The Empty Door

by E. R. Mason

Cassiopia emerged from the mirror and immediately stopped to gawk at a place that seemed to defy explanation. Markman bumped against her shoulder as he stopped alongside. Together they stood silently trying to make sense out of what they were seeing. The only things visible in any direction were their own reflections. They turned in small circles and finally realized they were in a small room partitioned entirely by mirrors. The floor was plywood, painted black, worn, and very dirty. A black dropped ceiling hung just above the mirror tops, and a semi sweet and vaguely familiar smell lingered in the air. The room was quiet.

  “It’s a maze of some kind,” Cassiopia said, as she continued to turn and study the glass puzzle.

  “Rats in a trap,” complained Markman.

  “Not really. There’s an easy way out of any maze you know.”

  “Smash all the mirrors?” he replied, as he pressed carefully on a mirror panel to test its resiliency.

  “Typical male solution. No. The answer is that you put one hand on any wall, and you can walk right out as long as you never let go. It’s not the shortest route but it does get you there.”

  “Really?”

  Cassiopia reached into the leather sack and drew out the homing device and a roll of silver duct tape.

  “Tape it to the top of the SCIP panel so that it’s out of the way,” she said, handing it to him. He switched the small device on and stretched up to the top of the mirror to secure it.

  “It’s working!” She moved around within the small space, studying the tiny indicator needle on her direction finder.

  “That is unless it and you are both impostors,” said Markman.

  “Trust me, Mr. Markman. It worked. I’m me,” she reassured him, “but, of course, you won’t really be sure of that until we get back. Just don’t let it be a problem. Here’s the other direction finder in case we get separated. Let’s go.”

  With that, she hoisted the leather bag back up onto her shoulder and began lightly dragging one finger slowly along the mirrored wall to her right as she walked. Markman lagged slightly behind and watched as she disappeared and then reappeared from behind a mirror that concealed a passageway. He caught up, keeping one eye on the pointer of his homing device. It pointed reassuringly behind.

  The maze became an optical wonder. There were dozens of reflections, all moving along in harmony, but from many different aspects. Cassiopia would stop from time to time, thinking she had noticed independent movements within the mirrors, but each time the ghostly perceptions stopped with her. The labyrinth became an eerie visual challenge, and a powerful distraction that could have led anyone in circles, including Cassiopia, had she not been taking her planned path. Holding to one wall did seem to be keeping them moving, though sometimes it led them in and around dead-end chambers that produced even greater numbers of repetitive reflections. In one antechamber alone, they found themselves confronted with more than one hundred unique images that were difficult to distinguish from real people.

  “From what I’ve seen of Dreamland so far, this could go on forever,” Markman suggested.

  “We can get back the same way if necessary,” she replied. “Besides, don’t you hear it?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Listen.”

  Markman cocked one ear and strained to listen. Faintly, he could perceive sounds coming from somewhere ahead.

  Quickly they resumed the search. As they made their way farther through the maze, the noises grew louder and more familiar. It was crowd noise and loud music of several different styles jumbled together. Soon the commotion reached the point that it seemed very nearby, and the reflective passageway grew wider and less difficult. Finally, there was a sharp turn to the left that opened to a large ramp beneath a clear night sky. As far as they could see, there was carnival.

  Nothing could have prepared Cassiopia for the depth and detail of the noisy, colorful celebration going on before her. Spread out in every direction were the whirring rides and prize-stuffed game booths that decorated one of the largest amusement parks she had ever seen. In the distance, a huge Ferris wheel, outlined in green and yellow lights turned slowly across the new-moon, star-filled blackness. People of all shapes and sizes were playing the games and waiting in lines. Suddenly she and Markman had become nothing more than part of a busy crowd.

  The booming noise and music, the smells of open air food dispensaries, and the spotlights dancing artfully across the heavens made the mystifying event seem larger than life. There was nothing missing and nothing out of place. In awe, they stood gawking by the exit of the house of glass.

  “Absolutely fascinating!” Cassiopia gasped. “We must record it.” She fussed in the travel bag for her camera as other fair goers emerged from the mirror maze and pushed their way past without a second glance.

