Do Not Open That Doorway UFLI Foundations Lesson 86

Pa tells the best bedtime tales of all. Better than books. Better than songs. Better than all things. Each bedtime, Pa sits on my bed while the small lamp glows. Each bedtime I say, 'Tell me a story, Pa.' And each bedtime, Pa does.

Pa leans in close. His whisper is low and slow. 'I will tell you the story of Wisp, a girl made of wind.' 'A girl made of wind?' I say. 'That is not real. That is a tall tale.' Pa just smiles. 'You tell me at the end.'

Wisp had no face you could see. No shadow you could follow. She could sit just next to you in a big red seat and you would not feel a thing. The one hint? A small hollow dip. But who checks the seat? Nobody. That is who.

When it rained, you could almost spot Wisp. Rain flowed off her shape, showing the line of her chin and her nose. The drops made small splashes at her feet. Yet people just walked past and did not look. Wisp kept still, and still they did not see her.

Snow was better. Snowflakes landed on Wisp and stayed, so Wisp looked like a snow girl who had lost her body. A few kids stopped. They pointed. They said, 'Do you see that?' Wisp held very, very still. She did not want them to look away.

One morning, Wisp did a brave thing. She walked into a class, sat at a desk, and picked up a crayon. A kid sat at the next desk. Wisp held the crayon to the paper. The kid yelled, and the teacher jumped back. From where the kid sat, a green crayon floated all by itself.

'Please do not yell,' said Wisp. 'I just wanted to sketch.' The kid froze. Then he asked, 'Can I paint your face so I can see you?' Wisp held still. The kid soaked his brush in yellow paint and slowly, slowly gave her a face: two arcs and a smile.

'More!' said Wisp. 'Paint me full of things I like!' Wisp's locks flowed up and out, and the kid filled them with a star, a fat cat, and music notes that almost seemed to hum. 'Do I look pretty?' Wisp asked. The kid grinned. 'You look like a song.'

After that, Wisp painted herself every single morning. Stars on her arms. Music notes on her fingers. Vivid prints glowed along her way, so people could follow her trail. Wisp was done hiding. She was showing them all who she was.

Wisp stood on a hill, full of painted stars, a sun, and all the things she liked. She began to glow. People could see her at last. Not because of the paint. Wisp was so full of who she was that she glowed, and there was no way to miss her.

Pa goes quiet and sips the last of his drink. In a low tone, he asks, 'So, tall tale or real?' I pull the blanket up to my nose. A girl made of wind? No way. 'Not real, all made up,' I say. Pa smiles and says, 'Sleep well.'

Pa turns off the lamp. Pa walks out. Pa shuts the door. Bit by bit, the door creaks back open. A yellow glow falls in from the hallway. But nobody is there. I pull the blanket up to my chin. Don't open that door. Don't open that door. DON'T OPEN THAT DOOR.