The Key to Enniskillen
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A severed sparrow head lies between my feet, its dark, startled eyes staring up at me as its tiny yellow beak twitches involuntarily as if trying to ask me why – why did I kill it?
The thing is, I didn’t. I tap my cellphone’s camera app and stare at my face, staring at the screen in my hand.
”Morgan, I’m recording this because I don’t know what the hell is going on, and you’re not going to believe me without seeing what I’m seeing.”
I flipped the phone around so it recorded the door I had stumbled through a few minutes earlier. The door severed the tiny bird’s head as it closed, but there was no sign of blood on the doorframe or anywhere else. Maybe sparrows don’t have much blood, and maybe this isn’t the horror movie it feels like to me.
The rest of its tiny little body is nowhere to be seen.
I step back and look at the door before me. It is just a door, set only in a door frame attached to the back side of a shallow porch. Nothing else, just what should have been attached to a house in the middle of a walled enclosure about the size of a tennis court. The porch looks as if it is waiting for the rest of the house to fall out of the sky and complete the image my brain expects to see. I flip the phone around and see this wide-eyed and stressed face – mine. Well, who wouldn’t be stressed if they’d just walked through an innocent-looking closet door and ended up wherever this is?
