Mike needed some warm milk. He drank it as a kid when he had trouble falling asleep and the habit stuck with him, even after moving out. Mike got up from the bed, went to his bedroom door and wondered where it would lead today.
The door opened to a large dark field. A second door stood in the grass a few meters away, a thunderstorm brewing in the distance behind it. The house had come with a few quirks. One of them was that some closed doors, once opened, would lead to a random part of the world with another door back into the house sitting close by. His landlord had turned out to be a wizard, and experimenting on his tenants was one of his favourite pastimes. Still, Mike had heard of wizards doing much worse than giving folks free trips around the world. 
          He walked through the door, feeling the midnight dew on the grass through his socks. I really have to get another pair of shoes for these trips between doors. I’m starting to run out of socks, and it isn’t even close to laundry day. He could see short green grass covering the field and beyond, lit up by moonlight. Moisture filled the air and even the night was sweltering; he already felt water and sweat sticking to his skin. Better go before it starts raining, he thought and turned to the other door that led to the rest of the house.
          He opened the door and saw the familiar old picture staring from the wall. A portrait of himself and his parents taken outside his Aunt Kelly’s wedding reception for her second marriage. Mike has an arm wrapped around his dad’s shoulder as his dad tries to push him off. His mom stands off to the side, a small smile on her face as she looks at the two. Did she always look a little sad in this picture? he wondered. 
          Leaving the bedroom door open, Mike walked past the portrait and entered the kitchen. Even for a two-bedroom house like this, the kitchen was a bit too bare. The small fridge was probably older than him but worked well enough. Cold things stayed cold and that’s all that mattered. It had a stove with three elements, a counter with almost no space due to the large toaster that froze his bread, another experiment by his landlord. Thankfully, the microwave still worked as it should, for now. That night’s dinner dishes sat in the kitchen sink begging to be washed. Mike got a clean glass, opened the fridge, grabbed the milk, threw it in the microwave, and watched it turn. As he waited, he looked around the room and spotted the note his landlord had given him after he first used the portal and fell into a lake. 
                                                    PORTAL RULES:
ONE: DO NOT LEAVE THE DOORS OPEN FOR LONGER THAN 15 MINUTES. ANIMALS AND CURIOUS BYSTANDERS MAY ENTER THE HOUSE AND YOU WILL BE CHARGED “PEST” REMOVAL FEES. 

TWO: IF ENVIRONMENT AFTER OPENING DOORS IS NOT PREFERABLE, CLOSE THE DOOR, WAIT FIVE SECONDS, AND OPEN FOR A BRAND-NEW LOCATION! NO, I WILL NOT “PROGRAM” THE MAGIC TO SEND YOU WHERE YOU WANT. IT’S MAGIC, NOT A DAMN TAXI, OR UBER, OR WHATEVER YOU KIDS CALL IT. 

THREE: THIS IS AN EXPERIMENT. WEIRD THINGS MAY/WILL HAPPEN. IF YOUR HEAD ENDS UP BACKWARDS (A KNOWN PROBLEM), OR IF SOMETHING NEW POPS UP DURING YOUR WALK ACROSS, DO NOT INTERACT, CALL ME IMMEDIATELY. 

          He glanced back at the microwave and stopped it before it beeped. He grabbed his milk, took a sip, and started back toward the still-open doors to the green field and his bedroom. 
          He stepped onto the field again, wearing shoes he’d grabbed from the front door. Rain started to fall as he stopped and stared at the dark, moonlit field around him, until he noticed something in the corner of his eye. 
          A door stood about ten meters away, a light blue instead of the plain white of his bedroom. He knew this door. He’d known it his entire life, and he’d walked in and out of it more times than he can count. 
          He could recognize the chipped paint. The tally marks for his height; it even had the old video game posters from when he was ten. He could swear he heard voices beyond the door, familiar voices, and one he never thought he’d hear again. This definitely counts as weird, he thought. He knew he shouldn’t get near it, that the door was dangerous, that it needed to remain a mystery, to remain closed. Mike reached the door, and the voices were louder but muffled. He didn’t even hear the thunder in the distance anymore. 
          “This can’t be my room and that voice I hear…It can’t…” he said to himself. “I have to call the old man.” He resolved, turning away from the stray door, still listening to the mumbling from beyond the light blue entrance. 
          “Kq;askl Aadbnma qwerrtw Mikey…” Mike paused. “Maybe I should go in. He’ll need information for his experiment, right?” he said to the wind, with only distant thunder as a reply. Mike faced the light blue door again. Just for five minutes, in and out, he thought and grabbed the door handle. 
          “You have to sleep, there’s school tomorrow, Mikey,” she said. His mom said. This room, his room, was like he remembered, a small bed in the corner, CRT TV with his Nintendo GameCube across from the bed, and so many video game and sports posters that you couldn’t see the wall. His mom sat on the bed beside a younger version of himself. Her auburn hair and strong eyes made her instantly recognizable, the same features from the picture in the hallway.
