd experienced since awakening in the white marble room were a stark contrast to her true self. She resolved to embrace and draw on the no-nonsense, take-charge individual she had always been. She then rose from the floor and composed herself before she proceeded to address the old man in black.
“First of all it’s rude to know one’s name, when the person you are talking to doesn’t know Yours,” She said while fixing her dress and making sure that everything was all in place.
“And second why do I have to pick a door? Which one is the right one to pick?”
“Hahaha!! Very good haha!!”
CLINK!
The old man’s cane collided with the tiles beneath it yet again, resonating like a judge’s gavel in court, attempting to restore order in the room.
“Your people have many names for me: Grim Reaper, Fairy Man. I am, and have been, the reaper of wayward souls for millennia—since the dawn of time itself.”
The old man's eyes gleamed brightly, and everything around him darkened as he spoke. Rebecca felt cold, overwhelmed by a sense of impending doom.
“Call me what I am, as my father made me. From the beginning of this game of life, I have been its game over. Call me what I bring: Death is the only thing I know.”
She felt as if her very soul was being drained, teetering on the brink of extinction like a flame flickering on a candle in the wind. Her eyes fluttered as darkness began closed in.
CLINK!
The sound of the room’s mediator made itself known throughout the space, fully reigniting her soul as Death’s presence and aura return to its baseline.
“And second, I can’t tell you which door you should go through. I can only tell you what’s behind them; it’s up to you to choose one.”
Rebecca, now aware of the scale of Death’s power, hesitated now to push back at all. However, she realized that, as he said earlier, he only needed to make sure that she picks a door and goes through it. He wouldn’t be doing his job very well by destroying a soul. With that thought in mind, she crosses her arms.
“Ok then, so what’s behind them?” She said with an annoyed tone in her voice.
“Your fated destiny. Behind the door to your left is a sort of restart. If you go through it, you will be reborn into the same life path and time period you left behind.”
A grin yet again appeared on Death’s face, “But since you will not retain your memories and experiences thus far...” His grin stretched as he spoke, “You will go through your life in the exact same way you did the first time, which will ultimately lead you back to this point. It’s the reason why many people experience déjà vu.”
Death continued the rhythmic beat of his fingers atop the golden skull of his cane; the sound clashing against its gold surface pealed throughout the room. It felt as if it were escalating in frequency by the second, “It’s just people who have all gone through the left door, living out their lives again.”
Funnily enough, an overwhelming sense of déjà vu and dread encompassed her entire being as Death explained this, “As for the door to the right” that represents renewal—a sort of reincarnation. Should you walk through that door, you will be born into another time and life.”
His grin transformed into a crooked smile that appeared carved across his face by a blunt knife, while his gaze and posture remained steady, “Born into a different family, with different gender and personality, the person you are now will eventually fade away, making way for a completely new version of yourself.”
Rebecca glanced down at her hands; there was no doubt that they were old, withered, and felt heavy. Like borrowed old equipment that had been well past its expiration date. The idea of being young again was tempting, but it didn't feel right. The thought of hitting a reset button was panic-inducing, as she would lose the last four decades of memories, hardship, and experiences; stripping away the years wouldn't just mean regaining her youth; it would mean losing the only version of herself that she truly respected. And to restart would mean losing herself entirely, never to be the person she had always been from her perspective again. The thought of this was, to her, even worse than death itself.
“Why is it like this?…” Rebecca clenched her fists tightly, “What kind of sick joke is this? Is this really what lies at the end of the road?”
Death remained still, like a statue carved from the very marble that inhabited the room. His weight rested comfortably on his skull-topped cane. He peered at her with an unbreakable stare; there was no judgment in it, only a relentless, quiet observation. It was like she had been shouting at the sea; no matter how much heat she threw his way, he remained cold and unmoved.
“Instead of an actual destination to an afterlife, it’s just a crossroads with either path leading to a never-ending cycle of death, rebirth, and reincarnation! …” Rebecca shook violently as she yelled at Death and everything in the universe.
“This is just how it has always been and always will be. Life is called life for a reason—you have to live it. Perhaps our creator finds entertainment in watching you and your kind play out your lives like a TV show, with every human soul as a channel. And who doesn’t like watching reruns?”
An angry expression spread across Rebecca’s face at Death’s words, they only confirmed to her that the human race was merely just cheap entertainment to some kind of creator god. It angered her to her core.
“Hey now, why are you mad at me? It’s just the same thing I’ve told you the last times we’ve met here. I suppose the part of your soul that remembers each visit here doesn’t recall that tidbit. Interesting.”
“What did you say?!” The question was instinctive, a desperate attempt to buy time while her mind scrambled to reject the notion of what she heard. But the truth was already taking hold, the implications unspooled before her like a fast-moving shadow, darkening everything she thought she knew.
