The Mysterious Door

By Adelia Myslov, age 10, Yehudi Menuhin School, Cobham, Surrey

I will never forget this day, for this special day let me open the door to imagination. First I did not realise what it would mean, but now when I write my stories or simply dream, then I know I have changed.

I had gone for a rest in Scotland. My brother, Vadim, my parents and I, were staying in a bungalow, near the lake 'Loch Tay'.

In those days, I did what I was told, and was no pain for my mum, but nobody wanted to play with me at school. I did not laugh at jokes, did not talk too much and sat in my room, not reading but tidying it up.

Well, back to Scotland. I woke up one morning, and the first thing I did was tidy my bed up. I did not care at all what the weather was like. Only after I have tidied my bed up, put my scattered books in the drawer and changed into my normal clothes, did I brush the curtain away and opened the window pane a crack. Oh yes, it did look warm and it did look sunny, but there was a slight breeze, quavering in the air, as if shy to greet the sunny morning. Suddenly I heard a groan. It was my mum. She came to the sink and patted my head.

"Good girl. Had some breakfast?" Before I could answer, she went into the kitchen. I finished brushing and sat on my bed.

We dressed into coats, put on shoes, and tied scarves around our necks. We stepped outside and smelled the frosty air.

We walked along the edge of theriver, and hired a boat. We stepped inside it and rowed off. The gliding feeling was very pleasant. All around us were high mountains with patches of snow, just like icing. My dad put his hand in the water.

"Brrr!! Come on Adelia, try the water with yourhand," my father said.

"I'd rather put my gloves on, thank you," I answered.

When we stopped at the opposite bank of the lake, we climbed on the mountain by going on the steps. When we came to the top of the mountain, I felt a cold breeze flowing through my hair. Everything turned into a blue-silver mist.

My head was spinning and suddenly, the commotion stopped as shortly as it started. I opened my eyes, but I did not see the lake.

I see a waterfall, pouring into a tiny pool of clear, still water, then getting carried off by a thin stream. Grass is growing on either side with flowers scattered about.

A hut, decorated with roses and painted wood carvings, is standing beside the waterfall. I open the door of the hut. When I come in I see a table. On the table lies a golden key, and beside the table is an arched pine wood door. I stare at the key and then at the lock. Shall I open the door without any more ado, or shall I peep through the keyhole first?

I pick up the key, turn it in the lock and open the door. A blast of wind nearly knocks me over, I see all kinds of shapes flying past the door, hazy because of the dusty wind. A smile spreads over my face. I feel something inside me. Freedom. Freedom, at last!!

A hand took me by the shoulder. But I will not open my eyes, no, nor shall I turn around and say, "Yes, Mammy?" I do not want that picture in my mind to fade away. I am scared I might turn back into a boring person if I open my eyes, but I have to.

That night, when we reached our bungalow, I went to bed.

"I am not boring any more, I've just realised!" I wrote in my diary, "and I think I have opened the door to imagination".

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