There is a door, which leads to a door, which leads to a door.
And I hear what’s behind it, beckoning me.
It will take me away, far away – somewhere better.
I dream that the door will take me to another world,
A secret place built only for me.
The calling is faint but I hear my name,
So I open door one, and the calling gets louder.
‘I’m here,’ I whisper, but there is no reply.
Was I mistaken? I thought it wanted me.
Like always in my life, there was no one there.
‘Only you can open the next door and let me in.’
I’m sure that’s what it said but it’s wrong.
I think really, I’d be letting it out.
It is the one trapped behind the door and I am free.
Confusing, but I can’t say no.
I know you’re gone, Dad,
But I still feel you around me. I sense that you’re with me.
I smell your aftershave and feel your warmth.
As I open door two, I know your spirit will protect me.
There’s no going back now – ever!
Secure, safe – that’s how I feel. I trust you to protect me, Dad.
Hammering, banging. ‘Open door three and let me out,’ it yells.
As I let it out, I let the darkness in.
It took me to a secret place, one which I must never speak of.
‘Be silent, be silent,’ my mind tells me so. ‘You opened the door. It’s your fault and no one must ever know.’
By Susie.
Mary placed the poem back in the box and lay in bed as she thought about young Susan – or Susie as she liked to be called back then. She glanced around the room. Susan had missed her father terribly when he had died. Maybe Mary hadn’t been there enough for her and had ignored her daughter’s grief as she worked all hours to pay the bills. Lying on her wet pillow, the whole poem running through her mind, she wondered why Susan had clung on to all this darkness. Another tear slipped from the corner of her eye as she continued to look at many of Susan’s dark musings, drawings and poems.
A knock at the bedroom door startled her. ‘Hello.’
‘Mum, I was looking for you. Howard just told me you’d come for a lie-down.’ She wedged the door open and entered, wearing her dressing gown and slippers, hair soaked. ‘Are you crying again? Don’t worry, she’ll come back, she always does.’ Clare glanced down at the bed, spotting the box. ‘You’re going through her things, aren’t you?’
‘I just want to find her.’
