The passage of time

Flash fiction on someone finding a passage in a house

I was born in that house. There was a strange allure to it that I couldn’t explain. My great grandfather had built it as a library but over the years it became a home for the ensuing generations. My parents moved out of town a few months after I was born and I only returned to it during my school holidays.

My grandmother still lived there. When I was around six, I went visiting again.

A few days later, as she was taking a nap after lunch, I decided to explore the cellar that I had never seen opened. I found the rusted key in the kitchen and it was the size of a spoon. The padlock was bigger than my hand. I heard the comforting click as it sprang open.

The wooden door of the cellar creaked in protest at this unwarranted intrusion. The smell of dust and termites filled the room.

Behind all the broken furniture and art pieces stood a smaller metal door. Intrigued, I walked towards it. It had no lock but it wouldn’t budge. A small slot inside the door handle caught my eye. I put my tiny finger in and the door sprang open inwards.

It was pitch black inside as I peered in. It looked like an endless passage. I put a foot in. A strong wind hit my face as I jumped back in fear.

A faint light emerged from within the passage and got brighter. Curious, I walked in a few more steps.

Someone was approaching. We finally stopped a few feet from each other and I got a good look. He must have been about fifty years old but seemed familiar.

I touched the scar on my face as I realized we had the same scar.