Right in the laundry room was the oldest part of the house and neither of my parents cared for it. None of us needed it. Mom and Dad despised the door for making the rest of the house look “dingy” with it’s chipped paint in a hideous greenish color.

I protected the door, even though I could never enter to see what locked-away treasures rested inside. Always locked, I mused. What could be inside you? It shed its previous shell of a soulless inanimate being and took up the life of an all-knowing Buddhist monk door. Just seeing the door rested my worries, as if it showed me that everything was going to be all right.

Dad changed as the door’s personality did. He scared me every passing moment that I wasn’t completely distracted. I saw Mom’s bruises and cried. I was afraid of what was happening in my life.

One night, Dad got very angry. It may have been too much alcohol or too much rage, but I definatly knew that it was bad. He began screaming and hitting everything. He punched Mom and she fell. She smacked her head onto the wall and crumpled. It looked so strange and fake, like she would jump up at any moment and shout, “Just kidding!” We would all laugh.

“Mary!” Dad barked. “Mary!”

I ran. I ran and made too much noise. Dad jumped to the chase like a crazed dog and cornered me in the laundry room.

“Please,” I whimpered. “Stop. Leave me alone.” The only way out was past him or through the storage door.

The storage room’s door was open, only slightly, but it was just enough. I slipped into the abyss. It closed with an extra locking click.

My heart leapt in fear, but slowed its pumping tempo when I realized that this storage room was the safest place I could ever be. As my pulse slowed, I shivered and suddenly felt lost, chilled, and intrusive. Thank you for saving me, room.

I slumped onto my knees, shocked. What just happened? Oh my god. I have got to keep it together. My eyes burned. How can water make something burn? No, I need to focus! I feel sick.

The room smelled like wet cardboard boxes and looked like blackness. It’s not really black, I pondered. It’s more like the light never reached this place. How sad. It was the same for the lack of heat and lack of sound. In fact, it was silent except for meddling me with my panting and pulsating heart. I was in a new world, so pulled apart from Earth that nothing mattered except for the black, black blackness.

A pool of gold light burbled from the ceiling like soapy water. It bubbled into somewhat of a creature with an indistinct, flowing body. The creature had a wolf head on a human-like body with goaty legs. It held a glowing ball of aurous light that had a surface of rippling lines and curves. Am I hallucinating?

“Hello,” it greeted me. Without moving, its voice rippled through the room like the reverberation of a gong.

“Sss!” I hissed frantically. “He might hear you!”

“He couldn’t if he tried,” the creature spoke with an amused current in its voice. “I am Ma Glo Sea. You are Mary.”

“What are you?” I whispered.

“I am a helper, if you wish to label me. Would you like my help?”

“Yes!” I cried, choking on the sound.

“Come here,” it commanded. Shakily, I got to my feet and obeyed. It pushed the ball into my chest. Warmth and fuzziness tickled me from my heart to my fingers, from my head to my toes and I wasn’t so scared. I know. Even though I didn’t know what I knew, I was certain that I would get through all this in one piece.

Then, it pulled my closer and into a hug. The embrace was warmer than the ball, and somehow it made me feel even buzzier. Ma Glo Sea smelled like heat, blood, and another scent that was familiar and comforting. After that, it grabbed my hand and pulled me deeper into the void, a place that may have never been illuminated. Then it placed my hand on an icy, metallic object.

“Go,” Ma Glo Sea instructed me.

I twisted the knob and blinked as the strong blast of light glared at me. This wasn’t the room I was familiar with. An old woman looked up from her book.

“Hello?” she called. “Who’s there?”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I came from the house next door. Could I use your phone? It’s an emergency.”

My fingers raced across the keypad on the old, clunky phone that the woman had handed me. 9-1-1 they told the phone.

“Hello? This is Mary Gloria Seagle. I’d like to report a domestic violence situation and possible murder.” I could feel a smile of grim satisfaction creep onto my face. I am Ma Glo Sea, I grinned.