Chapter 1847

Jude did not move. The voice behind the nameless door had sounded exactly like his own, but there was something beneath it that made his skin prickle. It was not merely older.

It carried a strange familiarity, like a sentence he had heard countless times in a dream and forgotten every morning.

"Please let me out."

The fourth Sol stood beside him, trembling.

"Who is behind that door?" Jude asked.

The boy shook his head.

"You said he made us."

"I know."

"Then tell me who he is."

"I don’t know what to call him."

"Is he another Jude?"

The boy stared at the door.

"He was Jude before there was a Jude."

Jude looked at the twelve other doors. Each one carried a name, and beneath each name was a small symbol. Some were familiar: the crescent, the three curved lines, the silver leaf. Others were unfamiliar, like fragments of a language that had been erased from the world.

"Where are my wives?"

The fourth Sol looked towards the doors.

"They’re behind those."

"Are they safe?"

"No."

Jude grabbed his shoulders.

"Then tell me how to reach them!"

The boy flinched, but he didn’t pull away.

"You mustn’t open the doors."

"Why?"

"Because the house doesn’t know which memories belong to which people anymore."

Jude stared at him.

The boy continued in a hurried whisper. "It has collected everything. Every promise, every fear, every moment you wanted to keep. It has collected the things that happened and the things that almost happened. It has even collected the things that nobody remembers."

"And my wives?"

"They are inside the promises."

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one I have."

Another knock sounded from the nameless door.

"Please."

Jude turned towards it.

The voice spoke again.

"Jude, I know you’re there."

The fourth Sol quickly grabbed Jude’s wrist.

"Don’t answer."

The voice sighed.

"I can hear you breathing."

Jude’s eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?"

The fourth Sol closed his eyes.

"Jude," the voice behind the door said, "you have grown."

The words struck him strangely.

Not because they were threatening.

Because they sounded affectionate.

As though the person behind the door had once watched him grow up.

"I have waited a very long time," the voice continued. "And I have missed you."

The boy beside Jude began shaking his head.

"Don’t listen."

"Why?"

"Because he knows how to make you remember things that never happened."

Jude looked at the boy.

"And you don’t?"

The child lowered his eyes.

"I remember things that happened to someone else."

A sudden crack travelled through the floor.

The twelve named doors shuddered.

From behind Susan’s door came a soft voice.

"Jude?"

He turned immediately.

"Susan?"

"Jude, can you hear me?"

He stepped towards the door.

The fourth Sol caught his sleeve.

"Don’t."

"That’s her."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

The boy looked up at him.

"Would you recognise her if she remembered something you never told her?"

Jude stopped.

Behind Susan’s door, the voice continued.

"Do you remember the afternoon we planted the little tree near the eastern river?"

Jude frowned.

He remembered the tree.

He remembered Susan kneeling beside it, laughing because the soil had covered her hands. He remembered the others arguing about where to put the watering pot. It had been an ordinary afternoon, filled with sunshine and the smell of wet earth.

But the voice continued.

"You told me then that one day, when everything was over, we would build a house beyond the mountains."

Jude’s expression changed.

He had never said that.

At least, he didn’t remember saying it.

"Jude?" Susan called.

He approached the door carefully.

"What did I say after that?"

Silence.

Then the voice answered.

"You said we would never have to be afraid again."

Jude looked at the fourth Sol.

The boy’s expression had become strangely sad.

"That’s not Susan," he whispered.

The voice behind the door laughed softly.

"Oh, Sol."

The child went rigid.

"You’ve always been such a difficult little thing."

Jude turned sharply.

The voice continued.

"You should have stayed in the room, little one. You were never meant to wander."

The fourth Sol backed away.

"Don’t talk to him."

"Why not?" the voice asked. "He has brought you home so many times."

Jude moved between the boy and the door.

"Leave him alone."

A long silence followed.

Then Susan’s voice disappeared.

Something began scratching behind the door.

Not knocking.

Scratching.

Slowly, deliberately, from the top of the wooden surface to the bottom.

Jude stepped back.

The fourth Sol was staring at the floor.

"What does it want?" Jude asked.

The child whispered, "It wants you to choose."

"Choose what?"

"Which memories you want to keep."

The twelve doors began glowing.

Each one illuminated a different colour, though none of the colours seemed to belong to the ordinary world. Behind Rose’s door, Jude heard laughter. Behind Serena’s, the sound of running water. Behind Layla’s, a quiet song. Behind Natalie’s, the clinking of dishes and someone complaining about burnt bread.

They were ordinary sounds.

Familiar sounds.

The sounds of their village.

The sounds of home.

Jude moved towards them.

The fourth Sol stepped in front of him.

"Don’t."

"Those are my family."

"I know."

"Then move."

The boy looked up at him.

"What if I told you that every one of those doors contains a version of them that has been waiting for you longer than the women in your village?"

Jude stared at him.

"What are you saying?"

"I’m saying the house doesn’t create people from nothing. It takes something real and makes a second version. Sometimes it takes a memory. Sometimes it takes a promise. Sometimes it takes a part of someone that they don’t even know they’ve lost."

"And what happens to the real person?"

The boy glanced at the doors.

"Sometimes they remain."

"And sometimes?"

He didn’t answer.

Jude reached towards the nearest door.

The fourth Sol grabbed his hand.

"Please."

Jude looked at him.

The child seemed impossibly small beneath the towering doors.