My mom died ten years ago.
Not a day has gone by where I don’t think about her. How much I miss her. Or a funny thing I would’ve shared with her, if she were still alive. All those hypothetical questions that come up, like “if you had a genie, what would you wish for?” or “who would you choose to have dinner with, living or dead?,” I answered the same way: my mom.
And then, one day, those questions became reality.
I read some urban legend online. It was stupid, but I was a gullible 24-year-old coming off a break up, and admittedly a little drunk. So on a lonely Friday night, I found this post on a dusty old message board:
If you go to the corner of Maple Ave. and Willow St. in [REDACTED], OH at exactly midnight, you will find a ticket dispenser. There is a numeric keypad on it and a big red button. Enter the date you would like to visit on the keypad (MM/DD/YYYY) and then press the big red button. Take the ticket that comes out.
There were more instructions that I skimmed over. I had to be holding the ticket, or have it in my pocket, and open a door (any door!) at exactly midnight. If I did all off that, supposedly, I would be transported back to that day.
I didn’t actually expect it to work. But the next day, when I was sober, I drove to the corner at exactly midnight. And there, gleaming under the streetlight, was an old ticket dispenser.
It looked like the kind you see in parking garages. Or maybe the kind train stations had, before everything became digital. Just a little metal box with a keypad and a red button. I pulled over, got out of the car, and walked up to it.
I typed in 02/24/2007—my eighth birthday. It wasn’t some epic day of parties; I was having a party on the weekend. But my parents still wanted to make my actual birthday special, so they took me to see Eragon and get ice cream with them on my real birthday. It was a fun day—just the three of us, enjoying each other’s company, my parents making dumb jokes about the movie and eating an enormous serving of Rocky Road. Then reading a bedtime story, checking for the monster in the closet I was always going on about, and tucking me in.
The keys clicked under my fingers. A mechanical whir pierced the silence. And then the ticket pushed out of the slot. It was pretty nondescript: a white ticket with the words “ROUND TRIP, 02/24/2007” printed on it, along with a small symbol or emblem printed in gold ink.
I got greedy. I tried a few more times, entering a few other dates that stood out in my mind. After three tickets, however, the machine only made an angry mechanical sound.
I guess three was the limit.
And so, at midnight the next night, I decided to give the first one a try.
I was skeptical. But I’d come this far on this stupid journey, might as well try it. The ticket was securely tucked away in my pocket, and one hand was on the doorknob, the other holding up my phone. I stared at the clock, waiting for the instant that 11:59 turned to 12:00.
I turned the doorknob.
No way.
There was a staircase inside my closet.
It was a narrow staircase of dark wood with an old-fashioned feel. Swirling, intricate patterns climbed up the wooden banister, and the ends of the balustrades were carved with claw feet. The wood gleamed richly in the soft light from my bedroom, inviting me to climb it.
I stepped inside, slammed the door shut the door behind me, and started up the stairs. My entire body was vibrating with electric energy, nervous and terrified. How can this be real? Maybe I’d fallen asleep waiting. Maybe this was all a dream. That seemed much more likely.
The stairs creaked under my feet. I looked around at the walls—but they were completely nondescript, white walls. I looked down—I couldn’t see my closet anymore. I looked up—and saw the glimpse of a door.
I hurried my pace. My hand fell on the doorknob.
I took a deep breath and pushed.
It was my room. My childhood room. The unicorn poster on the wall. The dollhouse in the corner. The bin of dinosaur toys by the bed. And the bed… it was empty.
I looked down at myself—
And realized I was a child.
I ran out of the closet and into the hallway, my little feet pattering on the wooden floor, and peered into my parents room. I saw them sleeping—both of them. My mom, turned away from the door, her curly hair in a tangled mess behind her.
My heart swelled.
I didn’t sleep a wink. I waited until I heard their footsteps in the hallway—then I bounded out of the room. “Mom!” I screamed.
“Gina,” Mom said with a smile. And then both of them sang happy birthday to me, grinning from ear to ear.
