A doorway stood tall and silent on my grandparent's driveway. Far outside in the country, under a visible dome of stars.

The doorway was not connected to any building, framed in old wood with fine wrought iron spades and steel squared nails. Across it's edges were a number of deadbolts, all of different designs and keys. They pointed up, to the left, to the right. Others were centered in the middle of the door. Some mortis, others modern in their design. Each faced inward, allowing me to open each in turn.

The doorway, rather than providing a view of the sloping yard and trees beyond opened into a low ceiling room. It was lit by unseen candle light reflected from innumerable ticking clocks. Amidst the tables were various mechanical clocks. Among, them I saw movement. I entered the room, but glanced back out the doorway. The gravel driveway still stood, with the hazy indigo night beyond.

I approached the nearest group of clocks, and saw my grandfather. He stood up from his carved wooden stool, silver hair reflecting yellow in the light. He smiled the same flat-jawed smile he cast in life. He said nothing, but I sensed only goodwill from him. He bobbed his head slightly in a nod, turning and looked to the clocks again before shuffling off past the perimeter of light.

The room felt cold, and the clocks ticking slowed until the last clock stopped. A grandfather clock's soft chime sounded in the distance as I shut the door and engaged each of the locks in turn.