A Dream Of A Memory Of A Door

20260424

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

Howard was sure he’d had a dream. After all, if you remembered something that definitely never happened, having dreamt it was the only logical explanation. Granted, his memory of hurrying through that peeled lemony door didn’t feel like a dream, but it must be. He was certain he’d never seen such a thing.
Of course, being a dream, he would’ve seen it at some point. Somewhere. That was the thing about dreams, right? Your brain cobbled them together from bits it had on file.
Perhaps it was a distant childhood memory. That would explain both why he had no idea what was behind the door and the sense of urgency he’d felt about opening it. Childhood enthusiasm. And of course he’d been himself, as he was now, another textbook dream thing, that. Things being displaced in time.
It all made sense.
Yet he couldn’t convince himself of it.
So he treated this like any other existential problem; shove it to the back of his mind and drown it in stressing about work.
Habit steered him through his morning routine like a clockwork automata, barely heeding the world around him. He only faltered once, when getting off the train, as he was struck with dazzling deja vu about the colour of the sky.
Well, it was surely often that exact shade of blue-grey. Or close enough that he couldn’t tell any different. So of course that’s a colour his dreams would use. Perfectly logical.
He turned his gaze downwards and hurried to work.
Stop at the crossing, check his watch, reassure himself that he had plenty of time, glance up to wait for the green man-
There, on a pole next to the traffic light, hanging from one screw, was the sign from his dream. Triangular, and still defiantly neon yellow, though whatever message had been written on it had faded to an indecipherable ghost.
Howard frowned. Not sure why the sight had sent shivers down his spine.
It made perfect sense that his mind would use something like that, which he saw nearly every day without ever registering. It was still clearly just a dream.
To prove this to himself, when he crossed the street he turned right and then left down the alley, the route he’d taken in his dream, rather than turning left to go to the office.
He was certain he’d never been down this alley - in fact he doubted he’d ever turned right after that set of lights. And besides, no doors on this street were wooden, or painted yellow, or weathered by elements. It was all shiny plastic standing valiant against pollution.
So the door wouldn’t be there. And that would prove it was a dream. And then he could stop being silly and get to work.
There it was. Peeling lemon paint. Dingy old-fashioned cage light right above it, on despite it being morning - admittedly the alley was quite dim. And, most out of place of all, it had no handle, only a simple metal lift-latch.
It ought to be in a garden. Or at least a picturesque seaside town. Nobody would build such a thing here.
Howard looked up and down the otherwise featureless concrete wall and wondered what building this was. And why it had such a distinctive back door, with no lock.
Well. He must have turned right at those lights at some point, and seen this… jarringly weird door, yet not actually noticed it… and had a dream about it.
This could still be perfectly logical.
And even if it wasn’t - especially if it wasn’t - he needed to get to work.
He got out his phone and started trying to look up the building. While the online maps here weren’t great, as was common for the backend of an industrial estate, he was pretty sure this ought to be a carpet warehouse.
He looked back down the alley, at where it opened up onto a busy road right next to a traffic junction. No way you could park and unload anything there. Much less big rolls of carpet. And a warehouse would have a proper sturdy door. It’d at least have one which locked.
Then he realised someone was standing at the entrance of the alley, peering uncertainly at him. An unremarkable woman in an unremarkable suit, a precise counterpart to himself.
For a moment he feared he seemed suspicious. But then she said “Do… do you know where that door leads?”
Howard contemplated shrugging and walking away. Chasing after the vanishing scraps of hope that today made sense. Going to the office. Writing reports. Sensibly ignoring the inexplicable door and this stranger who seemed plagued with the same inexplicable conundrum as him.
That path stretched away in his mind’s eye. Colourless and unvarying and safe.
She was waiting for an answer. And so, he felt oddly certain, was the door.
Turning his back on logic, Howard told her “I was just trying to find that out. The map says this is a carpet warehouse…”
They both looked at the decidedly unwarehouse-like door.
Howard ventured “Did you have a dream about it?”
“It was more like… I woke up with a memory which belonged to someone else.”
Howard absently sucked at his moustache, mulling this phrasing over. It was a good way of describing it. “Do you have any idea what’s on the other side?”
“No. Only that it felt urgent.”
“Ah. Same.” Howard looked up, at the tiny stretch of sky peering between buildings. “I think this is the right time?”
“Yes. It feels right.” She twirled her hair, a frown creasing her brows. Then she heaved a sigh. “This is stupid.”
Howard nodded. Yes, it was. “Should one of us wait outside, or both go in together?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember anyone being with me, but… I didn’t have this whole conversation.”
“Same.” A sensible life beckoned. Howard ignored it. “Looks like it opens inwards, so… try and keep it from closing behind me?”

Prompt was “You wake up with a vivid memory of a place you’ve never been. As the day goes on, details from that memory begin appearing in your real life. Then you meet someone who remembers it too.”