A Door in the Forest

This is a short fictional narrative based on a minor character from my novel, True Status.

Golden light spilled over my forest, stretching the shadows into long, dark fingers. I stood at the window, hands trembling. Something was out there.

That afternoon, a man I had hated for years walked into my office. He claimed he’d seen a heavenly vision and came to beg for forgiveness. Worse, he said Benny had forgiven us both. My throat went dry. How could he know about Benny? I’d never told a soul—especially not this man, my former high school crush and the father of the one thing we shared.

Benny was the result of a single, alcohol-fueled night. I’d been a scared, lonely girl back then, and I made a choice I could never undo. Now, decades later, I was a successful businesswoman—tough, guarded, in control. Or so I thought.

I cut our meeting short and drove home to my refuge in the woods. But when I looked out my back window, the last of the daylight drained from the sky, and something glimmered through the trees. Not moonlight. Not headlights. A shape—perfectly rectangular—shining between the trees.

I intended to go out and investigate, but a cold shiver ran through me. Don’t be stupid. I backed away, locked the door, turned off the lights, and peered out again. The glowing shape moved closer, too steady for a vehicle.

Then I saw it—an unattached door, floating through the woods, spilling light from every edge. It stopped at my porch. The door flew open.

A gigantic man stepped through, black hair flowing, eyes like living fire. His robe shone like lightning. My knees gave way and I hit the kitchen floor, shaking.

“Do not be afraid.” He spoke gently. “My name is Simeon.”

My back door unlocked itself and swung wide. I strained against it but couldn’t move it an inch. Simeon touched me, and the trembling stopped.

“Millie, a revelation has been granted to you.”

“How do you know my name?”

He chuckled. “I’m your guardian angel. God has heard you.”

“No,” I whispered. “I’m unworthy. I’m an unbelie—”

Simeon’s gaze stopped me. “Just believe.” He took my hand and lifted me through the door.

***

We stood on wide steps with a crystalline building behind us and an altar before us. Wind carried a stream of angels into the temple.

“That’s God’s temple,” Simeon said. “Today all the angels present themselves before Him.”

I froze. “Don’t make me face God.”

“Fear not—only angels enter today.”

Under the altar, other beings rested.

“Who are they?” I asked.

“Recently martyred human souls.”

The martyrs cried out together, “How long, O Lord, holy and true, before You avenge our blood?” Heavenly servants clothed them in white robes and told them to rest.

Simeon pointed toward a young man and woman kneeling before the altar. “There is Benotenn, your son, and Dahlia—acquaintances in death.”

“My son is Benny.”

“God named him Benotenn before you acknowledged his personhood. Listen. None here can see or hear us—these are past events.”

My chest tightened. My baby? A grown man in heaven?

Benotenn jumped to his feet. “Oh Lord, I would have been as faithful to You as these holy ones, but I was denied a single breath. My life snuffed out before it began. I demand vengeance for my blood.”

Dahlia rose beside him. “I want justice too—but it isn’t satisfying.”

Benotenn said, “The crime your father committed is only partly paid for. My parents? I suppose they’ve paid nothing at all.”

“What would you have their punishment be?” Dahlia asked.

He thrust his hands in gestures of violence. “Curse the day of their birth. Blind them. Maim them. Deny their burial—let the birds and flames finish them, and let their souls watch while they roast forever.”

I flinched, covering my ears. “Simeon, take me away—please.”

“Listen, Millie,” Simeon said.

Dahlia stepped back. “Is it right, in heaven’s glory, to want such things?”

“Is it wrong?” Benotenn shot back. “The martyrs under this altar cry for vengeance.”

A second angel appeared, his voice like rolling thunder. “What do you know of the affairs of the living? The dead know nothing.”

“Our souls know,” Benotenn said. “Our blood cries out. She—” He pointed to Dahlia. “—knows her father’s been partly punished.”

The angel turned to Dahlia. “How do you know?”

She shivered. “While Father Abraham comforted me, I heard a tortured, repentant cry from across the chasm. Avontos—an accomplice of my father—was burning in the flames. He told me my mother loved me, that she wanted to raise me, but I died when my father knifed her belly. Abraham told Avontos, ‘Repentance is for the living. It’s too late for you.’” Her voice cracked. “It was… awful.”

The angel draped a white robe over her shoulders. “Rest with the blessed dead.” She vanished into the crowd.

He fixed his gaze on Benotenn. “Would you want your parents to share Avontos’s fate?”

Benotenn’s fists tightened. “Who are you?”

“I’m Alexander, your father’s guardian.”

Benotenn gritted his teeth. “Then you know he deserves hellfire.”

Alexander nodded. “Justice must be served.”

Benotenn’s voice shook. “Was he punished for killing me?”

Alexander shook his head.

“So it was fine to kill me?”

“No,” Alexander’s tone grew firm. “To God, every life is priceless. Your parents had no right to end yours.” He stepped closer. “With God mercy and justice are possible. Would you help save your father, if you could?”

“No,” Benotenn spat. “He gave me death, not life.”

Alexander’s eyes softened. “There is much you don’t know. I go now to seek a blessing for him from the Lord. I pray you won’t reject what God approves.”

With a rush of wind, he vanished into the temple.

***

Simeon and I waited. Benotenn sat on the steps, head in his hands and tears in his eyes.

Alexander returned. “What is it, son?”

Benotenn’s voice was quiet now. “I want justice, but my words were too harsh. I can’t render judgment. My mother… she regrets her decision every day. She loves me, even after twenty-five years.”

I do. I truly do. Please forgive me.

“How do you know?” Alexander asked.

Benotenn glanced toward the temple. “I don’t know how, but since you entered, I’ve seen my parents’ lives from before I was conceived.”

How can this be real? Impossible.

***

In an instant, I stood back on my porch.

Simeon said, “Why do you refuse to believe? There was more to the vision.”

“This is a delusion—a dream brought on by wishful thinking.”

“Millie St. Vincent, do mere dreams have power over your waking life? Because of your unbelief, you will be mute for three days. I’ll pray the Lord Jesus leads you to his servants.”

My lips twisted in a sneer. “More angels?”

“Faithful humans. Humble yourself. The gospel they teach is your only hope.”

I stomped into my kitchen, slammed the door, flipped the light switch. Nothing. No power. I picked up the phone to call the power company—but I couldn’t speak a word.

I screamed but made no sound. Hot tears blurred my vision. I stumbled to my bedroom, dropped to my knees.

I never pray. But I did.

“Please, Jesus… send someone. I’m ready to listen.”

THE END

Photo by Sebastian Unrau on Unsplash