          “I can’t sleep. I’m not tired yet,” complained young Mikey.
          “Oh, well I know how to fix that,” said his mom, offering him a glass of warm milk. She often seemed like she could read minds. 
          “That won’t work anymore! I’m not a kid y’know?” 
          “Okay then, I’m just going to leave it here and you can do whatever you want with it.” She put the glass on the nightstand and got up to leave. 
          “Wait! You’re not gonna…”
          “Nope! No stories, no songs. Since my little man has grown up so quickly none of that would work for him, would it?” 
          “Ye..yeah! I don’t need that stuff. But uh, I’m gonna drink this milk, cause adults drink their milk, right?” 
          His mom smiled. “That’s right. I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.” 
          “Goodnight, Mom,” Mikey said, as he drank his warm milk. 
          Mike remembered this night. He never did get any more bedtime stories or songs after this; he was stubborn and thought no adult would need them. The warm milk when he had trouble sleeping never changed though. His mom turned towards his older self at the door and paused. The gentle smile had vanished, replaced by a frail, crooked imitation, and teary eyes, the same look from the portrait, he realized. She walked towards him. He panicked; could she see him? Was she even real?  As if to answer that question, she passed right through his body, and continued out of the room. The door changed as she passed through it. Where it had been light blue, like his childhood door, now it was white. Inside, he heard more muffled voices, but angrier? Sadder? He couldn’t tell. 
          Mike looked back at his younger self. The empty glass was back on the nightstand and little Mikey was turned away, a blanket covering his head. Muffled yelling, punctuated by shattering glass came from beyond the door and little Mikey flinched. He didn’t remember this part. Mikey should have been asleep and woken up for cereal and toast before heading to school the next day. 
          He went to the door and grabbed the handle. 
          His parent’s room was dark. The sheets were torn off the bed and spread across the floor, joined by hair products, makeup, boxes, papers, and broken glass. He could hear violent, wracking sobs from his right. He opened the walk-in closet and saw his parents sitting on the floor, against the wall, side-by-side. His dad looked tired. He had cuts on his face and a couple on his arms that had already stopped bleeding. Mike couldn’t immediately recognize the person beside his dad. Even though he knew that auburn hair, her broken expression and those tear-puffed eyes made it difficult to tell.  
          “How’re you feeling now?” his dad asked in a tired, steady voice. After a few more body shaking sobs, sniffling, and deep breaths, Mike’s mom answered. 
          “I—" she said, coughed and sniffled more. “I think I’m alright now. Just– just keep sitting there.” 
          “Alright. Let’s keep sitting then,” his dad said. The two kept sitting there in silence, only interrupted by more sniffles. 
          “I really made a mess this time, huh?” 
          “No worse than other times. I’m used to it.” 
          “That’s the problem, you shouldn’t have to be used to it,” Mike’s mom said with her head down. His dad sighed. 
	“Have you thought about visiting a psychiatrist again?” 
        “I already told you they don’t work. None of them understand. They don’t even listen.” she said. Her brow furrowed. “And the medicine they try to give me doesn’t make anything better. I don’t feel like myself.”
          “We should at least tell Mikey. He’s smart. If we explain it to him, he’ll understand.” 
          “NO!” Mike’s mom yelled, as she turned towards his dad. “He can’t know. He can’t see me like—" she gestured to herself, “like this. Promise me you won’t tell him.” 
          “He’ll figure it out eventually.” His dad looked at her pleading face and sighed again. “Alright, I promise I won’t say anything until you’re ready. C’mon let’s start cleaning up before Mikey gets up for school.” Mike’s mom nodded and got up with his dad. They walked through Mike like his mother had earlier, and left through the closet door. 
          Mike sat down and held his head in his hands. These can’t be my mom and dad, he thought. Mom never broke down like this. I would have noticed if she was hurting like that. All he could see in his memories was his mother smiling, laughing, gently scolding, or being worried for him. The crying and shattered composure were completely wrong.  
          Honkhonkhonk. The closet door had changed. It was now a white and yellow door, with a hook on it where his mom would always hang her keys after coming back home. She tended to forget where they were when she didn’t put them there. He pushed open the door. 
          It was sunny outside his parent’s house that day, perfect weather to drive to the university dorms two hundred kilometers away. In front of Mike was his slightly younger self speaking with his mom. 
	“Mikey, you know you don’t have to leave yet, right? Take a year off, you can stay here and work at Aunt Kelly’s and Ben’s restaurant.” His mom said, her hand on his cheek. Mikey put his hand on top of hers. 
	“I know mom, but the sooner I go, the sooner I can do everything else I’ve wanted to do. Besides—" he smiled. “I already paid for the dorm rent “ 
          Honkhonk.