  “What I want to know is... is this real?” Markman asked.

  “Seems very real to me,” she replied, as she adjusted the small, black camera and began photographing some of the crowd around her.

  “Well, excuse me if I don’t go on the Ferris wheel, okay?”

  “Let’s try to talk to some of these people!” She exchanged her camera for a small voice recorder and charged down the ramp of the worn wooden platform.

  “Wait a minute. Be careful!” warned Markman, trying to stay close behind. “It might not be as easy as you think?”

  A short distance away, to her right, stood a target shooting booth next to a candy apple stand. There seemed to be a serious business slump in that area. She headed toward it at breakneck speed. It was all Markman could do to keep up with her in the dense crowd. His half-hearted gestures and muffled calls went unheeded.

  She approached the handgun-laden counter of the shooting booth with a determination that quickly gained the attention of the unkempt attendant. “Excuse me, sir, could you answer a few questions for me?”

  The booth operator’s eyes lit up. Requests suggested compensation. “Ya want to take a try ma’am?” he replied in a raspy voice.

  “Ah...no, I don’t know about guns. What I’d like to find out is....”

  “Ah’d really like to talk with ya ma’am, but business is been so bad ah really got to attend to it. Sure ya don’t want to shoot?”

  The beady-eyed look on the attendant’s face made it quite clear that participation in the game booth’s challenge was necessary if any kind of cooperation was to be gained. Fortunately Markman had caught up and now stood alongside her. He smiled and handed the appreciative vendor a one dollar bill.

  The attendant launched into his script. “Good for three shots every time. Break two bottles get an extra shot. Break three bottles you get one ah them stuffed bears hangin’ up there on the wall left ah ya.” The unshaven man’s dissertation was done with such rapid fire speed it was obvious he had recited it a thousand times before. Markman picked up one of the Colt style handguns from the counter and held it appreciatively. “What the...? This thing’s real!”

  “What’d ya expect, a water pistol?” the vendor replied hoarsely. “Ain’t ya ever used a Colt forty-five before?”

  Markman hefted the gun on its side in his open hand. The balance was good and the blue steel felt cool. “As a matter of fact, I have,” he replied. He spun the pistol once and stopped it with the barrel pointing in the direction of the target area.

  “Whoa! Careful, partner. The last cowboy that tried that shot the guy next to him in the foot. That’s why business is so bad ‘round here.”

  “Let’s make a deal,” proposed Markman. “You keep the stuffed animals, but for every bottle I hit you answer one of the lady’s questions, no matter how crazy they might sound.”

  “Hey, that’s an easy. I’ll take a freebee any day. Shoot your best shot, partner. Ya got a deal.”

  Markman took a shooting stance and smiled playfully at Cassiopia. He drew back the hammer on the Colt and appraised the row of bottles that stood on a bullet-riddled board, roughly sixty feet away. Cassiopia looked on, wondering if two questions would be to
o much to hope for on this dollar.

  Abruptly three loud, rapid fire shots rang out, causing her to jump. The booth attendant stared in surprise at the shattered glass that had rained down onto the dirt floor. Three bottles were missing from the center of the target area.

  “Hoooooly. Sir, ya’ have indeed used a Colt before. Glad ah’ made that deal now. You could’a cleaned me out. That is fine shootin’, no doubt about it. Ask away, good lady, I’ll give it ma’ best.” The dealer took the six-gun from Markman, happy not to have lost any merchandise, and began to empty the spent shells from their chambers.

  Cassiopia silently reappraised Markman. She quickly regained her composure and turned her attention to the rough-looking booth operator. “We want to know what fair this is and where?”

  The man scratched his chin with one hand and looked back curiously. “Oh ah’ get it. This is one o’ them trick question deals right? Okay, ah’ll play along. This here’s the Lancaster annual county fair, in yers truly, Lancaster, Louisiana.”

  Cassiopia’s eyes brightened with intrigue. She held her tiny recorder in a better position to catch the conversation. “What day, month, and year is this?”

