Turnstile Entry

She turned. Smiled.

Elias circled the structure twice. The back of the door was... nothing. Not blackness— nothing . Like a blind spot in his vision where the door should have been. He came around to the front again, and the turnstile squeaked, rotating exactly one quarter turn though no one had touched it. turnstile entry

He sat fifteen feet from the door and watched it. The turnstile moved occasionally—small movements, restless—like a dog dreaming. The symbols on the door seemed to shift when he wasn't looking directly at them. Once, he could have sworn he heard humming from behind it. Low. Almost below hearing. She turned

"I don't understand."

He felt anticipation .