The Door Within by Wayne Thomas Batson

rushing toward a collision. And in the last moment before impact, before losing consciousness, Aidan recognized the being. It was a reflection of himself.

9

STRANGER IN A
STRANGE LAND
    S omething tickled Aidan’s nose.
    He omething He opened his eyes just a crack, blinked a few times to adjust to the sunlight, and saw a large scarlet-colored butterfly walking and flittering about, apparently in search of nectar.
    Aidan thought, Trust me, bug, there’s nothing in my nose for you!
    As he swatted gently at the beautiful insect, his arm erupted in a chain reaction of tingles and pinpricks. It was a familiar feeling. It meant he had fallen asleep on his arm.
    He sat up, rubbing the last of the pinpricks out of his arm, and watched the butterfly take to the air in front of him. A bit woozy, Aidan stood and watched the butterfly sail on the breeze up over some stony foothills and into a dense forest. Beyond the foothills and forest, a dark mountain range emerged, piercing all that was green. The mountains sprawled left and right. But in the center of the range were two jagged peaks that stabbed up from the cloud tops like black fangs.
    Aidan turned in circles and searched for something, anything familiar. “Where am I?”
    He was in a clearing surrounded by a variety of unusual trees. Some were short, no more than six feet in height, with dark, flaky bark. Their trunks were narrow, gnarled, and twisted. And their branches were bare except for massive paws of leaves at the ends. These strange twisty trees all leaned away from the dark mountains.
    There were also huge, cone-shaped evergreens. But to call these evergreen wouldn’t be quite right. They did have needles like the pines in his front yard, but they most certainly were not green. These maintained a dark purple and here and there a hint of navy blue.
    But the most striking trees were the tall ones. Aidan didn’t know what to call them. The trees’ bark—if it could be called bark—was absolutely black. It looked smooth and polished, almost reflective, like an eightball. Their trunks rose in columns and were crowned by thickets of broad red leaves. The roots of these black trees rose out of the ground and spread in dozens of directions. Hundreds, maybe thousands of scarlet butterflies danced around the tree trunks, occasionally dropping to light on the tiny multicolored flowers that grew from the trees’ roots.
    Aidan shivered, taking in the scene. It wasn’t scary, really . . . just so different!
    Am I in Alleble? Aidan wondered. Am I?
    Aidan turned again in a circle. There were no castles, no signs of civilization—nothing but nature. He was wondering what he should do next, when he noticed that he hadn’t come into the world alone. By his feet on a patch of deep green moss was a scroll. Aidan smiled, picking up the bundle like a long-lost pet.
    “I’m not sure how you got here,” he said aloud to the scroll, “but I’m glad you did!”
    Aidan plunked down on an enormous moss-covered rock and untied the leather lace. It was his third scroll, the one with the poem and the empty pages. He looked down at the bottom below the poem and hoped desperately for something new to be there.
    There was, but it wasn’t mysterious new text telling Aidan what to do or where to go. It was a handwritten note. It read, “Thought you might need these. Love, Grampin.”
    Grampin! How could he . . . ? Aidan smiled and shook his head. It seemed that Grampin was full of surprises. Now, if only I had a map.
    Aidan felt a sharp tingle in his right hand. Instinctively he turned to the next page of parchment. And then his jaw dropped. As if invisible hands were busy sketching away, an incredibly detailed map gradually emerged from the parchment. Etched and shaded mountains formed on the page under a sun whose rays became directional arrows pointing north, south, east, and west. Forests surrounded and penetrated by roads and trails dotted the new map in a patchwork of gray splotches.