The Doorway

by Alan Spencer

  The dead work in mysterious ways.

  Morty Saggs is desperate when his wife, Glenda, turns up missing. But all evidence points to Glenda never having left the house. Soon, odd smells permeate the property, and sometimes the doorway to his bedroom burns a hideous red. Is Morty going crazy, or did the house do something with Glenda? Is there some connection to the house’s previous owner, a vicious murderer named Ted Lindsey? All of Morty’s questions will be answered on the night the burning doorway opens—the night when the trap is sprung.

  The Doorway

  Alan Spencer

  Dedication

  For my wife, Megan, who saw me through a serious rough patch. Because of her, I didn’t go insane. Instead, I wrote this book.

  Chapter One

  Morty Saggs accomplished what he always set out to do every Friday night after work. He hit Side Pockets for beer and billiards. Morty was riding a nice buzz with his coworkers from the United States Postal Service when the time hit midnight. Lighter in the wallet and even lighter in the head, Morty finally called it quits. The bar was only two blocks from his house, so he walked home on foot. What happened when Morty arrived at his house would play on repeat for the next days to come. That’s how long his life would stop, because Morty would have no life, only this coming moment, and the impossible questions to answer.

  He lived in the quiet town of Meadow Falls, Virginia. It was October 15th. The residential area was full of houses where people knew their neighbors. If someone was breaking into a house, a neighbor would call the police. If kids were being followed by a stranger, the little one could run to any house on the block and find safety. It was one of those neighborhoods where people wanted to grow old and retire. It soon wouldn’t matter the type of neighborhood Morty lived in. Nobody would be able to help him.

  Standing outside his house on the front lawn, Morty noticed the porch and kitchen lights were left on. Strange, because they should’ve been off at this hour. Making the house dark was his wife’s passive aggressive way of saying he was out too late drinking. Glenda should’ve been asleep by now. Maybe she was waiting up for him, Morty supposed. That was unusual, though, because Morty could come home as late as two in the morning, and Glenda didn’t wait up. He thought harder and decided Glenda might’ve had too much wine and gossip with her friends and passed out in bed and forgot about the lights. That had to be it. It wasn’t anything complicated. Why else would the lights still be on?

  Entering the house, Morty turned off the porch light and was about to turn off the kitchen’s when he announced, “Sorry I’m late, honey.”

  No reply.

  That wasn’t a surprise.

  The wine, he kept telling himself. Glenda was a hibernating bear.

  Morty stripped out of his jeans. His heavy belt buckle thunked against the floor. He quietly edged down the hall, snuck into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, splashed water into his face and took a piss. Even if Morty was “retirement ready” and “old as the hills”, as his post office counterparts dubbed him, Morty could still down the beer like those half his junior. Four more years, and Morty could retire. He imagined the RV that was parked out in the backyard right now, and Glenda and him taking that cross country tour of the United States they talked about doing one day. They would sell the house and the things they didn’t need and travel from RV park to RV park. The American dream.

  Wearing only boxer shorts, Morty walked to the upstairs bedroom. Morty relaxed on his side of the bed and reached out to spoon his wife when he realized the bed was unoccupied.

  “Glenda?” Morty swept his hands up and down the bed. “Honey?”

  Did she go over to Hannah’s house? Old hens probably got it in their heads to do something out by the lake. Get enough wine into those two, and they can gab their faces off all night.

  Morty laughed under his breath thinking about his wife chatting at a hundred miles an hour to her best friend Hannah. He got up, went down the stairs, and returned to the hallway where his jeans were spread out on the ground. Glenda would scold him about not throwing his pants in the laundry hamper. You can go out and drink and be stupid, but it is too much to ask to put the laundry where it belongs?

  If Glenda left him a text, Morty had missed it. He was too busy getting lubricated at Side Pockets to notice texts. Retrieving his cell phone from his pants pocket, he found there were no missed messages. Morty thought about the kitchen fridge. There could be a note for him there. He flipped on a few more lights. On the fridge were the usual magnet souvenirs of the places they’d been like Las Vegas, The Alamo, Niagara Falls and Branson, Missouri, but there was no note about Glenda’s whereabouts.

  He peered outside through the front window. Glenda’s car was still here. That didn’t mean Glenda wasn’t at Hannah’s house.

  Glenda forgot to tell you she’s going out.

  You’ve done it before without meaning it.

  Morty’s eyes were wide open. He was no longer on his way to falling asleep under the heavy blanket of alcohol. Something wasn’t right. That gut feeling nagged him. He imagined various scenarios. Glenda on the basement floor having had a stroke, or a heart attack, or suffering a bad fall. Glenda’s skin being sheet-white. Glenda dead.

  “Glenda!”

  Maybe it was his drunken state that was elevating his emotions. It didn’t stop him from doing what he thought was best. Morty headed down the basement stairs. He almost took a header until he stopped himself by grabbing the handrail he installed two years ago after suffering a fall and breaking his left wrist.

