There are places in the world which blur and fuzz when your attention strays toward them—places which can only be seen out of the corner of your eye. They are everywhere around us: lurking behind the door-left-ajar, shifting in the dimly-lit mirror, phasing in and out of both dream and memory. These interstitial domains are what we call ‘liminal spaces,’ ecotones of dread and persistent unease between reality and an undefined beyond.
Minutes stretched by until I plucked up the courage to stand before the cherry red door of the party room. As I pressed my hand against the cold wood, the gnawing panic in my head turned to frightened, feral gnashing. I listened out. A low murmur escaped from beneath the bottom of the door.
(he’s doing this all the time)
(nothings the same) (i’m always so tired)
(i know, i know, i know)
(there’s nothing for me)
(she’s listening)
I opened the door.
Enter here.