The Painted Door

Chapter 2

We were stunned. He had vanished through the door, ending up who knows where; we got our answer soon as a note had appeared on the front entrance from the crying man reading 'When you find this, the door transports people through time, I was sent 20 years into the past, if my calculations are correct; you should see this note on the day I went missing'

"That is his handwriting, and it's a page torn from a diary from 2004 alright." says a detective, stroking his stubbly chin.

"So, this still doesn't answer how I ended up in the future" I exclaim

"Mr Davidson, it is clear that door has some sort of weird property that allows people travel through time." the detective explains

"Well. No shit!" I shout, growing frustrated

The detective shoots me a glance and raises his eyebrow, he shakes his head and begins to scribble notes into his notepad; if the crying man went back 20 years, and he knew today we would all gather here, why didn't he just come back? I pondered this question for a while, my manager called me and asked when I would be getting back to the store, I told the police I had to go back to work and they released me. I trundled back up to the shop and worked the shift; lifting heavy boxes, hanging clothes on rails, like nothing was out the ordinary. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had seen that fucking door somewhere before.

"Yo, Frank; that door that sent me 2 weeks into the future, I can't shake this feeling I have that I had seen it somewhere before" I start

"Honestly, when you gave the description to the fuzz, I felt the same; it's uncanny" Frank replies, sifting through papers and scratching hours down with his pen.

"Working on the rotas?" I ask

"Yep"

"Cool; I'm just gonna head to the back to grab some stuff" I say, and walk over to the backroom, I grab some stock and head out to continue restocking our displays, when I notice Frank isn't behind the till anymore. I look around the shop, but he's nowhere to be seen, I figure he must be on his lunch break by now. So I man the tills as customers filter in and out, buying the occasional sock and shoe. I notice the sun was now low, like closing time low. Frank never came back into the shop, at least not that I noticed. I check the back again and Frank isn't there either. I lock up and head back to my flat; it was at this point, as I was turning the key in the lock that I noticed something in the stock room. I squinted my eyes to try and focus on it and I felt dread wash over me like an autumn shower when I realised what I was looking at, it was the red door, but painted fully, no flaking paint and a beautiful brass handle. I locked the door to the store and ran to the bus stop, barged onto the 18 and sat shaking in terror as the bus pulled away.

I arrived home, barged into the flat complex, unlocked my front door; and instantly ran to my room. I was hyperventilating, I covered my mouth to try and keep some of the breath in my body on the inside, I began shuddering as the panic set in, did my shop make that door? And what the hell happened to Frank? I drank some water, calmed down and tried to collect my thoughts. BANGBANGBANG! the door rattled on it's hinges, that's not a friendly knock. I peered through the peep hole to see the police at my door. I open to a torch being shone in my face.

"Hello Mr Davidson, how are you this evening?" they ask, I can tell from their body language this isn't a welfare check

"I'm OK, I've just got back from work" I respond, "What's the problem?" I ask

"Oh, so you don't know why we're here?" one of the officers asks

"No"

"Mr Harry Davidson, we are here because you are suspect in the disappearence of one Mr Frank Osborne"