Monsters at the Door 1 of 9

Rebecca Lillian Carter stepped out of the backseat of her Uber ride, then noticing she had almost forgotten her purse, reached in to snatch it up. And it's a good thing she did, because no sooner had she opened her mouth to offer her gracious thanks to the driver, did the tires squeal and the car jerked violently away from the curb, merging dangerously into the endless flow of traffic on the busy street. She had not even gotten to shut the door properly, watching it sway as it narrowly avoided clipping side-view mirrors in the perpendicular lane!

"Welcome to New York City, Becky," she muttered to herself as she watched the car screech to a halt before a sudden red traffic light at the end of the block. The driver hopped out of his side of the car and scurried around to the rear passenger, whacking the door shut with one hand. His other hand was shaking his fist while he yelled something derogatory in Becky's direction. It was lost amidst a chorus of honking horns.

Becky rolled her eyes, fishing her cell phone out of her purse, navigating the screen with her slender well manicured fingers. A couple taps here and there, wiped out the generous tip that she had intended for the Uber driver. Dropping the phone back into her purse, she made eye contact with the still cursing man and made a visible "thumbs down" gesture. This generated new and colorful phrases designed to degrade, demean, and insult women. Luckily the natural sounds of New York City wildlife drowned out the worst of it.

Turning her wrist up, she noted the expensive golden watch latched by a fine black leather band. It was a gift from her late father, a fond reminder of the bond they shared. It got easier with time, but she would always miss him.

"Five minutes early," smiled Becky. Punctuality was a matter of import for her, and something she was proud to maintain, even in the concrete jungle of New York. Turning around, she craned her neck, and found herself staring up the steps of the famed Museum of Natural History. Pulling at the hem of her black pencil skirt, she rapidly walked up the stairs, her charcoal flats with the cute vermillion bows scratching against the cement.

Checking in at the front desk, she reached into her purse, searching for some cash to pay for her ticket, but the staff member slid her Driver License back to her with an admission pass printed out. She opened her mouth to question the unexpected outcome, but the staff member read her face and preemptively answered the query.

"Your admission was taken care of ahead of time," he said. Becky opened her mouth to ask follow up, but there were already people lining up behind her, starting to give her dirty looks about why she wasn't moving on. Besides, the staff member had already returned his attention to the computer monitor in the small booth, and appeared to be completely disinterested in her further curiosity.

Swiping her ID and ticket off the countertop, she pushed through the turnstile with a little thrust of her hip, doing her best not to catch her pantyhose on any jagged mishaps in the process. Boys grow up learning how to be careful and precise by playing platformer video games. Girls get the same experience in real life by practicing how to not get runs in their tights, where danger feels like it's around every corner!

Becky walked into the museum's main atrium, allowing the majesty of the place to wash over her for just a moment before pulling out her phone again. "Okay, Dawn... which exhibit did you say?" she mumbled to herself, reviewing a conversation tree in their text messages. "Bingo. South American Relics and the Occult."

Looking at her watch one more time, Becky noted that she was still early by two minutes. This was enough motivation for her to rapidly confer a museum directory, then take off at a brisk walk. Thankfully her long nylon clad legs allowed for graceful strides, which was helped by the fact that she had had the foresight to not wear heels today. Becky was well known to be "endearingly" clumsy, and trying to jog through a museum in heels would have been a comical sight to say the least. Not to mention, there's so much walking to be done in New York City. How does anyone wear heels here she thought?

Becky's mind contemplated the trials of working women in one of the world's most famous cities as she passed from room to room, her grey eyes always taking note of the nameplates as she passed from portal to portal. Doing some unconscious grooming of her carefully styled blonde French Bun, she perked up when she saw the sign: South American Relics and the Occult. She had arrived!

The chamber was dimly lit, clearly and carefully produced by passionate curators that worked tirelessly for the museum. The room had an old, unnerving, mysterious, and atmospheric feel to it. A variety of relics were mounted on stands, displayed behind glass that was well lit from below, showing off the pieces in glorious focus.

A virtual jungle of trees, foliage, and greenery had been staged to make the room feel like the visitor really was in the ancient unexplored jungles of South America. They would, that is, if the leaves were not clearly fake, plastic trees. Becky Pushed one large leaf out of her way that had drooped over the subtly, but clearly produced "path" crafted by the curators as the intended way for the guests to follow. She had almost walked into the darn thing, because once again, she was checking her phone.

Dawn said something about a door... Becky referred back to the text exchange. There was also something about a girl from another place... and something on the other side of the door? ...And that was where their text exchange got really weird. Becky was used to her cousin Dawn talking about the crazy cases she worked on in the Big City, but this one sounded even stranger than fiction. Still, she loved her cousin, and despite mystery girls, ancient South American doors that lead to somewhere else, and some... things on the other side that gave the whole story a menacing murk of mystery... Becky still came to help out the intrepid star reporter of the Rose Tribune.

She paused and looked up from the screen, the pale blue glow lighting up her face. There it was right in front of her. Draped by a wild riot of leaves (carefully placed by museum curators) was The Door. It wasn't anything incredible. I mean, it was ornate, it looked sturdy, it looked old. Sure, it looked like an artifact, a relic even. But magical? Other worldly? I wouldn't go that far, Becky thought skeptically.

Checking her watch one last time out of habit, she noted satisfactorily that she was right on time as her hand reached for the rusty iron ring. The door opened with the obligatory dramatized groaning and screeching of long neglected hinges (These curators take their job way too seriously). Inside it was dark, and Becky found herself once again fishing through her purse for her phone (this time, blindly) so that she might use the device's flashlight app. But before she could find it, her eyes squinted at the sudden red light that garishly illuminated the space.

It was a stone tunnel, the red light highlighted the rough hewn walls, almost as though this place was mined. As the path moved forward, she found herself having to hunch over, so as not to bonk her blonde head on the narrowing tunnel. All the while she couldn't shake the growing sense of unease created by the garish red illumination (where was it coming from?) and the fact that she was shimmying through a carved stone tunnel that somehow existed in the Museum of Natural History in the middle of New York City?

Just as the muscles in her back and lean legs began to ache from the cumbersome crouch, Becky saw a change in light up around a bend in the tunnel. An exit? Oh, thank goodness! Too much longer and I was gonna need a long soak in a hot bath to work out these muscle aches. Reaching the end of the tunnel, she noted pairs of stalactites and stalagmites that had the unsettling resemblance of long sharp teeth. That is weird and very not cool, she thought. Gingerly stepping past them, she resumed her full height to the elation of her taxed spine and spent thighs.

She was unable to bring herself to look at her pantyhose, sure they must be riddled by ruinous runs after such impractical use. Becky imagined in small print somewhere on the back of the cardboard packaging must exist a warning: Note! Pantyhose are not intended for cave traversal! For office use only. Hand wash in cold water. Hang to dry.

Instead, Becky twisted her hips around to get a look at the tunnel she just exited, that dumped her into some sort of cave. To her shock, she saw that the rock wall was sculpted into the nightmarish visage of a skull. The stalactites and stalagmites that she had so recently and carefully maneuvered between were indeed frighteningly long sharp teeth carved from the stone. And that garish red light? Glowing with a chill inducing pulse from the "mouth" of the skull. The very one she just scampered out from! And what was worse? A pair of large hollow eye sockets loomed above her head on the face of the skull. Only they were not empty. A pair of unexplainable glowing orbs burned with (what!?) mysterious light, glaring down upon her with mind melting malice.

And that's when the goblins surrounded her, grabbing her by the arms!