Walking to the bathroom in your house you find a door you’ve never seen before. “That’s odd,” you say to yourself. “Was that there yesterday?” You try to imagine what’s behind it – towels? That mop and broom you remember buying but have never found? Old boxes? – but nothing really seems to fit. Some weird superstition makes you knock on the door.

Nothing happens, of course.

After waiting for at least five minutes, you start to feel sheepish. “It’s just a door,” you say, and the house eats your words calmly. You open the door. There’s a long hallway on the other side, longer than it has any right to be, wedged between your bedroom and the bathroom as it is, longer than should fit in the house.

You begin to be freaked out.

But, what the heck, it’s an adventure. You go into the hallway, and you walk, and you walk, and you walk, and your legs start to get tired but now you’re committed so you soldier on. Eventually you come to a half-door at the end of the hallway, the sort of door that gets tucked underneath stairs for storage, the kind that always have rusted out bicycles and old musical instruments and forgotten Christmas ornaments stuck behind them.

You open the door, against your better judgement.

Behind the door is your childhood! All your favorite toys and games are there! Everything worked out okay after all!