“Or remember our past conversations rather. But yes, you’ve been here before, many times, and you’ve always chosen the left door without fail each time,” His words cut through her like a scolding knife through butter.
“I’ve just…been doing this over and over again!?”
Her gaze remained fixed on the left door; her mind recognized its familiar grain of wood. Why was she so tethered to it? A thought that ran through her mind, possibly a thousand times over by now. The left door pulled at her, like metal against a magnet. It represented a loop, the life she had lived a thousand times and would live a thousand more, blissful in her ignorance. An ignorance she wished to maintain.
But the right door loomed like a depressing dark void. It was a great unknown destination. Crossing that threshold meant casting out her current self and discarding every memory that gave her a name. It was more than a new path; it was a new channel entirely, a different broadcast of a life she wasn't sure she was ready for.
“Why must you do this same old song and dance? You know which door you’ll choose. You’re too afraid of the unknown to choose anything different from what you know,” Death said with a cheeky grin plastered across his face—a grin Rebecca had grown tired of.
Anger filled her as she noticed it. Being toyed with was something she was not accustomed to, especially as the owner of a multi-million-dollar corporation. She was the one who did the toying—or so she thought.
“Yeah, and how do I know you’re telling the truth? What if both doors are bullshit, or you’re just trying to trick me into going through the door you want me to? How do I know that this really isn’t my first time here!?” She said to Death with an expression that was a mixture of fear and anger.
CLINK!
The gavel of the room sounded off throughout the space and reverberated through the ground, demanding that order be maintained. His expression, neutral and authoritative, his amber eyes fixed on her. She complied with the demand for order, her anger still burned within her, but fearing that she may have overstepped, she held her tongue.
“And if I were lying, how would that help you? I don’t think you fully understand your situation here. There are three types of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics,” Death said, counting off the three lies he stated on his fingers, “Being able to distinguish between a statistic and a lie still wouldn’t help you in this situation, I’m afraid,”
“Oh yeah? And why is that exactly?”
That same old rhythmic thumping sound once again appeared as Death rapped his fingers against the gold skull-adorned cane before answering her question.
“For just because something isn’t a lie does not mean it isn’t deceptive. A liar knows he is lying, but one who speaks partial truths to deceive is a true craftsman of destruction,” the sickening crooked grin loomed on his face as if it were an entity of its own glaring at her as he spoke.
“So by your logic, I could have been strategically leading you toward the leftt door all along. You see, it doesn’t matter—lie or no lie. At the end of the day, you still have to choose a door of your own free will.”
Rebecca was speechless, having not considered the possibility that he may have been leading her repeatedly to the left door all along.
“But as I said, you are dead, and you have been here before. These are merely the statistics. After all, you have experienced déjà vu—I know it, you know it—which, as I said, is you remembering your past go-around; there is no denying it.”
Deep down, she knew he had been telling the truth—a truth that she refused to acknowledge fully. She felt a constricting tether of fear, which coiled tightly around the neck of the only life she knew. The right door was a gamble, and she wasn't a gambling person. To her, it seemed like a blank slate, wiped too clean. She didn't want to become a new channel. She was terrified that a step through the right door would mean dousing the spark that made her who she was, leaving behind only an alien soul to look out at the world, while the person she used to be slowly faded away into the stardust of the cosmos.
“If you choose the left door, you’ll wake up in the same normal world you’ve always known. And this will all be but a dream.”
He gripped the golden skull tightly, gaining great satisfaction from watching souls disappear over their options. Rebecca knew he was right: the only option she had, was always the left door. It was the safest choice; after all, she knew what lay behind it—it was nothing new to her. The other door was just too risky. Going through it would mean leaving things up to chance.
Without a word, she began toward the left door. All of her thoughts and old memories rushed through her mind. A combination of anxiety and despair washed over her, the closer she came to the door. She stood at the threshold, reaching out her hand for its golden handle and grasped it firmly.
A dark, predatory delight lit up Death’s face; he looked like a man watching a masterpiece reach its crescendo. She turned it clockwise; the slight click of the door untethering from the frame sounded; her fate was a fraction of an inch away; and then, like a lightning strike. A thought entered her mind as an intrusion. A flash of something she hadn’t lived, at least not in her current go-around, accompanied by a pain so blinding it felt like an ice pick hammered into her temple. Then everything went white.
She let go of the door handle; her hands snapped to her head as the agony surged. Across from her, the predator’s mask slipped. In the sudden silence of her scream, the hunger in Death’s eyes flickered out. For the first time in a very long time, he looked unsettled, the master of the domain suddenly unsure of his guest.
