by W.S. Lacey
Shortly after you receive this letter, a package will arrive by post- a small red book. I think that you will find it instructive. When you reach the entry telling you to skip two pages forward, I suggest that you do so, lest you forever lose the chance to disregard what you see.
I never told you that I only ever made three Doors; yet I know so much about them. Odd was lost to the world for years, yet I know where he went and what he did. When you visited me in my home in Tunis, I gave you all you needed. I kept something for myself, though.
Shortly after Odd’s first death, I was able to send someone both trusted and incurious into the asylum’s records. There, tucked away in an unmarked box, was the small red book. In it, I was delighted to find detailed observations of the worlds beyond the Doors, pieces of the text needed to make a Door and, best of all, the locations of all the Doors Odd made. Believe me when I tell you that the list is extensive.
The book is of no use to me where I have gone. I leave it to you as a memento. Though he is dead and his final Door gone, there remains something of him in this, Odd’s Diary.
Yours,
Dr. Holroyd”
North’s toast clattered on the plate. Charlotte looked up.
“What is it?” There was a knock at the door.
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