The Three P.M. Doorway

Corinne O’Connor

When Jade turned five, her grandma pulled her onto her lap. It was the best place to be. If you got pulled onto grandma’s lap, you had to prepare yourself for a good story.  

(Sometimes, the stories weren’t good. Sometimes they were about bad people or bad events. Either way, grandma had a way of weaving the stories with golden threads of detail and warmth. No matter what grandma said, Jade sat, enraptured.) 

“The light needs to coexist with the darkness,” started grandma. Jade wriggled in her lap in anticipation for the mythology behind light and darkness. 

“Long ago, Light got greedy. It wanted to shine all the time, even if that meant that Darkness never got a chance to be present.” 

Jade interrupted. “Why would Light do that?” she asked. 

Grandma smiled wanly. “Light likes to be the center of attention. Humans gave Light too much praise. Light thought it was more important than Darkness and deserved to be around more.” 

That’s mean, Jade thought, but she kept that to herself and urged grandma to go on with the story.  

“Darkness and Light battled for years. It was long and arduous. At last, the two sides reached an agreement. Light would shine for twelve hours a day and Darkness the other twelve.” 

The story seemed to reach an ending, but that was the thing: grandma’s stories never ended the way in which you’d expect. Jade pulled her grandma closer to hear the real ending.  

“Light was still greedy. Behind Darkness’s back, it created a portal to a new world, one where the sun never set. One where Light could reign free. The portal appears in the highlands on occasion during the Witching Hour.”  

Jade was familiar with the Witching Hour. It made a regular appearance in grandma’s stories. Three o’clock is the Witching Hour, grandma had told her from the time she learned to walk. Her parents chided her grandmother. It’s just silly folk stories, they told her. Don’t listen.  

But Jade listened anyway. Whether or not the stories were real, she didn’t mind. Her grandma brought them to life well enough.  

The highlands were cold no matter what time of year it was. Jade pulled her jacket closer, hugging her body in its puffy warmth. She followed Lydia up the hill. Periodically, Lydia looked back and jabbered on about how amazing this sight was and how Jade wouldn’t believe what she’d found here earlier.  

Truthfully, Jade wanted to go home. If she stood on her tiptoes, she could see their small house from here. Smoke poured from its chimney into the daylight, obscuring the trees nearby. Their parents would likely return from work soon, and Jade didn’t want to get in any trouble for taking Lydia into the highlands.  

She’d get into even more trouble with the fact that she let her ten-year-old sister play here by herself. Jade didn’t quite understand that, because she was sure she’d gone off into the highlands by herself at a younger age. Their parents tended to be stricter and more protective now.  

At this point, Lydia took Jade’s hand in her own and dragged her along. “I swear, Jade, I saw the door right here!”  

Jade glanced around. Mist shrouded the ground, and daylight broke through in patches. When had it gotten this foggy out? “Lydia, we should go back,” said Jade calmly. If the fog picked up anymore, it’d be difficult to find their way home.  

Lydia let go of her hand. “No, it was right… here.” As Lydia spoke, the mist parted to reveal a blue doorway in a white frame. The door had cracks lining the edges and rusted silver accents on the door handle. It appeared as if by magic.  

Immediately, Jade backed away. “I don’t know what that is, but we have to go, Lydia. It’ll… I’m sure it’ll be here tomorrow for you to look at.” She didn’t understand why she promised to look again tomorrow; the doorway made her stomachache. All of her instincts told her to run back home and not to look back.  

The cracks in the door extended along the frame. A light tore through, getting brighter as they spoke. Jade shielded her eyes from the blinding shine, letting go of Lydia’s hand in the process. “We have to go,” she repeated.  

Lydia remained silent. Jade peeked one eye open. Against the blinding light, she made out Lydia reaching for the doorknob. “Don’t!” she cried out, a moment too late.  

When Lydia threw the door open, a shriek filled the air. Jade couldn’t determine if it came from her, Lydia, or something beyond. The light grew brighter, if possible. She closed her eyes and stumbled away in the mist, covering her face with her elbow.  

As quickly as it happened, the light diminished to nothing and the shrieks ceased. The acrid air chilled in the absence. Slowly, like taking a blindfold off, Jade looked up.  

