She had lived in the village all her life and walked down this particular street at least once a week.
Funny how she had never noticed The Door before.
Usually observant, she was bemused how she could possibly have missed it, as it wasn’t exactly a small door, neither was it hidden from view behind wall climbing ivy as were so many others.
Thinking no more of it, she continued to the market with her hand basket, looking forward to a wealth of fresh produce and if she was lucky, a warm cob loaf to go with the evening stew. The meat was already cooking in the pot over the fire in the kitchen.
Practically skipping under the sun of a glorious day, her mood happy and gay as it was her 16th birthday, she made her way to the vegetable barrow to make her selections.
Laden down, she started for home, again passing The Door en route.
It was slightly ajar, and she heard a gentle lullaby coming from within. She stopped to listen, and found herself familiar with the melody, an almost hypnotic ballad which affected her senses.
Coming over all giddy, she sat down on the step, and before long, felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.
‘Are you alright?’ the woman asked.
‘I think so. I don’t know what came over me I’m afraid. Too much sun I guess. I’ll just rest a while and then be on my way.’
‘Why not come in out of the heat and have a cool drink? I have a pitcher on the dresser.’
Taking the woman’s hand, she rose and followed her in.
As the door closed behind her, it blended into the stonework and disappeared.
On the other side, the woman cackled, shedding her concerned demeanor to reveal her true identity of a Sorceress and announced to her withered son
‘Another filly for you, Ivor. Sweet sixteen, and just ripe for the picking.’
This is in response to Sue Vincent’s photo prompt today over at Daily Echo.