Day 3: 10 November 2025

 Short Story -- The Door

It is always the same door.

Old. Wooden. Teal with a large brass lion head knocker.

My heart beats fast as I approach hand outstretched. The wood is smoother than one would expect and cool to the touch. I can already hear the creak of the hinges as it slowly is pushed open…

Every night I dream of this door. Sometimes I travel through it and end up in marvelous places, sometimes it’s darkness but so many sounds, and sometimes I wake up before anything happens.

“It’s only a dream,” I tell myself as my eyes flutter shut. “It’s only a…”

In this dream, I am me and I am not me. I instinctually know that this person is me although I don’t look at all like my waking self. I can see my hands and they’re soft and pale. There’s waist length wavy brown hair cascading like it only does in films and a portion of it is in front of my right shoulder. I’m in a forest green velvet gown trimmed with golden thread and ribbons with a delicate floral pattern.

What will tonight’s adventure be?

The door is in front of me. It always is. I reach out and turn the handle. I used to knock, but I don’t anymore. Years of having this dream makes me feel like this space is mine. And it’s only a dream.

I walk through the door and into a room. There are tapestries depicting forest scenes in the walls, a large four post bed with a velvet green canopy on one wall, a dark wooden writing desk scattered with papers and quills against another, and near a large stone fireplace is a green velvet highback chair. A glass door out to a balcony is the only window in the room.

Walking around the room, my hand tentatively trails along the different objects. There’s no dust or dirt in sight.

I am near the glass door when I both hear and feel a low rumble. It sounds like a warning.

I cautiously turn the handle to the glass door and slowly put one foot out and then another. Inching towards the edge of the balcony I peer over. Far below me a ginormous brown dragon is walking round and round the tower in circles. Is he a guard or a jailer?

There’s only one way to find out.

“It’s only a dream,” I tell myself quietly. Then more loudly, “Hello! Mr or Ms Dragon!” I wave in a friendly manor. “Hello!”

The dragon stops circling and silently looks up.

“Um,” I stammer. I’ve never spoken to a dragon before. “This is going to sound like such a silly question, but can you please tell me whether you are protecting me or imprisoning me in this tower?”

The dragon grumbles, “Haven’t you ever read a fairytale? I’m a dragon. You’re a princess. What do you think I’m doing?”

The dragon looks as though it’s about to start walking again. “Um,” I start a second time and the dragon pauses. “I suppose where I’m from that would make you my captor. But perhaps things are different here? In your home?” I venture.

The dragon shakes its head and then answers like it’s talking to a very small and not very familiar with the world child, “We are awaiting the arrival of a knight. Me to eat him. And you, I suppose, to be saved, if he gets past me.”

The dragon looks as if it’s about to start walking when it pauses, tilts its head up and asks, “Anymore questions?”

“Not at the moment,” I answer. To my surprise instead of pacing, the dragon lays down and wraps itself around the base of the tower. It seems as though it is going to take a nap. I walk back inside.

Well, I know more than when I first arrived. Firstly, here I am a princess. Secondly, there is a dragon holding me captive. Thirdly, said dragon thinks I need a knight to come and save me.

I survey the room with fresh eyes. “It’s only a dream,” I say and start looking for things that might help me to free myself. If there’s one thing I know about these dreams, it’s that once they really get going the only way to wake up is to complete them somehow. And I’m not about to sit around and wait endlessly for a knight who may or may not come and then expect who knows what.

Some things I notice: there’s a small cupboard behind the highback chair, there is no door other than the glass one out to the balcony, there is a fire going in the fireplace.

I walk over to the little cupboard and open it. It appears to be a fridge of some sort and since there’s no electricity, it must have been magic-ed to stay cool. Inside is some cheese, milk and butter. On top wrapped in a muslin cloth is a hearty loaf of bread and a small bowl with three eggs in it.

Hanging near the fireplace are some different cooking utensils. It’s hard to think on an empty stomach, so I decide to make some French toast.

But before starting I quickly pop out onto the balcony. I don’t have tons of food, certainly not enough to make anything near the amount it would take to satisfy the appetite of a dragon, but it never hurts to be kind.

“Excuse me,” I start. The dragon opens one eye and looks up.

“Yes,” it answers somewhat annoyed.

“I’m making some French toast. Would you like some?”

The dragon now peers at me curiously. “I am a dragon. I only eat meat.” As if then realizing that it could be more polite, the dragon adds, “But thank you for thinking of me.” And returns to resting its head on its forelegs and sleeping.

I go back inside and start making the French toast. Looking towards the glass door I am startled to see a large green eye peering back at me.

“Ahhh,” I gasp, falling backwards a bit. Then collecting myself I ask, “Can I help you?”

“It is very small,” the dragon observes, I assume about the French toast, “But it smells delicious!”

“Could I tempt you to try a piece? Small though it may be to you?” I ask the dragon.

“Hmmmm,” the dragon thinks. “Yes… please.”

And so, when the first piece is ready I put it on a wooden plate and walk over to the balcony.

“How will we do this?” I ask knowing the French toast and the plate are very small for an enormous dragon’s hands.

“You may dump it in my mouth,” the dragon states with a very razor sharp toothy grin.

I’m sure how I feel about this. “It’s only a dream,” I whisper edging closer to the dragon’s wide open jaws. There is space for about six of me in its mouth I observe. Its breath is hot and smells of rotting meat and sulfur. When I am an arm’s reach away, I hold out the plate and tip the piece of French toast into the dragon’s mouth.

Its jaws snap shut and it swallows. Honestly, I’m not even sure how its massive dragon body was able to register one tiny human-sized piece of French toast, but the dragon sighs appreciatively and nods its head.

“Although I am not in the habit of making deals with creatures I can just as easily eat, because you were kind and brave and relatively humble, I will make a deal with you,” the dragon decides.

“Um, thank you, I think,” I say. “What is this deal?”

The dragon turns to face me. “I really only kidnap princesses as a means of trapping knights for food. After all, it is easier than going hunting for wild animals.” I try to nod understandingly. The dragon continues. “But if you will teach me how to make this delectable French toast, I will help you leave this tower. However,” he cautions, “I will do no more than help you get out of the tower and not eat you myself. I am not claiming responsibility for you or whatever happens to you once you leave this tower an unaccompanied.”

It seems as good a deal as any, and it is only a dream. So, I agree.

“Your room is too small for me,” the dragon says, “So I will make a fire down here and then bring you down here.”

The rest happens in quick succession. I gather the rest of the bread and the bowl with the eggs and the milk. Once his scaly claw tipped with talons that could slice me into ribbons delicately sets me on the ground, I explain while I demonstrate.

“If you don’t very much mind, may I ask a question?” I hazard to the dragon.

It nods its head in assent.

“How do you get the bread and milk and eggs?”

The dragon looks at me, “There is a farm not too far from here. I threatened to eat their livestock and burn down their home if the farmer doesn’t bring me these things. His wife makes the bread.”

As the dragon is explaining, I can feel myself pulling out of the dream and waking up. When I open my eyes, I notice a brown lizard staring at me from the windowsill. I am me me now. And I chuckle looking at the lizard. “Shall I teach you to make French toast?” I ask it.

And to my surprise, the lizard shakes its head and I swear I hear it squeak, “I already know how.”