Hidden in the Garden

When I was a little girl, we moved to the countryside, far away from town.  On the night the bottle came out, my ma propelled me toward the back door.  “Hide in the garden.” 

I ran and hid among the overgrown brush. I heard ma’s cries from the place where I hid.  When I no longer heard the sounds of pa’s rage, I cautiously returned home.  Pa was asleep.  Ma sat on the back porch, waiting for me to return.  She hugged me tight.  Her face was bruised and her eyes red-rimmed.

“I will always keep you safe,” she said.

The next time the bottle came out, I ran as I was told.  I heard ma’s cries as I searched the neglected garden for a place to hide.  I jumped and swung around toward the sound of a whisper.  A mysterious green door that I had never seen before appeared in the shadows of the stone wall that surrounded the garden.  I turned the knob and opened the door.  Beyond was a bright sky and a beautiful beach. 

“Enter,” the voice invited. 

The clear blue water invited me.  I swam a while until the door called to me, “It’s safe now.”  I walked back through and returned to the house where pa was asleep and ma waited.

She smiled sadly when I told her about the door. “It is there to keep you safe.”

As the years passed, there were many times the bottle came out, and I ran for the neglected garden.  The door would always appear.  Each time it was over, I begged my ma to join me, to hide, to run away, but she refused. 

On one awful night, pa’s anger roared, and he vented it like no other. 

Grabbing my arm, ma propelled me toward the back porch. “Run to your door.”

I heard her cries as I ran.  By the time the door told me it was safe to return home, my ma was gone. 

“She ran away.  It’s just us now,” my pa said before collapsing onto the couch.

I cried myself to sleep.

The next time the bottle came out, I ran for the garden.  This time, pa ran after me.  I stumbled when a different sort of door appeared in the stone wall.  It was blood red and half-covered with dried vines.  The voice that whispered was not the same.  It was my ma’s. 

“I will keep you safe.  Show him the door,” she said.

I shivered when pa came up behind me. 

“What’s that?” he demanded.

Ma’s voice said soothingly, “Come through.”

After he crossed the threshold, the door slammed.  I heard his cries from the other side before the red door disappeared.

Today, I still live in the countryside, far away from town.  The garden is no longer neglected.  It flourishes.  I miss ma, but from time to time, the green door appears, and I visit the place where she kept me safe.

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This story is my contribution to the Fourth Annual Thursday Door Writing Challenge, hosted by Dan Antion over at No Facilities blog.  The photo that inspired this story was taken by Cheryl Pennington. Thanks, Cheryl!  If you would like to read more TDWC stories, click here.  I know you will enjoy.

Thank you for stopping by and reading my story!

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