          Mikey, his mom, and Mike all turned towards the old Crown Victoria sedan his dad had saved from the scrap yard and given to Mikey. His dad got out of the car. 
          “It’ll work” he yelled to them and smacked the roof. Mikey and his mom walked up to the sedan, Mikey holding onto a large bag, the last thing to pack. His dad reached for the bag and took it from Mikey, reorganizing the car until it all fit.    
          “Well, that’s it then,” Mikey said to his parents when his dad was done rearranging. “I think I can head out now.” 
          “You got enough gas to get there. Don’t go wasting your loan money on bars y’hear?” Mikey wasn’t sure about avoiding the bars, but he was happy his dad had apparently filled the tank sometime today. His mom pulled him into a big hug. 
          “You’re gonna do great out there Mikey, I know it. You sure you don’t want to stay?” she said, almost pleading. Mike had noticed hints of that same broken expression from the closet on his mom’s face, hidden from Mikey. 
          “Thanks Mom, and I’m sure.” Mikey let go of his mom and got into the car. Mike could see his mom’s face from beside the driveway as younger Mikey backed out. He remembered driving just far enough so neither of them could see the blubbering mess of a face as he cried and cried while leaving his hometown. Mike looked over to his parents where his mom was collapsed onto her knees, bawling her eyes out. His dad knelt beside her with a hand on her back trying to comfort her. After a couple minutes, Mike decided he was done in this memory. His mom was sadder to see him go than he remembered, but that wasn’t so bad. He reached the front door of the house and opened it, hoping to finally end this. 
          The house was a disaster. The furniture, dinner table, dishes, and picture frames were all knocked over or destroyed. Mike heard someone banging on a door. DUNDUNDUN.
           “Honey, please. Come out from there. We can talk about this; or we don’t have to talk at all, and I’ll sit beside you like I always do,” Mike’s dad begged from outside their bedroom door, throwing his shoulder into the door to break it down, but it hardly budged. His mom must have propped something against it. 
          “We did it,” Mike heard from within the room. The voice sounded so tired. 
          “What?” his dad asked. “What did we do?” 
          “We raised little Mikey. He got to have a normal childhood and gets to go to university, even though I’m like this.” She sighed. “We somehow did it”
          “He’s doing well in school, did you hear? All A’s in his first semester. Seriously, I don’t know where he gets that from.” She laughed dryly. “I don’t think he needs us anymore,” she said, quieter now. “He doesn’t need his mom.” Mike could see a phone beside his dad’s feet with 911 dialled in. 
          “We can call Mikey if you want. He’s probably still up right now,” Mike’s dad offered. Mike only now realized how dark it had gotten from the sunny day it had been a couple seconds ago. “Honey?“ DUNDUNDUN. “C’mon, answer me,” his dad tried ramming the door again. “Don’t do this to me!” He tried again. The door held. 
          “Hey,” Mike just barely heard from the door. “We were…pretty good parents…right?” 
          “Mom!” yelled Mike. He tried to ram the door down with his dad, but something stopped him every time he was about to hit it, bouncing him off with ease. 
          “I was…a pretty good mom…right?” The world started to blur then. The walls looked like they were melting. His dad fell to his knees in front of the door. 
          “Yeah…you were fantastic.” 
          The scenery changed back to a bright sunny day, a car, luggage, a pleading mom. Dark again, two people sitting against a wall, one broken, one needing the other, hiding a secret together. Posters, milk, and a cracked smile gone unnoticed. 
Mike was back in the field. Bony fingers wrapped around his arm, shaking him back and forth. 
           “What in th’hell are you doing out here boy! And why have the doors been open for so long? I had a wildebeest in my kitchen and here I find you staring into nowhere! What happened?” his landlord demanded. He was wrapped in his purple robes he insisted on wearing. Something about a wizard being wizardly, though Mike never paid attention to his ramblings.
          “My mom…” Mike said, still dazed from the doors and what they had shown him. 
          “What about her?” His landlord shook him again. 
          “There was another door,” Mike said and explained what he experienced. His landlord was annoyed and thrilled at the same time. 
          “Time for stage two experiments,” Mike thought he heard the wizard whisper. His landlord let him go, told him to go to bed, and that all “pests” in the house were already vaporized. Bill to come later. Mike finally reached his bed, placed his glass of milk, still in his hands, on the nightstand. It had gone cold. Mike picked up his cell phone and dialled. 
          “Hello? Mikey?” 
          “Hey Dad, I need to talk to you about Mom.” 

Daly is a Métis author from Lac la Biche, Alberta, who writes speculative fiction with a focus on urban fantasy. He has graduated from the University of Alberta with a bachelor’s in English and is a current student with the Masters in Publishing program at Simon Fraser University in Vancouver.