  Morty was in his boxer shorts, but he was burning hot. He flipped on the light. The crawlspace was designed as a homemade rumpus room. A door connected this room to the laundry room. The laundry room led to their backyard. On the porch, a grill sat under an awning where family gatherings were hosted. The Saggs had their family reunion in that backyard last year. Morty’s sixtieth birthday party was the last event under that awning, pulled off flawlessly by his loving wife.

  How many times had the name “Glenda” left his lips? He kept saying the name louder and more insistently. Morty returned upstairs and dialed Glenda’s cell phone. She didn’t leave the house without it. She was all about having what she needed in an emergency. She wasn’t the type to go off somewhere without telling him.

  Morty dialed the phone. It went off in the kitchen. Glenda’s cell phone was on the table. Wherever she had gone, she didn’t take it with her.

  Glenda was at Hannah’s. She had to be.

  Call Hannah.

  In the back of his mind, Morty wondered if he was overreacting.

  You drank way too much tonight. It’s messing with your thinking.

  Morty wanted this matter resolved in a hurry nonetheless. He rushed into the room they designated as a computer/office room. He opened the drawer of the desk and fished out the book of phone numbers of everybody they knew. Hannah Albertson was the second name he located. Morty dialed her number. He didn’t care if it was late. This was his wife, and until he knew where Glenda was at, he’d turn over every stone and call every person.

  Nothing bad has happened. Calm down. What if she’s over at Hannah’s house, and Glenda forgot to leave you a note or call you? It happens. People forget. You’re going to make yourself look like an asshole.

  Morty had trouble going along with that idea, even now, because Glenda always communicated everything to him. She had had a father who suffered from Alzhemier’s. The man just up and walked out of the house and was found three days later emaciated and near death. From then on, Glenda always wanted to know where Morty was between Point A and Point B. The three-day panic involving her father was hell, and Glenda refused
to live through that hell again.

  The phone was ringing. On the fifth ring, a sleep-heavy voice answered.

  It was Hannah.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Morty. I’m sorry to wake you. Is Glenda there?”

  “Why would she be over here? We came over to your house, remember? We were done at about ten-thirty. We can’t stay up like you, Morty. Mr. All-Nighter.”

  Morty wasn’t in a joking mood. “So you’re saying she’s not over there? That Glenda didn’t leave the house tonight? For anything? Anything at all?”

  “No, Morty. She was at your house when I left. Morty, you’re scaring me. Is there something wrong? Morty? Morty?”

  He didn’t hear Hannah anymore. Everything around him was cancelled out by the odd smell of burnt wood and rubber, and something he else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something, wrong. Morty hadn’t smelled it earlier. He would’ve, because it was so distinct and unpleasant. It was heavy and uncomfortable. It made him think if he kept breathing it in, he could get sick.

  Morty put the phone back on the receiver, cutting off Hannah’s words. He was drawn to the smell. Every part of him was compelled to seek out the odd tang.

  What the hell is that smell?

  The search led him to the upstairs bedroom. The stench was eye-watering and gag-inducing. Morty coughed against it, his throat wanting to close, every part of his body shielding itself from something that was potentially poisonous and so wrong.

  When he flipped on the bedroom light, Morty was startled so hard he backpedaled against the wall and unleashed a shout.

  “God!”

  Morty had no chance to get a grip. He faced the bedroom doorway without moving an inch. Under his breath, he was muttering the words fast, “It shouldn’t be there. It shouldn’t be there. It shouldn’t be there.”

  Jagged lines traced the bedroom’s doorway. The tracing was the color and texture of charcoal. How long had it been there? Why did it smell so awful?

  “…Glenda…Glenda, where are you…?”

  Morty sank into the floor, bursting into tears.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off the strange charred marks around the doorway.

  Chapter Two

  Morty didn’t hear the police enter the house, nor had he heard their knocks at the front door. The cops ended up letting themselves inside. Morty hadn’t moved an inch since spotting the odd markings around the bedroom doorway. He was brought back to life by the tall officer who was startled by the homeowner crouched on the ground with wide eyes and a horrified expression.

  “Sir, are you okay? Mr. Saggs?”

  Morty pointed at the wall. “The doorway. Do you see it?”

  It was the officer’s turn to wear an outrageous expression. “It’s just a doorway, sir. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be seeing. Could you please put some clothing on so we can ask you about the concerned call we received from a Hannah Albertson?”

  The charcoal tracings around the doorway were gone. Morty blinked his eyes in disbelief. The black marks had simply vanished. The smell was missing too. Morty realized he was standing in his boxer shorts with two police officers in the room. What use would it be to argue what he’d seen when it wasn’t there anymore? He’d only make himself look crazy, if he hadn’t already.

  What mattered now was finding out the whereabouts of Glenda.

  The officers let him put on pants and a shirt. When Morty entered the living room, the police officers were ready to ask him questions about his wife. Hannah had already told them a lot about the situation.

  So you came home from where?

  When was the last time you saw your wife, Mr. Saggs?

  What time did you leave the house tonight?

  When did you return?

  You have no idea where Glenda could be?

  Any chance she’d be out somewhere and you don’t know it?

  Did you two get into any arguments of any kind, or anything that could’ve made your wife want to leave the house? Anything at all, even if minor, we need to know, Mr. Saggs. I know this is difficult.