I couldn’t believe it. My mom was here, right in front of me.
And I had the entire day to spend with her.
It was the perfect day. We played board games, saw Eragon, then went out for ice cream. That night they tucked me in, and my mom read me my favorite dinosaur book. I was in heaven.
I almost drifted off in my bed—but then I remembered. The message board had made it clear that each visit was only supposed to be 24 hours. It didn’t specify what happened if you stayed longer than that, but I didn’t want to find out. So at midnight, I opened the door to my closet—and among the stuffed animals and princess costumes, there was a staircase leading down into the darkness.
The next day sucked. It was like all the color had been sucked out of my world. The only thing that kept me slogging through the day was counting down the minutes to midnight. I’d originally planned to space my tickets out—but as the hours crawled by, I realized I couldn’t wait.
So at midnight, I was there again, ready to open the door.
***
The three days I spent with my parents were the best days of my life. And it wasn’t just seeing my mom—to experience life as a kid again, to be ignorant of all the evil in the world and only feel love—it was the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt. For those three days, my life was sandcastles and Sunday pancakes, morning cartoons and movie nights, unconditional love that didn’t waver for a second.
It was the closest thing to true happiness I’d ever felt.
But I knew it had to come to an end. When my mom tucked me in, I fought back tears. I didn’t want to upset her. So I told her I loved her, and watched her go. Then, at midnight, I took the ticket off my bookshelf and headed for the closet door. I forced myself to go down the stairs, even though my legs felt like lead.
As soon as I hit the bed, I began to sob.
The following days were difficult. All I could think about was my mother. Spending time with her. And the gnawing sensation at the back of my brain, like a hunger: I need to go back.
I still wasn’t convinced the whole thing wasn’t a dream. The more days that went by between me and the visits, the foggier my memory of them got. It felt like I was remembering a dream. Little holes here and there that I couldn’t exactly recall. Little details that felt jarringly weird, like dream logic. And the memories always felt just slightly out of my grasp, like they took extra effort to recall.
That didn’t change my mind, though. The tickets could be covered in a hallucinogenic powder for all I cared. I needed to go back. Needed to.
But when I drove to the corner of Maple and Willow at midnight, the ticket stand wasn’t there.
I drove by the next night. And the next. And the next.
It was gone.
My coworkers and friends noticed my change in attitude. I was often late to work, because I’d been up so late the night before driving out to the ticket dispenser. I seemed depressed, I seemed down, and I rarely smiled anymore.
Weeks went by, and I grew more and more resentful.
I made a huge mistake.
Why didn’t I just stay there? I could’ve stayed there forever. Screw what the message board said about 24 hours or whatever.
Why didn’t I try to bring my mom through the door? Would that even save her, though? Would she still get cancer at the same age? If she followed me, would I be depriving child-me of a mother? Or would she exist in both timelines?
Why did I listen to those stupid rules?
I was just so happy to get anything. A moment. A crumb. Three days felt like a fortune. Now, it felt like nothing.
And then I did something stupid.
I still had the tickets. After each trip, the gold emblem had turned black… but what if I painted it gold again?
I called in sick to work. Then I went to the craft store, picked up some gold paint, and carefully painted over the symbol. Then I waited. My stomach twisted in knots as the clock ticked towards midnight.
I glanced at my phone. 11:55. I got up, legs shaking, and placed the ticket in my back pocket. Then I wrapped my fingers around the closet handle. 11:58… 11:59…
Go!
I yanked the door open—
And I couldn’t believe it. My heart leapt. The staircase was there!
I raced up the steps. I felt like I was flying. I’m not going to leave this time. I’m going to stay there forever. My bedroom door came into view above me. I raced faster, desperately reaching out, and pushed it open—
I froze.
The bed wasn’t empty. There was me… me, as a child… sleeping in it.
The blood drained from my face. So that was it, then. I couldn’t go back. I mean, I could stay here as an adult… but I couldn’t go back to being me. I stared at myself sleeping, a pang of sorrow hitting me.