“This is new…”
Through the excruciating pain of her mind, she witnessed a hazy scene unfold like a video clip in front of her eyes. A bathroom was illuminated by the warm light of several candles. Before a fogged mirror stood an old woman; it was Rebecca, but somehow different from the version she knew herself to be. She leaned in, her eyes deadlocked, peering into the reflection as if she could see straight through the mirror and into the current Rebecca’s very soul. As if desperately trying to convey a message.
“Listen, I know that you’re scared, but you can’t keep doing this to yourself. We’ve done this so many times; there’s nothing wrong with change. It means moving forward; you can’t cling to the past, it will only keep you chained down.”
The present-day Rebecca, receiving the message, felt the warmth and comfort of familiar words from a time and place long gone.
“It’s all a part of life; everything changes at some point. It’s time we make that change and end this madness of following the same old safe life path. So please, Rebecca, don’t go through the left door again. As Dad once said, Change is hard because people overestimate the value of what they have and underestimate the value of what they may gain by giving that up.”
And with the message relayed, the ice pick-like sensation withdrew. A blinding light from behind her eyelids faded into a dull ache; the memory that traveled through time and space didn't leave, it merely came into focus, weaving itself into the fabric of her identity until the transition was seamless. It wasn't just a memory anymore; it was a part of her own cognition that she finally recognized and now made a part of herself.
“I’m right… it’s time.”
A subtle smile appeared on her face, recalling the words she had said to herself—or rather, the words her father had once spoken to her. She composed herself before, without another word, making her way across to the right door.
“Well now this is unexpected…” A look of disappointment was prevalent across Death’s face, as he watched her walk towards the other door.
She stood in front of the right door, and reached out grasping the handle. Thoughts of whether she was making the right decision or acting too rashly raced through her mind. However the time for doubt had burned away. This was the choice she had been circling for lifetimes and was now a choice she was ready to make.
Rebecca took one last breath and pulled the door towards her. Light surged as it spilled into the room, with a blinding white sheen that swallowed everything in sight. It felt like a physical embrace. Like the warmth of a summer afternoon, a silent promise that called out to her soul.
“There is nothing more deceptive than an obviously false statistic. Well done, you’ve beaten me.”
Death’s face fell, the hunger in his eyes replaced by a grim, silent nod of acknowledgment. He stepped back.
“On to the next one.”
He melted away into the darkness until he was one with the shadows of the room, as if he was never there. Rebecca crossed over the threshold, surrendering to the white void, and as she did, the door swung shut with a heavy, thunderous thud. The chamber stood empty and pristine, just a hollow box of marble and tile. The two doors stood like sentinels, holding their breath, waiting in absolute silence for the next arrival.
The veil of light that had consumed her began to thin, the warmth transitioned into a crisp, mid-afternoon breeze. As her foot landed on the other side of the threshold, the world snapped into focus. She wasn't standing on marble, but on a lush, vibrant meadow. Far off on the horizon, glass spires of a city reached for a flawless sky. Rebecca looked down, and noticed the weightless flutter of a blue sundress she had now been wearing. When she reached out to touch it’s fabric, she froze. The hands that gripped the garment weren't the gnarled, parchment-thin claws she had known for decades. The skin was smooth over her knuckles, glowing with a vitality she had not seen in decades. She pressed her palms to her cheeks, searching for the deep-set canyons of her wrinkles, but found only the supple, firm contours of her thirty-year-old self.
“I was wondering when you’d show up.”
A familiar voice coming from behind her made itself known, one she hadn't heard in what felt like more several lifetimes. It cut through the quiet rustle of the grass, striking a chord in her memory like fire on a match—a match that hadn't been ignited in a very long time. She quickly spun around and saw, standing just a few feet away, a man who looked as though he had walked out of a time machine. He appeared to be in his early thirties, his dark hair cut short and combed neatly. He looked sharp yet casual in a crisp white shirt and tan khakis. He stood there as a ghostly memory of her past made solid in the midday sun.
“That’s very rude of you, Rebecca, to keep us all waiting for so long.”
Her eyes begin to well up as she realized the reality of what was happening and the real truth behind the right door.
“Dad!…”
Tears stream down her face like waterfalls as she struggles to hold herself together. Her father approached and embraces her tightly.
“I told you that I’d always be here for you… I’ve missed you so much, squeaker.”
He extended his hand out to her, “Let’s go home; your mother and everyone is waiting for you.”
Rebecca nodded at her father, she grasped his hand, and held it firmly as they walked across the field toward the buildings in the distance.
THE END
N.Z. Thorne has always loved delving into the minds of Stephen King and Frank Herbert—getting lost in sandy dunes on a distant planet or exploring mysterious hotels nestled in icy mountains.
"Their stories have inspired me to put to paper the dark vistas and enigmatic events from the depths of my imagination, to bring the stories that live within me and play in my dreams out into the world."
Read more of N.Z. Thorne's work online.
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