The doorway was gone. And so was Lydia.

It took an hour to get back home, longer than usual. She’d waited outside in the highlands where the door had been for ten minutes, waiting for the part where her sister popped out from behind a rock and laughed at her for believing the stupid prank.  

The sinking feeling told her it wasn’t a prank.  

Her parents waited for her back home, sitting in their chairs in the living room reading. Jade stumbled into the house and immediately burst into tears. She’d been given one job, and she’d failed that. The doorway snatched Lydia away, she told them.  

They didn’t understand what she was babbling about. She tuned out their lectures and shouts - “you were supposed to watch her” - and concentrated on what she’d seen.  

She couldn’t get that doorway out of her mind. It haunted her. She’d seen it before- but no, that’s not right. Her thoughts jumbled as her parents asked her more and more questions. Where were you last? What time did you last see her? Why didn’t you call someone? 

Jade didn’t have the answers. Her parents grew more frustrated with her. At some point, her parents must have called the authorities. She remembered that she talked with a man with a mustache as he asked her every detail of the day- what they wore, what they did, where they went, and a timeline.  

She went through the motions. Time moved and stole her along with it. Jade tried her best to answer questions, but the whole thing shook her up so much that her memory was starting to form cracks. Cracks that expanded like the ones in the doorway.  

Jade kept the detail of the doorway to herself. No one would ever believe her. She wasn’t entirely sure if she believed herself. She was old enough to understand that sometimes the mind made up situations to cope, no matter how impossible those situations were. Maybe there was a door, but not the one Jade thought she saw.  

All of the possible explanations jumbled in her head. The day wore off and dove into the night. The mist outside grew thicker; the authorities would send out search groups soon, once it cleared.  

Jade gazed out the window, hoping for a safe return.  

As Jade turned over in her bed, the wood frame creaked. The bed across from hers remained empty. Her stomach remained empty too; she couldn’t eat after the events of the day.  

Cold wind rocked the window frame. The darkness of the room suffocated her as she tossed, unable to find sleep no matter how hard she searched. When she got stressed, Jade liked to remember the stories her grandma told her. Her grandma had passed away a few years ago, but her stories remained.  

With half her mind occupied by tales of Snow Goddesses and Lightning Gods, the other half of her mind wandered back over the gritty details of the day. The blinding light, the cracks on the doorway, swaying on the way back home, her throat tightening as she explained to her parents what happened. The questions that followed: where were you last? What time did you last see her?  

Jade whispered to herself, buried underneath two blankets, “I last saw her in the highlands. There were a bunch of boulders around, but I don’t know where we were. When I last saw her, it was past three p.m., almost four.”  

Saying it aloud helped her click the pieces together. She sat up in bed, the words wilting on her lips. “Three p.m.”  

As her grandma said often, three p.m. was the witching hour. It was the hour that Light sent a portal into the highlands to the world that Light controlled in its entirety. The blinding light, the doorway in the highlands during witching hour… It all made sense now.  

Jade stared at the wall for a long while after that, thinking. Lydia must be scared right now, she thought. But I’ll find her. The doorway will appear at witching hour again. I just need to find it.  

The candles on the cake flickered then went out with Jade’s puff of air. Her family gathered around with cheers of happy birthday on their lips. Despite being the center of attention, Jade was far removed from the scene. She focused on the flicker of lights rather than the faces of her family.  

The cake slid hollowly into her stomach. She’d barely tasted the frosting on her tongue or the crushed-up Oreo pieces sprinkled throughout. Instead, Jade thought of Lydia, now two years gone. Her presence lingered in the house, from the splatter paintings hung like Pollocks to the stain on the tablecloth from her spilling grape juice.  

Today, no one acknowledged her. How was it fair, Jade asked herself, that she got one more birthday that Lydia didn’t?  

Soon after finishing the cake, her family dispersed to talk about her cousin’s upcoming wedding. He preened over the attention, detailing how they wanted to have an outdoor ceremony and a light green color scheme and-  

She had long since tuned him out. The attention was off her, and that was all that mattered. Jade slipped out the backdoor with a text to her parents that she was going to get more chips for the guests, in case they worried over where she went.  