That’s it.
It’s over. I can’t go back.
But there was that other option. The totally insane one.
I could bring my mom back with me.
What would happen here, though? Would my mom go missing? Would I not have a mother for the rest of my childhood?
I don’t care.
I need to save her. I need to bring her back with me.
I started across the carpeted floor, trying to stay as quiet as possible. I had no idea how I’d get my mom through the door, but I’d do it, somehow. And then we’d be together. She died when I was 14—which meant she had 6 more years to live. Six years. Maybe she’d come to my wedding. Maybe she’d meet her first grandchild.
Not just that. Maybe I could get her more advanced medical care. Cancer treatment is always changing, all the time. Maybe she’d live ten years or more in my timeline.
I need to bring her back.
But then I caught my reflection in the window.
And my body went numb.
My face. Everything was in the wrong place. My eyes were skewed away from each other. My jaw was spit down the middle and half of it was tilted, hanging off my neck. Thick, jagged lines sliced across my body, the pieces all shifted and slid away from each other. But there wasn’t blood. It wasn’t gruesome. I looked… corrupted. Glitched.
I couldn’t help it. I screamed.
And me, child-me, shot up in bed. Her eyes flew open. And when she saw me—she screamed. Within seconds I heard the footsteps, pounding down the hall.
No no no…
I ran into the closet and slammed the door shut. I leaned against it, holding my breath, my heart pounding in my ears. I looked down—but my arms and legs looked normal, now.
“Mommy,” I heard my child-voice cry on the other end. The fear in her voice cut me to the core. “There’s a monster in my closet!”
“It’s okay, ssshhh.” My mom’s muffled voice.
“No! There’s a monster!”
“There’s nothing in your closet, sweetie,” my mom replied.
“There is! I saw it!”
The footsteps got louder as Mom approached the door. I winced, shutting my eyes tight—I heard the doorknob turn—
“There’s nothing in here, sweetie.”
I opened my eyes. I could see my mom, clear as day, standing there. But she couldn’t see me.
And in that instant, I realized. This was my only chance. If I wanted to bring her back with me… this was it. Before I could even think through my actions—that I was leaving myself motherless, a scared little child—I grabbed her by the arms and pulled her in.
No. No no no.
As soon as she crossed the threshold, it happened.
Her skin was sunken and rotted. Her cheeks were hollow, exposing yellowed bone. Her eyes were pure white, staring blankly into mine. And her arms—they were just bones, barely covered by shriveled bits of skin and tattered clothing.
She was a corpse.
I let go of her. She reeled back—and as soon as she did, her features snapped back to normal. Her shiny, curly hair. Her warm brown eyes. Confusion flashed across her features for a moment. “Huh, I thought…” She trailed off. “Guess I lost my balance there, for a second. But there’s nothing in here, sweetie.”
I turned around and ran down the stairs. Tears ran down my cheeks. Sobbing, I burst into the room and collapsed on the bed.
I must’ve fallen asleep, somehow. Because the next thing I knew, bright sunlight was streaming in through the windows.
I forced myself up. Slowly. And looked around.
Where… am I?
The room. It wasn’t my room. My heart pounded in my ears as I glanced around—there were pictures on the wall I didn’t recognize, furniture I’d never seen before—and I was in a king size bed, which meant—
“Oh, you’re finally up!”
I looked up to see a man standing in the doorway. A man I’d never seen before in my life. Holding the hand of a little girl.
“Your mommy’s up!” he said gleefully. The little girl jumped onto the bed, a big grin on her face. “Mama!” she said proudly. Excitedly.
The stairs brought me back to the wrong time.
No, no, no…
But as I looked at the little girl’s face, beaming down at me, I felt something besides shock and fear. That gnawing, horrible feeling that had lived in the back of my brain—that need to see my mother, to return to the past—it shifted, slightly. Its claws were not so deeply sunk into my brain anymore. I could see something else, see something past it. Something bright.
I felt myself smile. Just slightly.
“Do you want pancakes?” I asked.