The Next Door (1/3)

“Come in Mister Harris,” said a voice from behind the door. David Harris looked at the door in front of him. It was white with a gold polish handle. Looking around he could see nothing else. There was only the door. And whiteness. He couldn’t distinguish if there were walls or if the space he was in just kept expanding forever and ever.

“Please come in,” the voice repeated. David looked at the handle, noting his distorted reflection in the gold polish. He took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob, grasping it firmly in his hand. But he did not open it right away, instead choosing to rest his hand on the knob, trying to make sense of what the hell was going on. Finally, after a third cry from the voice behind the door, he turned the handle.

“Take a seat,” said the man in the room. “I’ve just been going over your file. Everything seems to be in order.” The man was sitting behind a brown wooden desk that had some pencils and papers laying on it.

“Where am I?” David asked slowly, looking around the room.

“Close the door and take a seat,” the man said, motioning to a chair facing the man’s desk. “I’ll explain everything if you just sit down,” he said in an upbeat tone.

David closed the door behind him but still did not sit down. Instead he remained standing and began to take in the layout of the room. Like it was outside, the room was also white, but a slightly off-white. David could see that there were walls, unlike in the hallway outside.

Behind the man were several dark-gray filing cabinets. A small trashcan sat beside the desk, filled with a few scraps of paper. The room was a little small but not too cramped and lacked any decoration. This was the thing that struck David as the most odd: there were no photographs, pictures or even potted plants of any kind. Just dull blankness.

“If you’ll just sit down, we can begin,” the man said, beckoning again to the chair in front of David while smiling kindly.

David looked at the chair. It looked to him like any regular office chair: black with four legs and some padding that had a slightly worn down look to it.

“It’s not going to bite,” the man joked.

David took a seat.

“Thank you. Now let’s just double check some things,” the man said, speaking quickly. “You are David Nathanial Harris, son of Robert Nathanial Harris and April Samantha Harris, nee Sanders, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Date of birth January sixteenth?”

“Yes.”

“Good! Well then, let’s get started.”

“Started with what?” David asked. “You haven’t told me where I am. Or why I’m here. What is this place?” David demanded, speaking quickly.

“Relax, relax! I was just about to get to all that.” The man paused and then said rather dramatically, “you’re dead.”

A few seconds of silence filled the room before David could utter something. “What?” David said, in a tone of disbelief.

The man looked at the file in front of him and went down the page with his finger until he found what he was looking for. “Here we are! Time of death: April eleventh at two twenty-one am.”

David just looked at him, opening and closing his mouth but no words came out.

“Go ahead, take a glance at your watch,” the man said, with an air of smugness.

David looked at his watch; it had stopped working, stuck on 2:21. David shook it and then tapped it, as if hoping that the hands would suddenly spring back to life. Defeated, he looked back up at the man, lost for words.

“Yes you are very much dead, Mister Harris,” the man continued. “Car accident, I’m afraid. Though you should be happy to know no one else died. I guess I’ll have to wait a while longer before I see them in here.” The man chuckled to himself and checked something off on the paper in front of him and turned to the next page. “Ok moving on now­–“

“Wait,” David interjected. “How do you know I’m dead?”

“It says so in your paperwork.” He held up the papers he had in front of him. “And you walked through that door behind you. Everyone who walks through that door is dead.”

“Everyone? You mean there are others?” David asked. His mind was racing, trying to make sense of what he had just been told.

“Well sure,” the man said, smiling. “Everyone dies, don’t they?”

David could barely manage a single nod.

“So they all come through the door. Once they’re dead, of course.”

“How do you know everyone who shows up here is dead?” David’s voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke.

“There’s just no other way of getting here.” The man spoke as if what he was saying was nothing new to him. David had the sense that the man had answered these questions before. “I’d hate to think of what I’d do if someone showed up who wasn’t dead,” the man said, laughing slightly.

“You knew when I showed up and was just on the other side of the door,” David stated in a confused manner. “How?”

“Your file,” the man said, once again holding up the papers he had in front of him. “They appear in my inbox,” he said, gesturing to the plastic tray on the corner of his desk. “That’s how I know when there’s someone who’s waiting outside.”

“Who puts the file there?”

“No one. There’s always another file. It’s empty right now, but once you exit through the door there’ll be another one. There always is.”

“But people die all the time,” David said. “Shouldn’t there be a great line of people outside or something? I mean, how could you possibly deal with every single person who dies in a one-on-one setting like this,” David spoke, feeling his confidence beginning to rise, believing he had found a way to trap the man, “without getting horribly backed-up?”

“Maybe you should look at your watch again,” the man answered. “As you can see, time has no meaning here. I know that sounds corny, but this isn’t your world anymore. We’re not bound by its linear restrictions.”

David looked stunned and tried to search for something to ask or say but couldn’t.

“I know what you’re thinking,” the man said. “You’re confused; you have questions. You’re asking yourself ‘why?’ You’re asking ‘what is this place?’ and all sorts of other questions you want to know the answers too. ‘Is this real?’ Is that right?”

David could only nod, barely.

“That’s part of why I’m here. To try to explain everything as best I can. And to lead you to the next door.”