  Morty answered the questions the best he could while grappling with what he’d seen in the bedroom. The black tracing around the doorway. Why did it disappear when the police arrived? Had he imagined it? Was he losing his damn mind?

  By the time the officers asked their questions, and re-asked a few of them, one of the officers, an Officer Greene, offered Morty a business card.

  “Since Glenda’s only been unaccounted for such a short period of time, we can’t start a search just yet. It still could be a misunderstanding. These kinds of things happen. We’re going to double check the property to make sure there’s no signs of foul play. Call the number on this card if anything happens, especially if your wife turns up. In the meantime, just sit tight, Mr. Saggs.”

  Officer Greene went on to say other things designed to be comforting. These things happen. It’s only a matter of time. She’ll turn up. And if you think of anything else we should know, don’t hesitate to call.

  When the cops were finished and had left the house after finding no signs of a break-in or foul play, Morty could only do one thing. He called his daughter. Cheyenne answered on the fifth ring. She sounded a lot like Hannah, being disturbed from a deep sleep. Cheyenne was a five-hour drive from their house. It was almost three-thirty at night. Morty didn’t consider the hour when dialing.

  “Dad, is that you?”

  Morty failed to tone down the sense of urgency.

  “Yes, it’s me. Please be honest with me. This is very important. Has your mother been in contact with you recently?”

  “Dad, what’s wrong? You sound upset.”

  “Just tell me if she’s called you. Has she told you anything in confidence? Like she’s upset with me, or anything. Please. Don’t hold back anything. This is very important.”

  “I haven’t talked to Mom since two weeks ago. We were planning on coming over with the kids. Dad, why are you calling me at this hour and asking about Mom? Has something happened to her?”

  Morty was breathing hard. “I, your mom, I can’t find her. She just, I came home tonight, and she wasn’t there. I went out like I do with the boys from work, and she stayed home, and when I came home, your mom wasn’t there. I don’t know how else to explain it. I’m so worried. I think something might’ve happened to her. I’ve got a bad feeling. I hope it’s nothing. I didn’t make her mad. We haven’t been fighting. Everything’s good between us. So if you know anything that might explain her disappearing like this, I really need to know it. Even if it’s hard for me to hear.”

  Morty had trouble breathing. He clutched his chest with his free hand and concentrated on taking breaths.

  “No, nothing. Dad, I swear, nothing’s going on as far as I know. I promise.”

  Cheyenne asked what the police had to say. He told her the police thought it was too soon to form a search party. It could be anything. It could be nothing. Cheyenne told her the police’s advice was sound and promised she’d be over first thing in the morning. After telling Morty she loved him, and that everything would be okay, she ended the conversation.

  Sitting on his hands and letting time burn agonizingly slow until he did hear or didn’t hear anything from Glenda wasn’t enough for Morty. It was still pitch black outside. Glenda could be out there. Something could’ve happened to her. Somebody might’ve taken her somewhere. She could be in danger, and he was sitting in this house doing nothing. Damn his imagination! His mind wouldn’t stop spinning awful scenarios involving Glenda.

  Morty put on his shoes and jogged up and down the block with a flashlight. He combed through everybody’s yards for anything strange or out of place. The cops didn’t look this hard. Why didn’t they look that hard? They would scour the land for their own wives and kids.

  Coming up with nothing, Morty
ran back to the house and got into his car. He canvassed the neighborhood, peering into dark lawns, parked cars, and houses with only their front porch lights on. Everybody in Meadow Falls, Virginia, was asleep, as they should be. Morty envied those who got to sleep through the night peacefully.

  Where could she be? She’s not upset at you. Maybe she’s thinking somewhere alone. Where would she go at this hour?

  There was only one place Glenda would go to think. It was unlikely at this hour, but maybe, just maybe…

  Morty drove to Hillsdale Lake. It was a fifteen-minute drive, and by the time he reached the lake, he remembered Glenda’s car was still at home. She couldn’t have driven here.

  Maybe someone drove her here.

  That’s not right. Her friends were with her.

  Yeah, until ten-thirty. Then everybody went home. That doesn’t make it impossible for somebody to take her here.

  What am I really doing? I have no clue what I’m doing.

  Driving around the edge of the lake itself, he knew this was a mistake. He was panicked. He should calm down. It was only a matter of hours Glenda had been gone. Morty had watched too many of those unsolved mystery shows.

  Morty gave a start when he saw a red flicker in the distance. A light of some kind. He rushed out of the car and ran on foot towards the unidentified light.

  “Glenda! Please let that be you! Glenda!”

  “Shit! Run!”

  He caught three teenagers, two guys and a girl, stub out a cigarette, and then take off running. Morty smelled marijuana.

  Morty was shouting like a maniac. “Have you seen a woman? She’s about sixty years old. Black and gray hair. About five foot tall. Her name’s Glenda? Please, have you seen my wife? Hey! Come back and answer my questions!”

  The three left Morty in the dust. They were long gone.

  Seriously. What am I doing here?

  Morty caught his breath from running so hard and then he got back into his car and drove home.