  The amused vendor laughed. “Saturday, July twentieth, nineteen sixty-nine, ma’am.”

  She opened a small flap on the front of her bag and drew out a pocket-sized photograph of her father. She held it up for the attendant to see. “We’re looking for this man, have you seen him?”

  The mildly interested gunsmith squinted and stared closely at the annoyed-looking, gray-haired man in the picture. “Nope. Ain’t seen ‘em. But ya really should try the fortune teller lady across the way there. She’d be the best one to know someone’s whereabouts. But ah don’t get it. Ain’t there supposed to be some kind ah joke here er somethin’? Ah mean that’s three questions, ain’t it?”

  “No punch line partner,” Markman replied. “But we appreciate the help.”

  “I’m a gunsmith durin’ the week ya know. Ah just do this fer fun. Come see me and ah’ll fix ya up with one ah these here Colts. They’re darlin’, ain’t they?”

  Markman nodded and waved as he and Cassiopia turned to make their way back through the crowd.

  “Make ya a good deal,” he called after them.

  “So is this place for real?” Markman asked when they had found a place between booths that was sheltered from some of the continuous racket. “It damn sure isn’t nineteen sixty-nine, that’s ancient history.”

  “We’ve been here too long. We need to start thinking about getting back,” she answered, ignoring his question. “But I do want to see that fortune teller for a minute, just on a long shot.”

  “Nothing seems like a long shot anymore,” Markman said, as they headed toward a small, brown tent. A disproportionately large sign read, “Madam Emista, Seer Of The Unknown.”

  The entrance of the tent was partitioned by two large, gray canvas flaps that waved slightly with the wind. They pushed their way inside to find a much larger inner chamber than they had expected. The dirt floor interior was barren, except for a red, felt-covered table in the center. Madame Emista sat patiently behind it, with her hands folded in her lap. She wore loosely fitting silk robes and was generously decorated with jewelry made of oversized semi precious stones of many different colors. A large, glimmering crystal ball was centered on the table in front of her. Two straight back, red felt-covered chairs were positioned facing her. Cassiopia and Markman were her only customers.

  “Ah, come in and sit, expected ones.”

  Markman smirked at Cassiopia, who in turn responded with a threatening glance. They approached the old woman and took seats next to one another.

  “Say that which you seek, my child.”

  Cassiopia surveyed the gaudy conventionality of the scene, but quickly found she liked the strange and exotic seer. She smiled and gestured toward the crystal ball, “What is your fee, Madam?”

  “Ask that which you would, young one. My fee has been paid.”

  “Who would have paid my fee?” inquired Cassiopia.

  “Questions from young lovers bear no labor,” she replied.

  Cassiopia blushed. “We, uh, we are actually together on business. We are looking for someone.”

  The fortune teller smiled and said nothing.

  The silence became awkward. Cassiopia fumbled with her bag and again drew out the photograph of her father.

  “It is your father you seek, is it not?” asked the old woman, before she had seen the picture.

  It startled Cassiopia. She stopped and looked at the expression of affection on the palm reader’s face and then handed her the slightly wrinkled print. “Have you seen him or do you have any idea where we might look?”

  “That which you ask is a riddle. Answer the riddle correctly, and you shall know what has become of your loved one. In that you may find him.”

  The mood in the mystic’s tent had become deceptively intense.

  An atmosphere of power surged through the canvas-enclosed room like an eerie wind through an empty house. Cassiopia shivered. Markman looked over his shoulder. Madam Emista continued in her musical tone of voice. “When does a man wake, but not wake?” The old woman paused as though waiting a reply. “Seek you the true answer, one whose name lies in the stars. And fair luck to you.”

  Suddenly the flaps at the tent’s entrance snapped wildly, cracking like bullwhips. Markman jumped and turned. Cassiopia twisted around to see behind her, but the disturbance subsided as quickly as it had begun.

  When they looked back, the fortune teller was gone. Only a half full hourglass, its sand draining down, remained on the otherwise empty table.

  Chapter 14