The acrid air blew her hair in all directions, and a light mist hung over the grassy patches. She took a deep breath and began the near-daily trek she took into the highlands. It was three p.m. on the dot.  

Her ankles ached from climbing, and the soles of her feet had long ago formed callouses. Jade hugged her jacket closer. A part of her knew she didn’t have much time left. In a year from now, she’d be away at college. Then it would be a steady job, family and kids. When she was gone, who would look for Lydia? Who else would care and understand the way she did? 

She hoped she never found out.  

Jade ventured further in, looking for any spark of light, strange shimmering, or strange noises. The fog thickened; she struggled to see beyond a couple yards. Jade checked the time on her phone. It was nearly four p.m. now. She sighed at the wasted time and tried to figure out a path back to her house through all the fog.  

As she turned back, a spark of light peeked through the fog. Jade’s heart dropped into her calloused soles. This has to be it, she thought. It started off as a light jog, then accelerated into a full-on sprint. The pinpricks of light multiplied and became a blinding force.  

She blinked away the spots of color dancing in her vision. The door stood there with the same cracks in the frame, the rusted silver accents. The panel in the middle let in a burst of light, but a shadow took shape, blocking the light. The shape of a fist reached up to the panel on the other side.  

Jade edged closer, reaching toward the door handle. She had all she’d been wishing for these past two years beneath her fingertips. The silver burned her fingertips, but the hesitation stuck. What am I going to find behind this door? Will Lydia even be there? 

Before she worked up the courage, the door opened by itself. Well, not by itself. The figure on the other side opened it. A loud shrieking filled the air, and Jade stumbled back, clutching her ears. It took her a moment to regain her bearings, to strain against the dots in her vision and realize that the shrieking had stopped a while ago.  

Before her stood a girl. The girl had long, dark hair and a thin, shaking frame. Unmistakably, the girl was Lydia. Jade could tell, despite two years having gone by. Lydia blinked at her, the doorway closed behind her.  

Jade softly laughed in disbelief, then rushed forward to pull Lydia into a hug. No sooner had she wrapped her arms around her sister did Lydia shove her away. “Don’t touch me,” she said lowly. Her voice was raspy as if from disuse.  

“Lydia?” asked Jade, taking a step back to take her in. Her baggy clothes dragged to the floor, covered in dirt, dust, and grime at the hem. Lydia’s bare feet dug into the grass. Red, peeling patches covered her skin.  

Lydia looked around, wide eyes taking in the surrounding fog and grass. “No one called me Lydia there,” she whispered.  

A chill ran through Jade’s spine. She didn’t speak, and let the silence fill the air until Lydia broke it. “I didn’t think I’d make it back here.” 

Jade felt like she’d swallowed coal. A growing lump formed, and hot tears pushed against her eyelids. “Are you okay?” she asked, voice breaking.  

It took a while for Lydia to respond. “No.” 

The urge to hug her was overwhelming, but Jade held back. It was clear Lydia had become skittish in her time there. “Do you want to go home?”  

The response to that question was immediate. Lydia shook her head violently and began to cry. “Don’t make me.” 

The sight brought Jade to tears. To see her little sister in shambles, the one she was supposed to protect. If only she hadn’t been a coward. “Please,” she begged. “Please come home. I miss you. Please.” 

They were at a standstill. Jade pleaded and came closer while Lydia cried. Eventually, the two met in the middle in an awkward, tight embrace. Laying her head on Jade’s shoulder, Lydia said, “I can’t go back.” 

Jade didn’t know if she meant back through the doorway or back to their house. She didn’t ask, just took her hand and led her back the way she’d come.  

Theresa Bui is a junior majoring in Environmental Conservation and minoring in Religious Studies. She is a self-taught and hobbyist digital artist specializing in photo manipulation (a.k.a. photo composite and photo montage) using Adobe Photoshop.

Corinne O’Connor (‘25) is a Genetics and Counseling Psychology Major from Bay Shore, NY. Poetry and writing have always been a part of her life, and she is happy to be a part of this year’s volume of Pitch!